Part 12

Mr. Bressani smiled, shrugged his shoulders, and with a gesture of both hands, palms out, replied, slowly:

"I am not a rich man, but whatever property I possess, and whatever I can borrow up to a million dollars I would gladly give to Mr. Alton if I might own this stone."

Cyrus Alton's eyes opened wider. "A million dollars?"

"Easily. You see, it will cut to four or five stones of extraordinary size, and--unless I am much mistaken--of perfect purity. Also, the color--this lovely, delicate, apple-green tint is almost unknown. The only diamond of this color in the world, of any importance, is the famous Dresden Green, one of the crown jewels of Saxony."

"Is this much larger," inquired Cyrus, "than that Dresden diamond?"

"Many times larger."

"And much larger than any of the famous diamonds?"

"Yes, indeed! Much, much, very much larger. No comparison, in fact. Why, Mr. Alton, if this were cut to one stone, half its present size--as a rough guess--it would be over three thousand carats."

Nephew William gasped. "Three thousand carats! Why, there's nothing like it! It would be the most famous stone in the world!"

"No doubt about that," said Mr. Bressani.

"How much is the Great Mogul?" asked William.

"Less than two hundred carats."

"And the Koh-i-noor?"

"One hundred and eight."

"And the Star of the South?"

"About a hundred and twenty-seven carats."

"Did you ever see the Hope diamond?"

"Yes; forty-five carats. Almost circular in shape; sold for eighteen thousand pounds. But it is believed--at least there is a story--that it brings bad luck to its owners."

"It is blue, isn't it?"

"Yes, blue, and a good color, but not so beautiful nor so rare, as this shade of green. This is a wonder." And as he spoke he turned the stone in every light. "It's a marvelous thing. Marvelous! Almost unbelievable!"

"Can you tell me," said Cyrus, "about how much it is worth?"

Mr. Bressani shrugged his shoulders: "Anything."

"You mean," said the Senior Partner, "it would be impossible to guess, even approximately, at its value?"

"Yes. For you know the value of diamonds is speculative--depending on many conditions; size, shape, purity, color--and how they cut. The Victoria--one hundred and eighty carats--was sold for four hundred thousand pounds. But diamonds were rarer then. This, when properly cut into the right number of stones, would bring more than three million dollars."

William, in his enthusiasm, slapped his friend on the back. "Well, old man, you have struck it rich this time."

The calm-eyed Cyrus smiled and nodded.

"Then this diamond of mine," he said, "would be ten times bigger than the Koh-i-noor or any of those other stones?"

"Yes, sir."

"Isn't there a famous Sancy diamond?"

"Oh, yes. But that weighed only fifty-three carats. The Sancy diamond was famous more from its unusual history than from its size."

"What was its history, Bressani?" said the Senior Partner. "I never heard it."

"Well, it belonged to Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, who was wearing it in his hat at the battle of Nancy, the day he was killed. A Swiss soldier found it and sold it to a clergyman for a gulden; about forty cents. Then it came into possession of Anton, King of Portugal, who sold it for 100,000 Francs. Soon afterwards it became the property of a French gentleman named Sancy. A descendant of this Sancy was sent by Henry III as ambassador to Soluere and the King required the diamond as a pledge. The servant who was carrying it to the King was attacked by robbers and murdered, but before dying he swallowed the diamond. His master, knowing his devotion, had the body opened and found the diamond in his stomach."

"And where is it now?" asked Cyrus.

"It was bought by a Russian nobleman in 1835, for half a million rubles; about four hundred thousand dollars."

"Jove!" exclaimed William. "Some difference in price between forty cents and four hundred thousand dollars!"

"And how much bigger," asked William, "is this than the Sancy?"

"That weighed fifty-three carats. This, when cut, would weigh about three thousand."

"Jove! Sixty times as much! Would it be worth sixty times four hundred thousand dollars? That would be about twenty-four million dollars."

Mr. Bressani smiled and shook his head. "Times were different then--and to-day there are more diamonds."

"I suppose many of the famous jewels," said William, "if they could speak, might tell us stories as surprising as the Sancy's."

Then Cyrus Alton, in a low voice, addressing nobody in particular, said: "It would be worth the price of this diamond to know its history."

The Bressani eyebrows went up--high up--and then far down. And beneath the frown the fierce eyes looked eagerly toward the speaker. "Has it a remarkable history, Mr. Alton?"

Cyrus smiled, slowly and somewhat sadly, and gently shook his head. "I wish I knew. I would almost give the diamond's price to know its story--much as I need the money."

"Do you know nothing of its history?"

"Nothing. I only know that if we could see what that stone has seen we should enter a new field of knowledge. It would throw light upon a world of unknown things, earlier than human history."

In silence the jewelers regarded the speaker, as if waiting for some explanation of his words.

Mr. Bressani's eyebrows had shot up to the highest attitude yet attained. In a low voice, but in a tone that showed the liveliest curiosity, he asked, "Just what do you mean, Mr. Alton?"

"I mean the story of this diamond's country would be a story so overwhelming, so far beyond us, so complete and final in its stupendous tragedy that our own human drama would seem a trifling comedy."

These words were spoken in a calm but earnest manner, and they impressed the listeners. A silence followed. Then Mr. Bressani asked: "What _is_ this diamond's country?"

Cyrus hesitated. He knew that if he told the truth it would appear incredible to his hearers--like a fairy tale for children: that he would be regarded either as a fool, to be pitied, or as a willful liar. While he hesitated the Senior Partner came to his rescue.

"Mr. Alton has already informed us that he has reasons for not telling where he found it."

Mr. Bressani's enthusiasm, however,--and his curiosity--were far too strong for accepting so easy a defeat. "But what part of the world? He can tell us that."

"As a matter of fact," said Cyrus, "I don't know, myself, the name of that particular country."

Again the bushy Bressani eyebrows sailed aloft, then dropped and beetled over the fierce black eyes. "You don't know in what country you were when you found it--or bought it?"

"I am not sure that it has a name."

"A most unusual country!"

"Yes, it certainly is;--most unusual."

Nephew William laughed. "And it must be a long way off, Cyrus."

"It is."

"And pretty small, if it has no name."

"No, not so small. But its name was long ago forgotten. There are no survivors to remember it."

"But you can tell us," said Mr. Bressani, "whether it is North of here, or East, or West, or South."

"Why--er--really, I couldn't tell you even that. Nobody could."

"Perhaps it's beneath us, or above"; and in the Senior Partner's tone was a suggestion of irony.

Cyrus ignored the tone and answered pleasantly: "I am not trying to deceive, or to mislead you in any way, but it really is a journey in which points of the compass are no guides whatever."

On the faces of the three jewelers came three involuntary frowns.

"You are certainly having fun with us, Cyrus," said William.

"No, not at all. But, you see, a compass would be useless where there is no such thing as North and South."

"No such thing as North and South!"

"No. Nor East and West. The needle would lose its bearings. It wouldn't know where to point."

"Oh, come now! Is that a joke? Are we to laugh at it?"

Cyrus smiled. "I should not blame you for laughing--but it is not a joke. I am telling the truth."

"You mean to say, I suppose, that you had such bad weather--electrical storms, perhaps,--that the needle couldn't work."

"No, there was no weather at all."

"You mean no bad weather?"

"Nor good weather, either."

With some impatience William demanded: "Now just what do you mean, Cyrus?"

"I mean, that in going and coming, there was no such thing as wind nor rain, nor sunshine. It was all twilight--a dusk that was almost darkness. It was a trackless, uncharted voyage. And not a shore to touch at."

"Then you crossed an ocean? It was all by sea?"

"No. There was no sea--no water anywhere."

This time William made no effort to hide his annoyance. He merely whistled, and walked away, toward the window.

"I don't blame you, Billy, for being enraged," and Cyrus also stood up. "But on my honor, I am telling you the truth. And I am willing to tell you anything except the exact location. Later on you will understand my reasons for being so secretive."

"Perhaps you can tell us," said Mr. Bressani, "in what surroundings you found it: whether under ground or above."

"Above. Just lying on the ground."

"My own guess," said William, "from its being already cut, is that some oriental chap either gave it to you or sold it."

"No, I found it, entirely by accident--among some ruins."

Mr. Bressani's eyebrows again went up. "Ruins of what?"

"Of an ancient building--a very, very ancient building."

"But covered with earth, I suppose, and overgrown with vines."

"No. Not a trace of vegetation anywhere in sight."

"It must be a melancholy place."

"It is."

"But once a city?"

"I think so."

"The ruins of Palmyra!" exclaimed Mr. Bressani. "They are now a sandy waste."

"No; many thousands of miles from Palmyra."

"Many thousands of miles! That means a long distance."

"It _is_ a long distance."

"Then it can't be any part of Asia, or even India?"

"No, sir."

"Africa, perhaps?"

"No."

"A South American diamond?"

"No."

As Mr. Bressani's ferocious, black eyebrows settled down over his eyes the Senior Partner laughed. "This reminds me of the game of twenty questions. And you are surely the victor, Mr. Alton."

But Mr. Bressani was too much in earnest to think of jokes or games. "You say these ruins are very old?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old? Greek or Roman, perhaps?"

"Older than human history."

Again the three listeners frowned. With a shade of sarcasm the Senior Partner addressed his nephew: "Mr. Alton has a poet's fancy."

Cyrus understood, but his face showed no annoyance. Smilingly he said, "You will get more digestible answers, perhaps, if you don't ask me where I found it. The whole adventure is incredible. If I told you the truth you would not believe me."

"Try us," said William.

The Senior Partner waved his hand in apology. "Please don't think we doubt your word, Mr. Alton. But when you say older than human history you are speaking figuratively, as it were."

"No, sir. I am speaking literally. It is the belief of scientists that millions of years have passed since any changes have occurred in that--in that--territory."

"Millions of years!"

"Yes, sir. It is somewhat a matter of geology. And a geological period, you know, is still young at a million years."

The Senior Partner nodded politely. "Yes--very true. But, as diamonds are found in so few places perhaps you will tell us, just to gratify a natural curiosity, what kind of a region you have discovered--the general nature of the country."

"The nature of the country?" Cyrus Alton repeated. Then, lowering his eyes, as if better to recall the scene, he hesitated for a moment. "The nature of the country," he again repeated, and his manner became serious. "No tree, nor bush, nor blade of grass is there; no living thing of any kind: no birds--nor air to fly in;--not a drop of water. The surface of the earth--no, not earth for there is no earth--is stone--and ashes. 'Tis a cinder--the mummy of a world: an unending necropolis. Once it was thickly populated. Now it is the Land of Death, and deader than Death itself. Not even a memory is there, for those who might remember have been dead uncounted ages. They themselves are long since forgotten."

On the faces of his little audience Cyrus saw a mild bewilderment--and curiosity.

"You say we have all heard of this country?" asked the Senior Partner.

"Yes, and you have seen it--from a distance."

"Are you sure," said William, "that we have all seen it?"

"Yes, absolutely sure."

"And we have probably been there?"

"No--I think not."

"Then, how could we see it?--from a railway train--or from a steamship?"

Cyrus smiled. "Yes, you could see it that way--if you wished."

"But how do you know we have never been there?"

"I don't."

"You only think it."

"Yes, I only think it. You may have been there. I am quite sure, however, that you have not."

"But why so sure, Cyrus? You have been there yourself."

"Yes."

"And what man has done man can do."

"Yes, sometimes, but not always, Billy. Only one man has eaten, for instance, a certain huckleberry. And, as a rule, only one man marries his own particular girl. You, for instance, have seen the top of Trinity spire, but you have never been there."

"You may as well say I have seen the moon, but never been there."

Cyrus laughed, quite a hearty little laugh, as if thoroughly amused. "Well I do say it. And it's true, isn't it?"

"Yes, but it has no relation to the argument."

"Why not? I am merely proving my statement, that you have seen interesting places which you have never visited. Either Trinity spire or the moon might hold this diamond."

"But Trinity spire does not fit your description of the country."

Again Cyrus seemed amused. "But the moon fits it."

William laughed. "Well, Cyrus, you are just the same boy in an argument that you were at school. And how mad I used to get! But this mysterious land that you are concealing so successfully, the land we have all seen but never touched--or even heard about, apparently--must be a God-forsaken district. Is it a desert--like Sahara, for instance?"

"No, quite different. This is rock, with plains of lava from volcanic mountains and everywhere, in all directions, dust and ashes: the dried bones of its own past--whatever it was. The whole surface of the country seems upheaved and torn, all on a gigantic scale, as if it was baked too much, then split and sundered in the cooling. A fantastic, solemn region."

"Well, by Jove!" said William, at last, "I still maintain that I have never seen the place--nor anything like it."

"I said from a distance."

"Must have been a mighty long distance."

"It was."

"And a mighty unusual country!"

"It is. Scattered about are high mountains, once volcanoes. And in the craters of these old volcanoes some of them many miles across, I saw the ruins of cities. There must be hundreds of these mountains, and hundreds of ruined cities."

"Then you traveled over the whole country."

"No, indeed! But I looked down on it as I approached, and could take in a vast area."

William straightened up, and his eyes opened wider. "Oho! Then you went there in an air-ship!"

Cyrus nodded.

"That accounts for no water on the voyage, and all that other stuff you gave us."

Again Cyrus nodded. And, with a broad smile of amusement: "It might also account for Trinity spire and the moon."

But his audience was too much in earnest to be thwarted by jokes. "Yes, yes!" said Mr. Bressani. "That explains much that you have said. Please continue."

William, however, with a frown, leaned back against the desk. "Cyrus, I still believe you are lying to us."

"No, truly I am not. I don't pretend to give you the whole truth, but what I do tell you is the truth and nothing else."

"Go on, Mr. Alton," said the Senior Partner. "We interrupted you. It certainly is an amazing country."

Cyrus continued. "The whole country is cracked and broken with chasms. From one volcano cañons radiate in all directions. They are miles in width, and they seem bottomless. And even in these cañons, on projecting ledges, are the ruins of cities."

"But why should they build their cities in those sunless chasms?"

"My belief is that the moisture evaporated, then the surface of all that country became so unbearably hot--with no atmosphere as protection from the sun's rays--that the inhabitants were driven to the cañons."

"What a life! No wonder they all died!"

"That portion of the universe," said Cyrus, "is the desolation of desolation, the tragedy of tragedies. It is a world of ashes. And over everything an awful silence, a silence that frightens you. The stillness of death, compared to it, is a merry waltz."

"How did you happen to find this country?"

"I had heard of it. You all know about it in a general way, as I have already said. But I tried to get there and happened to succeed."

William shook his head. "Sorry to contradict you, Cyrus, but I never heard of such a place."

Cyrus laughed. "Oh, yes, you have! Excuse me, but you have all read about it, and seen many pictures of it."

Mr. Bressani took up the diamond. As he caressed the glistening marvel he asked: "Do other people know of these ruins?"

"I think not."

"You have never heard of any one else who has been there?"

"Never."

"Is the district difficult to reach?"

"Very--almost impossible. In fact the trip is so long and risky that you need have no fear of other explorers. I tell you this merely that you may know the chances are small of the market being flooded with diamonds--at least from that quarter. Nobody else will try it. You may be sure of that. The diamonds are there, however, and plenty of them."

"Plenty of them!"

"Plenty--by the cart-load."

William whistled. And the two older men whistled--in spirit--and raised their eyebrows. With the Bressani eyebrows still in the air their owner inquired: "You say this was lying on the top of the ground?"

"Yes; among other fragments."

"Fragments of what?"

For a moment the visitor closed his eyes. "That is hard to answer. I was there at dusk. The light was peculiar, and uncertain--and changing. I should say there were fragments of cups and vases, of carved capitals, scraps of metal that might be architectural ornaments, all mingled with blocks of some white material, perhaps marble, or alabaster. And all finely carved."

"These things were scattered about the ground?"

"Scattered about, but not literally on the ground. Many were lying on a pavement of different colored stones--the floor of a building I should say. The outer walls and several columns were still standing."

"It might have been a palace, a temple, a forum,--almost anything of size and importance."

"You know nothing of the history of those people, of their manners and customs?"

"Nothing, whatever."

"Where could I find out? That is, of course, if we had your permission."

"Nowhere. Nobody knows. It is all forgotten--long ago forgotten--with no records, no memories--not even a tradition."

There was a silence. Cyrus knew that his hearers were having more or less difficulty in digesting his statements. However, he smiled pleasantly, as he said: "My sympathies are with you, gentlemen, and my thanks for your courteous reception of my absurd story. But there is one thing I do know about these people. Although their buildings were often as high as ours, I know their legs were shorter. All their stone steps, in every case, had risers about half the size of ours."

"Ah! Then they were a race of pigmies."

"I should think so, and with long arms and very short legs. They were evidently strong on sculpture, as there are fragments of statues, heads, bas reliefs, monuments, etc., all scattered about. And the people represented are very much like ourselves, in some ways."

"You say you were there at dusk. Why didn't you see it by day light?"

"Well, the--er--climate is peculiar. The air, if you can call it air, is so very rarefied as to be no protection whatever against the heat of the sun. And the surface of the ground, by daylight, would burn your feet. And by night, there being no atmosphere twixt you and space, the temperature is about 300 degrees below zero."

"Three hundred degrees!"

Cyrus smiled and nodded. "That's what the scientists say. I had no thermometer with me."

"But no human being could live in such a temperature!"

"That is why I stuck to the twilight. And I suspect that is why the cities were built in the cañons."

"Why, of course! That explains it. I was wondering what on earth could induce anybody to want to live in those God-forsaken chasms."

Mr. Bressani, however, had a deeper interest in abnormal gems than in climatic conditions. "Did you find this piece all alone, by itself,--apart from others?"

"No; other pieces were near it."

"But not so large as this."

"Oh, yes! Some were much larger."

Mr. Bressani frowned. "Larger than this?"

"Yes, much larger."

"But not diamonds--not this same material?"

"I suppose they were. They looked just like it."

"Then why didn't you bring a larger piece? It would be a fabulous fortune, in itself."

Cyrus seemed uncertain as to his answer. "Well--there were--many reasons. One was that I did not know they were diamonds. Another was that I needed both hands for other purposes and could not carry--just at that moment--anything too large to go in my pocket. In fact I tried to pick up a beautifully carved fragment nearly the size of a football, but I had to drop it for this smaller one."

The three jewelers regarded him with eager faces, as children listen to a fairy tale. Mr. Bressani in a low, somewhat awe stricken tone, said:

"And there is really much of it?"

"Lots of it."

"But, of course, you are not absolutely sure it is the same material?"

"Well--I saw the other part of the one in your hand lying beside it, and it was four or five times the size of this one."

The three men turned to each other, as if to discover the effect, on other human beings, of such a statement.

The Senior Partner leaned forward, each hand grasping an arm of his chair. The Bressani eyebrows shot aloft, and he came a step nearer. Nephew William adjusted his lips for a whistle, but changed his mind. No sound came forth.

It was the Senior Partner who was the first to find himself, and return to business. Leaning back in his chair he cleared his throat. "Mr. Alton, if you were not an old friend of William's, and if I knew nothing about you, I should say that Munchausen, by comparison, was a clumsy beginner. But your own reputation and that stone in Mr. Bressani's hand, are proofs to the contrary--the best of proofs. Now let us get to business. Is it your wish to sell this diamond to us?"

"Yes, sir. That's why I came here. And I would prefer dealing with your house, if you care to bother with it."

The Senior Partner smiled. "It would be an unenterprising jeweler who declined to bother with what will soon become the most famous diamond of history--ancient or modern. If agreeable to you, Mr. Alton, you can leave the stone with us, and we will give you, now, a receipt for an uncut diamond of seventy-one hundred carats, value unknown. A few days hence, at your convenience, we will submit for your consideration a plan by which you shall receive a certain amount at once in cash, the balance to be governed by the final value of the stones as they are cut or sold. Would that be satisfactory to you?"

"Perfectly."

"And perhaps you will agree to give us the preference if you decide later to flood the market with diamonds the size of paving stones."