Chapter 14

Having described to you the failure of my attempt to find Max in Rio, I will now continue the record of his adventures, as narrated by himself in his diary, from the moment that he caught sight of me in the cab _en route_ for Señor Montezma's office. Scarcely conscious of what he was doing, he had gained the pavement once more, muttering, as he did so, "Good heavens! Paul is searching for me. What am I to do?" A frantic desire to hasten after me and speak to me, so his diary confesses, took possession of him, but he put it away from him. He knew that to do so would only be to re-open the old wound, and later on to draw him back to the life he had made up his mind never to lead again. Consequently, he walked, even faster than before, in the opposite direction to which he had been proceeding when he caught sight of me. He scarcely knew what action to take. To return to Señor Montezma's office was impossible. But if he were going to give up his employment, what was he to do for a living? One thing was quite certain--he could not remain in Rio, and he could not starve. Then he remembered the offer Moreas had made him. If the latter had returned from Buenos Ayres, here was the chance he wanted. The thought was no sooner born in his brain than he searched his pocket-book for the piece of notepaper on which the address was written, and, having found it, set off to find the house. As he soon discovered, it was at the further end of the city, a fact for which he was more than grateful, when he remembered that I should scarcely be likely to venture so far in search of him. At last, after half an hour's walk, he reached the house. From the style Moreas had put on on board the steamer, he had expected to find a comfortable, if not a luxurious residence. To his great surprise, however, the house was situated in a back street, was tall, narrow, and inexpressibly dirty. Every window of that dismal thoroughfare was occupied by male and female heads, craned out in true Rio fashion to scrutinise the passers-by. His reason for being in the street at all, his personal appearance, even the very details of his walk were discussed. He paid no attention, however, but when he had located the house, entered it and made his way upstairs to the second floor. Having ascertained from a woman whom he met on the landing that he had selected the right door, he knocked. A voice within immediately bade him enter, and he did so, to find himself in a large room, scantily furnished, if indeed it could be said to have been furnished at all, and as dirty as the street outside. Moreas, in a state of _déshabillé_, was reclining on a cane settee beside the window, and, as usual, he had a cigar in his mouth. On seeing Max he sprang to his feet.

"Señor Mortimer, by all that's wonderful!" he cried, with an expression of the liveliest satisfaction upon his face. "I was only thinking of you a few moments ago, and now you turn up like the genii in the children's fairy stories. I hope your appearance means that you have been thinking over what I said to you some weeks back, and that you are prepared to accept my offer?"

"It is for that purpose that I am here," Max answered. "If we can come to a satisfactory arrangement together, I shall be glad to fall in with your plans."

"My dear fellow," the other cried enthusiastically, "I am quite sure we can agree on that and every other point. What is it you want to know?"

"Well, in the first instance, I want you to tell me when you intend starting on this expedition?" asked Max. "It is most imperative."

"The deuce it is!" returned Moreas, "what is the reason of it all--forgery, murder, or only petty larceny? I thought you had settled down to a respectable business career, and that you were determined to emulate the clinging propensities of the limpet?"

"My business career, as you call it, has suddenly come to a standstill," said Max gloomily, without thinking or caring very much what construction the other might place upon his statement. "It is sufficient that I must not be seen in Rio for some time to come, if ever."

"That is where the wind sits, is it?" retorted Moreas. "Well, it's no business of mine, of course; but, without wishing to be rude, I must say that I didn't think you had it in you. Hadn't you better make a clean breast of it to me, and see what I can do to help you? I'm rather resourceful in such matters."

"Good heavens! man," Max cried, "you don't surely suppose I'm wanting to keep out of the way because I've done anything wrong, do you? If you should----"

"My dear fellow," said Moreas with a deprecatory wave of his hand, "I don't think anything of the kind. I never do. It only makes trouble. You have overrun the constable, I suppose, and want to lie by until the pursuit has ended. Most of us do that at some time or other in our lives."

"I've done nothing of the kind," said Max with warmth. "I don't owe a halfpenny in the world. What's more, I have a considerable sum of money lying to my credit at my bank. No, the sole reason I have for wanting to get away quickly is because to-day I saw somebody connected with my old life. He's looking for me in Rio, and I want to make sure that he shall not find me."

"That is very easily managed."

"How am I to do it, then?"

"Stay here," said Moreas. "They will never think of looking for you in this quarter of the town. Until we leave, you will be as safe here as if you were in the centre of Africa. You don't surely suppose I haven't good and sufficient reasons for living in this hole? Of course I have, and this is one of them. If you think you can make yourself comfortable here, you are welcome to stay. What have you to say to my proposal?"

"That I shall be only too glad to accept your offer," Max replied. "The arrangement will suit me admirably. And now tell me something of the business in which you want my co-operation. You said, I think, that it was connected with diamonds."

"It is very much connected with diamonds," the other answered. "Eight or nine months ago I happened to be travelling in the diamond country, and it so happened that on this particular field there was a half-witted old lunatic who was everybody's butt. He was an extraordinary individual in many ways, and was always spying about for diamonds, and never finding them, in places where no sane man would dream of looking for them. He had theories of his own, he used to say, though there was no evidence that those theories ever turned up trumps. Every now and then he would mouch off by himself into the wilds, be away for a month or six weeks, and when he put in an appearance again, look as near starvation as a man could well do and still live. But according to his own tale he had never brought anything of value back with him. He had just returned from one of these little expeditions when I tumbled across him. His friends in the mining camp were making great game of him. I should say they got more fun out of that poor old lunatic over that journey than they had ever had from him before. He took it well, however.

"'You laugh at my diamonds,' he would cry, when they had gone a little too far with him; 'well, never mind, Señors, mark my words, the time will come when I shall find more diamonds than all the rest of you put together.' Then he would take two or three old pebbles out of his pocket and fall to polishing them as if he expected to improve their value. I wouldn't have lived that old boy's life amongst those men for something. The practical jokes they played upon him would have raised the temper of a mummy.

"Somehow, I had got the notion in my head that there was more in the old boy than met the eye. He seemed to be sharp enough when there was nobody about. In consequence, I kept my weather eye upon him. As doubtless you know, some of those daft chaps have curious instincts, and, as I have said before, seem able to find things in places where men with better brains would never think of looking for them. I shouldn't have been at all surprised to hear that the old chap had got a _cache_ hidden away somewhere. Having come to this conclusion, I made up my mind as to the