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Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
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period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
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RGL e-Book Cover
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"WHAT a forsaken hole it is!" said David Dean to himself as he tramped along the narrow, muddy path between impenetrable walls of bush. "Believe I was a fool to come. But beggars can't be choosers, and I ought to be grateful to get my bread and butter out of it. The hut should be somewhere here. Phew, but it's hot!"
He pulled up and mopped his forehead. At that moment another man came suddenly out of a side path which entered the other not ten yards away.
The two stood and stared at one another for a moment. Then both rushed forward and shook hands vigorously.
"You, Dean!" exclaimed the other. "How in thunder did you come here?"
"Might ask you the same question, Culliford. To meet one's oldest pal in the middle of a South American jungle when one supposed him enjoying life in good old Plymouth is a bit of a startler."
"Not half so much as finding a Plymouth dock diver in the same place," was Culliford's retort. "I'm here on business."
"So am I."
"Not the treasure?"
"That's it."
"Great thunder! So you're Lucraft's new diver."
"Aye, he picked me up pretty nigh starving in Lima ten days ago. Offered me a job, and I took it. I was working for a Peruvian firm and the miserable dagoes went bust and left me on my beam ends," he explained.
"I'm sorry for that, but very glad to see you," exclaimed Culliford heartily. "I've been here a fortnight now, and I'm free to admit I never had a rottener time in my life. Sweating all day, and eaten alive by mosquitoes all night. Oh, I tell you, Devil Lake is a treat. It'll take a lot of treasure to make up for what I've been through."
"Then there is a treasure!" cried Dean.
"Can't swear to that," replied Culliford. "But we've located Tupac's old barge out in the middle of the lake. And if the barge is there it's quite likely there's something in it."
"So Lucraft wasn't lying?" said Dean thoughtfully.
Culliford smiled. "Oh, so you know him?"
"To my cost," said Dean sharply. "He let me in badly over a wreck contract four years ago and I hammered him for it. Blacked both his eyes, and nearly got a knife into me in consequence. I tell you, I was a bit surprised when he came up to me in Lima the other day, shook hands quite sweetly, and offered me this job."
Culliford looked thoughtful. "Between you and me, Dean, I can't stand the chap. I'd never have come here, only I'm going to be married, and I want a little cash badly."
"You're to have a share in anything recovered?"
"Yes, a tenth."
"He's offered me a fifth."
"But you've not to do the diving?"
"There's nothing in that. There's not ten fathoms of water."
Culliford grunted. "It would take more than Lucraft could offer to make me go down to the bottom of El Laguna del Diablo, as the natives call it."
"What's the matter with it?"
Again Culliford grunted. "Come along up to the hut," he said. "We'll talk on the way and I can show you the lake,"
Round the next corner the ground broke away abruptly, and a steep tangle of jungle dipped to the water. Devil Lake was quite small, not more than two miles long and half a mile wide, and its surroundings were exquisite. Hills ringed it, covered to their blunt tops with thick forest, and up in the west range after range ended in a magnificent wall of snow-capped peaks gleaming sugar while against the cloudless sky.
Yet Dean at once felt the uncanny spell of the lake, and shuddered in spite of the heat. The water was oily black, like an ebony mirror. It had no shore. The trees rose on every side straight out of the water. Not a ripple broke the surface, not a rising fish, not even one of the water birds with which South America teems. The lake looked dead and rotting, the only sign of life being ugly brutes of alligators, whose ridged backs lay like gnarled logs floating on the inky surface.
"Do you wonder I don't hanker after a trip to the bottom of that?" remarked Culliford grimly.
"I don't," said Dean, staring down at the gloomy place. "Ugh, I wonder what made that Inca chief chuck his treasure in there?"
"Probably because he knew no Spaniard would be ass enough to go down after it. It takes a Britisher to tempt Providence like that."
"How do you mean—tempt Providence?"
Culliford looked at his friend a little oddly. "You haven't heard, then?"
"Lucraft hasn't told me anything. I heard of Devil Lake for the first time ten days ago."
"Well, the treasure is supposed to have its guardian."
"Guardian?" repeated Dean, staring at the other.
"Yes. So the Indians say."
"In what shape?"
"It's said to be a great snake."
"An anaconda?"
"No; I don't think so. An anaconda doesn't live under water. This creature—whatever it is—is supposed to have its abode in the old barge in which Tupac sunk all his gold when the Spaniards chased him. Old Pedro Valdez, a half-breed who works for us, was telling me. He says it neither bites nor strangles. It breathes on you, and you die."
"What rot!" exclaimed Dean contemptuously.
"So I thought," said Culliford. "But I've come to think there may be something in it."
Dean stared.
"Valdez says that, about twelve years ago, two Americans came here with diving kit and all sorts of stuff and built a boat, and went after the treasure. One—his name was Hibbert—went down. He had not been below more than five minutes before there was one sharp jerk on his lifeline. They pulled him up, and found he was dead as mutton. The queer part of it is there was no mark of any kind on him."
"Heart, I suppose," said Dean.
The other gave a shrug. "Possibly. Still, the story's true, for I've had it from a Spaniard as well, a man who has a rancho up in the hills."
"Does Lucraft know it?"
"I suppose so. But I've been particular not to speak to him on the subject. And before we get to the hut—one thing. If I were you I wouldn't mention to Lucraft that we've ever met before."
"I'm with you there. I wouldn't trust that chap even as far as I could see him."
"But you mean to go down?"
"I do. That's what I've come for. And heaven knows I need the money as bad as you do, Culliford. My old mother is still alive, and it's been mighty hard work to keep up her little cottage out at Peverel. If I can make as much as fifty pounds out of this it'll mean a lot to the dear old soul."
"THE boat's all ready. We'll get to work at once, if you're agreeable," said Lucraft.
There wasn't much of the villain about the man to look at. Philip Lucraft was tall and thin. He was a good deal older than either Culliford or Dean, and he stooped a bit, while his black hair was grizzling over his forehead. He had rather a keen face, and was not bad-looking, only that his eyes were too deep set, and his lips a trifle thin.
"I'm ready as soon as you like," said Dean. "All my kit is here. Nothing to do but put it in the boat and start off. I see you've got the place buoyed."
"Yes, that buoy marks the exact spot where we believe the barge lies. We got on to it with our drags nearly a week ago. At least, we suppose it's the barge. It's something pretty solid, anyhow."
"About ten fathoms, I think you said?"
"Yes and a mud bottom. So you'll probably find it best to land right on the barge if you can manage it."
"I see. I'll carry my kit if you'll go on down to the lake."
Lucraft walked out of the hut and took the steep path down to the lake.
"I wanted a word with you," said Dean hurriedly to Culliford. "I suppose Lucraft won't go monkeying with the pump or anything?"
"Trust me," smiled Culliford. "I'll stand by with the wrench. Besides he won't do that. He wants the treasure, and where there's cash to be made our friend don't let his private quarrels interfere."
"All right," said Dean. "But I'm jolly glad you'll be there to keep an eye. That chap hasn't forgiven me, I'll swear. I caught him looking very oddly at me more than once, at supper last night."
"You've got your knife? asked Culliford as they, followed Lucraft down to the water's edge.
"Aye. It's got a blade 10 inches long, and an edge you could shave with. I pity his snakeship if he runs up against me."
Dean had affected to sneer at the Indian's story as told him by Culliford. But when he got well below the surface of Devil Lake, and had passed from the warm, sun-heated layer of water at the top to the chill of the lower depths, the incident came thrusting itself unpleasantly back into his brain. Was it, indeed, possible that there was some unknown and deadly fish or reptile in the depths of this uncanny lake? He remembered the freshwater sharks of Lake Nicaragua and the great cannibal fish of the Amazon, and felt an uncomfortable tremor.
From above the water had appeared perfectly opaque. To Dean's surprise it was not nearly so thick as he had expected. Though brown in hue it was comparatively clear, and the sunlight filtered far down into the still recesses of the lake.
Ten fathoms, however, meant sixty feet, and at sixty feet, unless the water is exceptionally transparent the light is by no means strong. Dean had taken the precaution to supply himself with an electric torch, but this Lucraft did not know. The man had, in fact, asked Dean if he was taking down a lamp, and Dean had replied that there ought to be enough light at the bottom to see by.
Nearly all Dean's work had been in salt water. Accustomed as he was to the tug of tide and current, and the sharp cold of the sea depths, the utter stillness of the lake, and the stagnant feel of its water gave him an odd feeling of suffocation. He noticed, too, that there were no fish at all in sight. Usually shoals of small fry are attracted by the queer spectacle of a monster in armor descending amongst them from the upper world.
Down Dean dropped into the utter stillness and thick dusk of the lower depths. All was silent as the grave. His only link with the upper world was the steady beat of the air pump, but even the air seemed hot and stiffing.
He descended very slowly. He had ordered those above to let him down gently, for, weighted as he was, it would be most unpleasant, even dangerous, to drop into the deep mud which coats the bottom of a lake like this.
Peering downwards he made out a black something right under his feet. It seemed to be roughly oblong in shape and raised a little above the rest of the bottom. "Good man, Culliford," he muttered. "Dropped me just in the right spot."
Yes, it was a boat or vessel of some sort. Not a doubt about that, although the fine silt which had settled over it during the centuries had almost obliterated its outline.
A thrill shot through Dean. If a barge, why not treasure? He was well enough up in history to know that the Inca chiefs, driven to despair by the cruel harryings of the Spaniards, had flung their gold anywhere rather than yield it to the conquerors.
If the gold was actually in this barge it should be a simple matter to recover it. And twenty per cent! He felt a glow of delight. He would buy that cottage at Peverel outright. His mother should live in luxury for the rest of her life. And as for himself—well, there was a market garden not far off down by the Tamar. He would buy that, too, and settle down. He had had enough adventure to last him the rest of his life during the eight years he had been diving.
His leaden soles touched the mud-clad deck and sank several inches before they struck solid wood. Dean's day dreams passed; he was the diver once more, alert and active.
He stood quite still. He must not move incautiously, for the mere touch of his feet had sent the fine sediment rising in wreathing clouds, through the dark water. He pulled out his torch and switched it on.
The keen glow lit up a space of a few yards on all sides, and he was able to see that it was indeed a vessel of some sort on the deck of which he stood. It was larger than he had thought, and was decked in. It had a quaint, raised prow, which stood high up and clear. He had landed on the stern, and between him and the prow there was a black hollow, evidently a hatch.
"That's where the stuff will be stowed," he said to himself, and, moving very cautiously, so as not to raise more mud than necessary, he stepped across it and held his torch over the opening.
The great hollow was intensely dark, and it was not until Dean knelt and stretched his torch downwards at the full length of his arm that he could see anything. Then he made out a mass of lumpy, irregular-shaped objects. What they were he could not tell. Like the deck, they were covered with fine mud.
But one that stuck up above the others seemed to show the outline of a great vase. If it were gold?
Shaking with excitement the diver caught his life-line and gave the signal to slack a little.
Then he stepped off the edge of the hatch and lowered himself down into the inky well beneath.
DEAN'S feet grated upon metal. Half sick with excitement he felt for a firm foot-hold and stooped to seize the great vase-like object which he had previously caught sight of.
But the mud, raised by his movements, had turned the surrounding water into a yellow fog, through which even the strong rays of his torch could not penetrate. He was forced to wait a moment until it settled.
As he stood there, with his heart beating thickly, he became suddenly aware of movement near by. Something touched and went sliding past his leg.
Dean's nerves were excellent, but never in his life had he felt such a shock as was caused by that stealthy sliding.
What had Culliford told him? The snake that guarded the treasure. Could it be true?
Dean stood like a statue. He did not dare to move. He could see nothing below the level of his waist. The mud mist had risen to that height, and there remained, although above that level the water was fairly clear.
The thing, whatever it was, kept on moving. Very slowly, but through the thick diving dress, he could feel it as plainly as possible passing endlessly past his leg.
In his horror Dean actually forgot the very existence of his life-line. But the shock passed. He was himself again, and quickly and stealthily he drew his knife.
He had hardly done so when, silent and ghost-like, a head rose above the mud fog.
Such a head! In no nightmare vision had Dean ever conceived anything more ghastly.
It was a foot long, inky black, the skin smooth and slimy. The eyes, very narrow, gleamed like black diamonds in the electric rays. They were totally unafraid, and were fixed on the diver with an expression of concentrated malevolence impossible, to describe.
Dean felt his very blood chill as he gazed back into those horrible, unwinking orbs.
The creature was snake-like, yet not wholly so. Its body did not narrow to a neck behind the head. The great arched curve was, if anything, thicker than the head itself. The snout was long and pointed. Below it was a vast slit of a mouth armed with needle-pointed teeth.
For one second Dean's left hand trembled on his life-line. Should he give the signal to pull up?
No, it was too late. The thing would strike long before he could be hauled out of its reach.
The very intensity of his peril set the divers nerves like iron. Up flashed his knife.
As he moved so did the monster. Strike and strike were simultaneous.
Dean felt a heavy blow in the centre of his chest. Then his knife went home with a slashing drive.
That was all he knew. For as his knife met the brute's slimy flesh a shock like lightning paralysed him. He staggered back and his senses left him.
When he came to he was in the boat. He had been stripped of his diving dress, and the first thing his eyes fell upon was Culliford's anxious face. In his throat was the sting of strong spirits.
Culliford's face cleared a little when he saw Dean's eyes open. "Better, old man?" he asked anxiously.
"I'm all right," said Dean. His voice was low and hoarse. He felt utterly prostrated, and his right arm was dead and useless.
"What happened?" he muttered vaguely. Then suddenly the horrid scene flashed back into his brain, and he shivered violently.
"I thought you were gone, sure," said Culliford. You looked like death when we got you up."
"The snake?" groaned Dean.
Culliford started. "So Valdez was right?"
"Yes," said Dean, and told him in a few words what had happened.
Culliford listened in silence. Then he said—"I told Lucraft. But the fool would go." Dean awoke to the fact that the air-pump was working. The two Indian boatmen were busy with it and the life-line.
"Lucraft below? Pull him up at once!" cried Dean. "It's death, I tell you." In his excitement he actually struggled to a sitting position.
"Pull up!" cried Culliford to the Indians.
Almost as the words left his mouth, there was one sudden, violent jerk on the line.
Culliford seized it and he and one of the Indians pulled like mad. In less than a minute they had Lucraft on the surface.
"He's had it too," groaned Dean. "Look, he's all limp."
As they dragged Lucraft over the gunwale he collapsed in the bottom of the boat like so much wet sponge. One of the Indians held him up while Culliford, with trembling fingers, unscrewed the helmet.
Lucraft's pale face was livid. Not a flutter of breath came through his swollen lips.
They got the dress off. Culliford put his ear to the heart and listened.
At last he raised his head. "Dead!" he said solemnly. "Quite dead."
IT was Herr Jensen, the old German naturalist, who solved the mystery. Quite by chance the professor stumbled next day upon the hut of the treasure-seekers.
Dean was lying on a cot, still helpless. Lucraft's grave had just been finished, and Culliford was making a coffin out of packing-boxes.
While Culliford sawed and hammered, Dean told the professor the whole story.
The old man was vastly interested. "A bointed blag head, you say, narrow eyes, and thig body?"
"Yes," said Dean.
"I dell you den, mine friendt, it vas en eel."
"An eel?" gasped Dean.
"Joost so. An eledrig eel. It vas an enormous specimen of der gymnotus. I myself haf seen der gymnotus eight feet long and gabable of administering der shock to baralyse a strong man."
"Do you hear this, Culliford?" cried Dean. "The professor says it was an electric eel."
Culliford dropped his hammer and came across.
"An electric eel. I've heard of them. What a fool I was not to think of it before. That explains everything."
"It explains everything except why Lucraft went down the minute after was pulled up." said Dean.
"It egsplains that also," said the professor. "Der gymnotus gan only give one shock ad a time. Then it vas helpless."
Culliford and Dean looked at one another. Each read the secret in the other's eyes.
But it was not until the professor was snoring in his hammock that the two Englishmen spoke openly.
"Lucraft knew. Not a doubt about it," said Culliford. "He sent you down, expecting you would exhaust the brute's power. Then he would be safe."
"And he met a second eel!" said Dean softly.
"Just so. And it killed him. The eel you saw was either smaller, or else the handle of your knife and the rubber of your dress saved you from the full shock."
"If it had touched my helmet!" muttered Dean.
"Probably that's what happened to Lucraft," said Culliford. "Cheer up, old chap," he added. "You'll be all right in a few days. Jensen says so. Then we'll clear out from this beastly hole."
"Not yet," said Dean decidedly.
"What!"
"I mean to have the treasure first."
Culliford could only stare.
"Aye. It'll be simple enough. One blasting cartridge will finish the devils of Devil Lake, and then, hey, for the Inca's gold."
* * * * *
DEAN was right A dynamite cartridge at the end of a wire did the trick, and Tupac's barge yielded up eight hundred pounds' weight of golden implements and two dead eels, one eight, the other twelve feet in length.
To-day Dean owns his garden, but runs it for his own pleasure, not for profit. He has bought his mother's cottage outright, and furnished it so that it is the envy and admiration of all the dear old lady's elderly friends.
As for Culliford, he lives quietly and happily just over the water, at Saltash, where he is an easy reach of his friend, the diver, David Dean.
Roy Glashan's Library
Non sibi sed omnibus
Go to Home Page
This work is out of copyright in countries with a copyright
period of 70 years or less, after the year of the author's death.
If it is under copyright in your country of residence,
do not download or redistribute this file.
Original content added by RGL (e.g., introductions, notes,
RGL covers) is proprietary and protected by copyright.