he had hidden but which Whitney's detectives had stolen in turn from
him; writer of anonymous letters, even to himself to throw others off
the trail; maker of stramonium cigarettes with which to confuse the
minds of his opponents, Whitney, Mendoza, and the rest; secret lover of
Inez whom he demanded as the price of the dagger; and murderer of Don
Luis.
Senora de Moche and Alfonso, behind me, could only gasp their
astonishment. Much as she would have liked to have the affair end in a
general vindication of the curse she could not control a single,
triumphant thrust.
"His blood," she cried, transfixing Norton with her stern eyes, "has
cried out of Titicaca for vengeance from that day to this!"
"Want any help?"
We all turned toward the door as Burke, dust-covered and tired, stamped
in, followed by a man whose face was bandaged and bloody.
"I heard shots. Is it all over?"
But we paid no attention to Burke.
There was Whitney, considerably banged up by the fall, but lucky to be
alive.
"I tried to shake him," he explained, catching sight of Norton. "But he
stuck to us, even on our detours. Finally he grew desperate--forced my
car off the road. What happened after that, I don't know. He must have
carried me some miles, insensible, and dumped me in the bushes again. I
was several miles up the hill, tramping along, looking for a
road-house, when this gentleman found me and said I had gone too far."
Senora de Moche turned from Lockwood and Inez who were standing,
oblivious to the rest of us, and stared at Whitney's bruised and
battered face.
"It is the curse," she muttered. "It will never--"
"Just a moment," interrupted Craig, drawing the dagger from his pocket,
and turning toward Inez. "It was to your ancestor that the original
possessor of the secret promised to give the 'big fish,' when he was
killed."
He paused and handed the dagger to her. She touched it shuddering, but
as though it were a duty.
"Take it," he said simply. "The secret is yours. Only love can destroy
the curse on the Gold of the Gods."
THE END