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The Recipe for Diamonds
NELSON'S LIBRARY
[Illustration: Weems stuck up his left arm, and sighted the pistol over
his elbow-joint.]
THE RECIPE FOR DIAMONDS
C. J. CUTCLIFFE HYNE
Thomas Nelson and
Sons, London, Edinburgh,
and New York
_UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME_
THE OCTOPUS. _Frank Norris._
WHITE FANG. _Jack London._
THE PRINCESS PASSES. _C. N. & A. M. Williamson._
THE MAN FROM AMERICA. _Mrs. H. de la Pasture._
SIR JOHN CONSTANTINE. _"Q"_
A LAME DOG'S DIARY. _S. Macnaughtan._
FORTUNE OF CHRISTINA M'NAB. _S. Macnaughtan._
THE BATTLE OF THE STRONG. _Sir G. Parker._
THE TRANSLATION OF A SAVAGE. _Sir G. Parker._
INCOMPARABLE BELLAIRS. _A. and E. Castle._
IF YOUTH BUT KNEW! _A. and E. Castle._
JOHN CHARITY. _H. A. Vachell._
HIS GRACE. _W. E. Norris._
MATTHEW AUSTIN. _W. E. Norris._
CLEMENTINA. _A. E. W. Mason._
THE AMERICAN PRISONER. _Eden Phillpotts._
THE HOSTS OF THE LORD. _Mrs. F. A. Steel._
THE LADY OF THE BARGE. _W. W. Jacobs._
THE INTRUSIONS OF PEGGY. _Anthony Hope._
QUISANTE. _Anthony Hope._
THE KING'S MIRROR. _Anthony Hope._
THE GOD IN THE CAR. _Anthony Hope._
No. 5 JOHN STREET. _Richard Whiteing._
THE ODD WOMEN. _George Gissing._
MARRIAGE OF WILLIAM ASHE. _Mrs. Humphry Ward._
ROBERT ELSMERE. _Mrs. Humphry Ward._
HISTORY OF DAVID GRIEVE. _Mrs. Humphry Ward._
_Shortly._
WOODSIDE FARM. _Mrs. W. K. Clifford._
MONSIEUR BEAUCAIRE, AND THE BEAUTIFUL LADY. _Booth Tarkington._
THE PIT. _Frank Norris._
AN ADVENTURER OF THE NORTH. _Sir G. Parker._
THE WAGES OF SIN. _Lucas Malet._
_NELSON'S LIBRARY._
Transcriber's Note: In this e-text, characters with macrons are
preceded by an equal sign and enclosed in brackets, e.g., [=a].
Characters with breves are preceded by a right parenthesis and
enclosed in brackets, e.g., [)a]. Superscripted characters are
preceded by a carat, e.g., 2^a.
CONTENTS.
I. BIG GAME 3
II. HALCYONII DIES 15
III. VAGABOND 27
IV. MR. WEEMS AND HIS PURCHASE 46
V. WANTED, A PASSAGE 69
VI. FORE AND AFT SEAMANSHIP 81
VII. A DIPLOMATIC REMOVAL 102
VIII. TWO EVENINGS 115
IX. TALAITI DE TALT 132
X. WITH A THREE-ANGLED HOE 146
XI. THE RED DELF AMPHORA 166
XII. A PROFESSIONAL CONSPIRATOR 182
XIII. AT A MALLORQUIN FONDA 204
XIV. HEREINGEFALLEN 217
XV. CAMARADERIE 226
XVI. CRUELLY INTERRUPTED 240
XVII. VENTRE A TERRE 258
THE RECIPE FOR DIAMONDS.
[_Extracted from the home correspondence of George Slade Methuen,
Esq., which was written at his hired place on the Foldenfjord._]
CHAPTER I.
BIG GAME.
... The first shot was just a rib too far back, and though it staggered
him, he didn't stop to it. Out tinkled cartridge number one and in went
a second, and "_cluck_" said the breech-block. And then as he slewed
round, I got the next bullet home, bang behind the shoulder. That did
it. He tucked down his long Roman nose, and went heels over tip like a
shot rabbit; and when a big elk that stands seventeen hands at the
withers plays that trick, I tell you it shows a new hand something he
hadn't much idea of before.
We ran up eagerly enough. "_Meget stor bock_," shouted Ulus, and
whipped out his knife, and proceeded to do the offices, being filled
with strong glee, which he imparted to the driving rain, the swishing
trees, and my dripping self.
And, by Jove, his highness was a beauty too! Antlers in velvet, of
course, as is the fashion with all Norwegian deer at this time of year;
but there were eight points on each, and they've got the most approved
"impudent" downward curve. What with no _rype_ and few trout, I'd
been feeling rather down on my luck all these long weeks till now; but
this big elk turned the scale. Glad I came.
September nights drop down early here, and day was getting on, so we
hurried up with the work, and loitered not for tempting admiration. Off
came the coarse-haired pelt, pull by pull; and away dropped head and
neck, after a haggle through sinew and vertebrae; and then we got heavy
stones and built in the meat securely, lest the lynxes should thieve
the lot. It all took time, and meanwhile the weather worsened steadily.
The rain was snorting down in heavy squalls, and often there were
crashes from amongst the pines. But the _stor bock's_ trophies
repaid one for these things.
At last we got through the obsequies, shouldered the spoils between us,
and started.
It was slow passage. On this primaeval ground one is so constantly being
baulked. There are so many knotted jungles of splintered rock, such
frequent swamps, so much fallen timber. And, moreover, the watercourses
and torrents were all new-bloated with the rain, so that we had to cast
about for fords, and then to grip one another at stiff arm's length, so
as not to get swept adrift whilst wading amongst the eddying boulders.
And when at last we did come to the lake, we saw there in the gray dusk
a thing which caused Ulus to offer up hot words in Norsk, which were
not words of prayer.
To remind you again of where we were:--
Some eight miles distant in crow-flight was the salt-water fjord. From
it two mountain walls sprout out towards the north. At first the valley
between these is filled with land which is mostly forest. Then comes a
lake, hemmed by two precipices. Then another two-mile-wide strip of
forest. Then another lake, with shiny granite walls running up sheer
two thousand feet, so that of the fosses which jump in cream over the
brinks above, only the stouter ones reach more than half-way down.
We were on the farther side of this last sheet of water, and across it
lay our only practicable way to the coast--to home, dinner, dry things,
and other matters longed for. And on this lake a lake-sea was running,
short, quick, and steep, which is the wettest of all seas for small
craft to tackle. The boat which had carried us up was one of those
_retrousse_-nosed punts peculiar to the country, the very worst
possible breed of craft for the weather. She would not face it for
thirty seconds. Her turn-up snout would fall off the moment we left the
shingle, she would fill and swamp, and we should be left a swim without
having in any degree furthered our cause. Wherefore I also bowed to the
inevitable, but like Ulus I said things. There was no chance of
reaching the abodes of men by any other route. We were booked till the
gale chose to ease--at any rate till morning; and for myself, I
contemplated a moist bivouac under streaming Jove, with one clammy
elk-skin for a joint coverlet.
But luckily Ulus was a man of the land besides being a vagrant hunter.
He led back into the forest. A score of yards from the margin, in an
overgrown clearing, was an abandoned _saeter_ hut. It was in none
of the best of repair, was seven feet square inside, and held five feet
of head-room under the roof-tree. It was about half filled with dried
birch-bark, piled up against the farther end. It also contained a rude
wooden trough and ball for pounding up coffee, three sections of
pine-stem for seats, and a rusted old stove which had not been worth
carrying away.
Four words made a division of labour. Ulus set off to revisit the
_stor bock_, Se going with him in case there should be any doubt
about the track. It was my task to create a blaze with the dry,
spluttering birch-bark, and collect a stack of solider fuel to feed it
with. Afterwards I went and stopped the more obvious gaps in the roof
with turf and logs, and by the time these things were done hunter and
hound had returned. Then we wrung the supersaturation of wet from our
clothes, and Se had a centrifugal shake; and so prepared, we went
inside. Thanks to wasteful use of an absent person's store of
birch-bark, the place was warm as an oven. Such an atmosphere was
grateful and comforting. Se indeed revelled in the heat too much at
first, and pressing over near its source, thrust out a moist black
nose, and got the full effect. There followed a hiss and a howl, and a
sulky retreat to the farther angle. Then we two bipeds hacked off
gobbets from the venison, and taking us sharpened sticks, roasted and
charred and toasted the meat in the doorway of the stove and over the
gap in its lid. And in time we made a satisfying meal, though the
courses straggled, and their texture was savage. And so on to pipes,
and water boiled in a pewter flask-cup with whisky added, whilst the
injured Se champed over juicy rib-bones in his corner.
The hum and crackle from the stove, the grinding of the gray dog's
teeth, the bumping and hissing of the gale outside, the boom of the
cascades at the precipices, made up most of the sounds for that
evening. Of chat there was a paucity. My knowledge of Norsk extends to
few parts of speech beyond the common noun; and Ulus, ignorant person
that he is, has no Sassenach: pantomime makes our usual phrase-book.
Talk under these circumstances is a strain, and we were too tired for
unnecessary athletics. So we smoked, and pondered over the slaying of
the great deer.
In a while we discarded the stump-stools and trundled them aside. A
bunk ran along the farther side of the hut where the bark had been
stowed, but I had my doubts about its vacancy, and surrendered it to
Ulus. His hide is tough; he had no qualms. I spread for myself a spring
mattress of birch-bark upon the floor. Se annexed the clammy skin. And
so we were all satisfied.
One does not wind up watches in these regions, and as time is
arbitrarily marked off by the cries of the gastric juices, I cannot
tell you how the hours were reckoned up that evening. I think we two
humans verged into a semi-torpid condition after that barbaric meal.
Repletion, heat, and fatigue were too strong a combination for complete
wakefulness; and though perhaps not exactly asleep, we were, like
hibernating animals, very dully conscious of passing events. Se's
condition was inscrutable. His eyes were closed, but that is no
criterion. He may have been asleep. But yet he possessed certain senses
more keenly active than ours. As evidence of this, when the night had
worn on to a tolerable age, we heard him give a growl in
_crescendo_, and then a short yap.
Se in general is undemonstrative to a degree. Hence the short
culminating bark, which might have been overlooked if emanating from
another dog, in his case commanded attention.
I rose on an elbow, but could hear no new sound except the soft rustle
of Ulus's wet clothes. He was moving too. There was a pause. Presently
he whispered "_Bjorn_," and I saw in the stove's faint glow the butt of
the Martini steal across to me.
You can lay your life to it I was awake enough then. What sportsman in
Norway would not tingle with delight at the chance of getting a bear?
Ulus had slipped a thong round Se's throat, and that wily hound was
mute. He was as keen on _bjorn_ as either of us, and being gray,
and vastly experienced, he knew better than to bay or otherwise create
a disturbance.
"_Patron?_" whispered Ulus.
I loaded cautiously, not sending the lever quite home, so as to avoid a
click, and nodded. Then we slipped our knife-sheaths round to the
hip--for a shot in the dark is apt to wound only and cause a
red-mouthed charge--and then the door was opened.
We stooped and went outside. The rain was tumbling in sheets; the night
was dark as the pit, and very noisy; we could make out nothing. Se
strained forward in the leash, neck thrust out, nose on high, up wind
towards the lake shore. As we neared the edge of the clearing a falling
branch struck me across the face. The pine-needles stung, and I
stopped, blinded for the moment. Then Ulus gripped my shoulder and I
wiped the tears away, and saw dimly a dark shape coming out of the
trees. The Martini swung up, and I squinted along the barrel. A
mountain-ash was in the line of fire, swishing, swaying, so that it was
impossible to aim; but the animal was coming along bravely--had not
seen us probably--and so I determined to hold the shot till I could
make sure.
The beast came nearer, dodging amongst the stems.
Suddenly, as it got into an opener space, I noted that it was erect.
This surprised me, for I had heard that bears never reared on to their
hind feet till wounded. Still you can bet that I intended to shoot
first and inquire afterwards.
But just at that moment Ulus screamed "_Nei bjorn_," and hitting
up the rifle barrel, brought my finger sufficiently hard on the hair
trigger to cause explosion. The shot went Lord knows where. I swore,
and when the echoes had finished bellowing, I heard the bear swearing
too. Then I began to sweat, for it dawned upon me that I had been
within an ace of deliberately potting a man.
Ulus also used powerful language, and by letting drop the word
"_Finne_," gave me to understand that he supposed the intruder to
be a Laplander; but it seemed to me that the shape that loomed through
the trees was too big for one of those dwarfish aborigines. And,
moreover, although I only caught the import of the stranger's words by
tone and not by literal meaning, I could have taken affidavit that none
of them were Norsk.
However, we did not stay in ignorance long. Before the powder smoke had
been all driven away by the rain the intruder was out of the trees, and
had pulled up in front of us, chuckling. Then--"Hallo! an Englishman?
How we islanders do get to out-of-the-way chinks of the globe!"
He paused, and I began to apologize--to say how sorry I was, and work
up a neat speech generally--when he cut me short.
"Nearly sent me to the happy hunting grounds, sir? Well, perhaps so,
p'raps not. I've seen men missed at shorter rise."
I was a bit piqued at this, and said something about being pretty
useful with a rifle.
He laughed again. "We won't quarrel over it, sir, anyway. I expect
we're both of us satisfied as it is. My hide would have been no use to
you; and for myself, I'm quite content to wear it a bit longer. It fits
tolerably enough. But you've a camp somewhere hereaway, haven't you? I
thought I caught the gleam of a flying spark from down by the shingle
yonder. That's what brought me up."
I explained how we had got pinned in by the gale, and the quartette of
us went back to the _saeter_ hut. The newcomer feasted there off
elk-venison (contriving to cook it, I noticed, much more cannily than
we had done, though with exactly the same appliances), and between
whiles he was told of the chase of the _meget stor bock_--the
tracking, the view, and the place of the bullet wounds. Afterwards,
when we got to pipes and the last drainings of the grog, he explained
his presence.
"I expect the wandering Englishman is about as scarce up here as the
hoopoo, even when he's got a rifle or a rod in his fist; and as I've
neither the one nor the other, I must be very much of a _rara avis_,
and quite the sort of animal to shoot on sight. Fact is, I was round on
the fjord there with my boat, and from what my eyes showed me, and from
what a local _topografisk_ chart told, the country on the norrard side
was much as God stuck it together. I wanted to see a strip of that sort
up here, so I fixed a rendezvous and slipped ashore. As it turned out,
the map is a pretty bad one, and I lost time in _culs-de-sac_. Finally
came this lake with the steep flanks. I couldn't see to prick out
another course, and I was just casting about for a rock that held a dry
lee when I saw your light. And now, as I hear you chaps yawning and as
I'm about spun out, 'twouldn't be a bad notion to turn in."