For some moments the two men stood facing one another. Neither spoke
nor moved.
As they stood thus, a third person entered, swiftly, silently, without
being seen either by von Hardenberg or the Guardian of the Cave. Those
in the gallery saw who it was: the man was the sheikh, the Black Dog of
the Cameroons.
Of the scene that followed the watchers in the gallery were amazed and
horrified spectators. It seems that Captain von Hardenberg had not been
idle during the time the Sunstone had been in his possession; with
Teuton thoroughness and industry he had even learnt to speak in the
Maziri tongue.
"Who are you?" said he to the old man, so strange and terrible to
behold.
"I do not ask who you may be," answered the other, "because I know."
Word by word, the following conversation was afterwards repeated to
Harry by Fernando.
"You know!" cried von Hardenberg. "What do you know?"
"I know that you are he who bears the Sunstone on your person. I order
you to deliver it up!"
Von Hardenberg drew back a pace. The Black Dog was crouching like a
tiger behind one of the pillars, unseen by either of the speakers.
"Who told you?" cried von Hardenberg. "Who told you I have the
Sunstone?"
"These things," said the old man in a great, solemn voice, "these things
I know because I am one who holds converse with the gods. Me you cannot
deceive. A short time ago I was asleep, and in my sleep I dreamed a
dream—that the Sunstone had returned."
"You are mad!" cried the Prussian in brutal derision.
"Aye," said the man, "I am mad; but I am wiser than those who are sane.
Deliver up the Sunstone!"
"By what right?"
"By every right. I am the Guardian of the Cave. I have lived five
score years, and never once have I ventured beyond the entrance of the
Caves of Zoroaster. Come, deliver up the Sunstone."
"And if I refuse?" asked von Hardenberg.
"If you refuse," said the man, "you die!"
Von Hardenberg looked about him with a quick, furtive glance. Softly
his hand crept to his belt, where he carried the holster of his
revolver.
What happened next was the work of a few seconds. Those in the gallery
had no time to interfere. As for the sheikh, he evidently intended that
the tragedy should be played out to its end, to the falling of the
curtain.
The old man, seeing von Hardenberg’s action, lifted his great two-handed
sword and flourished it on high. Then, with a spring like that of a
tiger, he hurled himself upon the Prussian.
Three shots rang out in quick succession. There were three flashes of
fire, like jets of flame, and then three puffs of smoke. The cave was
filled with an echo that went on and on as if it would never cease.
And when the smoke cleared, there was the old man lying upon his face
upon the floor, silent and still. A century had rolled above his head,
for a hundred years he had stood guardian of the Caves of Zoroaster—and
now his task was ended.
Harry sprang to his feet, and would have fired then and there at von
Hardenberg had not Cortes held him down by force.
"It was murder!" he whispered.
"If you fire, we are lost," cried Cortes. "It is too dark to shoot
straight, and the Black Dog will escape us."
Harry resumed his kneeling position and waited.
A horrid silence reigned in the great, domed chamber. The scene was
more tragic, more fantastic than ever. The shafts of light from above
struck the body of the murdered man; the lamp still flickered before the
altar. Even yet, the echoes of the shots were murmuring in the deeper
recesses of the place.
Captain von Hardenberg stood stock-still, his revolver in his hand, thin
wreaths of smoke issuing from the muzzle. From out of the heart of the
stillness there came a chuckle: the Black Dog was pleased to laugh.
Murder was nothing to him. He had dealt for years in human lives. He
was implacable, relentless. And even at that same moment he himself
contemplated a greater crime, for the commission of which he was hiding
in the darkness like a snake, biding his time to strike.
Captain von Hardenberg took two steps towards the body and turned it
over with his foot.
"He is dead," said he in German.
The old man, who had been so terrible in life by reason of his madness,
now looked sane and beautiful in death. The worn, agonized expression
had gone altogether from his features, which were now calm and wholly at
peace. With his white hair and ragged clothes, he was like one of the
patriarchs of old.
Captain von Hardenberg was not himself. It was plain to see that it was
all that he could do to control within him a feeling that was akin to
terror. He looked about him with widely opened eyes—at the vast
pillars, at the darkened corners of the aisles, at the shafts of
sunlight that pierced the darkness like the blades of swords.
With trembling hands he attempted to unbutton his coat. His nerves were
so shaken, and he in such feverish haste, that he could not at first
succeed. In the end, as if grown desperate, he took a knife from his
pocket, opened the largest blade, and cut off the buttons one by one.
Then he ripped open his waistcoat, and, a moment after, drew forth the
Sunstone and placed it on the altar by the side of the burning lamp.
And next he did a strange thing indeed. He burst suddenly into loud
laughter—laughter that was hysterical, delirious.
He had gone through so much; he had faced so many dangers; he had been
guilty of a score of crimes; he had lost everything—good name and
honour and position—in order to possess himself of the treasure that
lay beyond the red granite rock.
And now that all this wealth was as good as his, he could do little else
but laugh, in a kind of wild delirium, whilst tear-drops in quick
succession coursed down his cheeks.
After a while he mastered himself a little, but not completely. He went
to the nine wheels and turned them all ways in a fever of excitement.
Then he remembered what he had to do. He studied the wheels and took
notice of the cuneiform writing on the "tyres". At that he returned for
the Sunstone and brought it to the Bramah lock.
But, since it was too dark there to see the writing on the stone, he
took it back to the altar, and laid it down once more before the lamp.
Then he studied the character in the first segment, and, having
committed it to memory, he went back to the wheels.
Slowly he turned the first wheel, noting each character as it appeared
above the golden bar. At last he appeared satisfied. The cuneiform
figure, or character, which lay immediately above the golden bar
corresponded to that upon the Sunstone.
Then, in a like manner, he turned the second wheel. Always when he got
the wheel in the correct position he compared the two characters—that
upon the Sunstone and that upon the wheel—to make sure they were the
same.
Finally, he came to the ninth wheel. His excitement was now so great
that those in the gallery could see that he was trembling violently in
every limb.
He troubled no longer with the Sunstone. He turned the wheel very
slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the red granite rock. Presently there
was a "click" like the sound of the turning of an enormous lock. Captain
von Hardenberg held the wheel quite still.
There came another "click" even louder than that which had gone before.
And then slowly, like some great living monster, the rock began to turn,
as if it revolved upon a pivot.
It turned evenly, slowly, noiselessly, and, as it turned, the light from
the lamp caused the quartz and mica and felspar in the granite to
glisten like a thousand fire-flies on a summer’s evening.
And then, in the moving rock itself, appeared a narrow archway about
four feet across; and when this was immediately opposite the altar there
was another "click" and the whole rock was still.
Those in the gallery sprang to their feet and looked on with bated
breath. The thing was like a miracle. As for von Hardenberg, he gave
vent to a cry that was half a cheer and half a sob. Then, snatching the
lamp from the altar, he rushed through the archway into the darkness
beyond.
From the gallery they could see the light grow smaller and fainter as
the Prussian descended a narrow flight of steps. Then the light went
out, and there came up from the vault beyond a faint cry of exultation.
Captain von Hardenberg had attained the treasure of Zoroaster.
And it was at that cry that the Black Dog glided from his hiding-place.
Now that the lamp had gone, the cave was darker than before. But by the
light that came from above, and through the entrance, those in the
gallery could see his white robes as the man glided noiselessly across
the hall.
He went straight to the altar, picked up the Sunstone, raised it to his
lips, and kissed it. For a moment he gazed at it, long and lovingly,
before he thrust it into a pocket.
He moved on tiptoe towards the wheels. As he did so he passed through
one of the shafts of light, and his features were illumined. On his
face there was an expression that was diabolical. It was the face of a
beast of prey, a tiger that stalks its victims. His white robes
contrasted strangely with the swarthiness of his countenance. His eyes
were very bright and now looked yellow like those of a cat.
When he reached the wheels, he let out a great shout that filled the
vastness of the cave.
"Die!" he cried. "Die the death you merit!"
At that he set the wheels in motion, and immediately the great granite
rock revolved again. And Captain Carl von Hardenberg was buried alive
in the midst of the treasure that was his.
The sheikh passed rapidly down the centre aisle. Half-way to the
entrance he stopped, looked back, and shook his fist at the rock.
"Lie there," he cried, "and rot! In my own good time I will return."
Before the last word was from the man’s lips, Fernando had lifted his
rifle and fired. The bullet flattened itself against a pillar not three
inches from the Arab’s head. The Black Dog glanced up at the gallery
and then dashed out of the entrance, so swift and agile in his movements
that it would have been sheer folly to fire again.
"You hit him?" cried Harry.
"No," cried the man, with a sullen oath. "I missed. It was too dark to
see."
"Too dark to see!" repeated Harry. "But he is gone! Make haste, or
he’ll escape!"