“He came up to the hill?” inquired Corey.
“Yes,” replied The Condor. “Zegler states that Vincent heard the explosion and took to the woods. Last night be came out of hiding and appeared in town. His story ended the mystery. It is now conceded that no one could have been in the shack when it was dynamited.”
“Say” — Corey managed a grin — “that fixes it all right, chief. Why was Zegler worried?”
“Marquette is still in town,” explained Treft. “He is keeping Vincent with him. Probably he expects to find Spadling. Well” — The Condor chuckled evilly — “let him wait. He will give it up eventually.”
Rising, The Condor waved his hand in dismissal. Corey went from the room. The Condor laughed indulgently; then chuckled as he spoke to Cliff.
“Spadling was a pal of Corey’s once,” explained Treft. “Somehow, he traced Corey here. They saw each other in town. Corey informed me; I told him to meet Spadling and be friendly. To advise him that it would be best to leave.
“Spadling failed to accept the hint. Instead of leaving, he roamed the hillside. Zegler, our outside man, learned that he was using the deserted cabin as his base.
“Our explosion was for Spadling’s benefit. He was in the shack when we blew it from its moorings. A wise deed on our part, now that we know Spadling was being sought by Federal agents.”
THE CONDOR led the way through a side door of the study. Cliff followed, his elation high. He recognized the truth. Spadling, spying on Mountview Lodge, must have seen Harry come to town, and learned that Harry was on his way to the cabin.
The coincidence had been fortunate. The Condor’s crew had planted dynamite during Spadling’s temporary absence. Had Harry arrived first, he would have been the victim. Spadling had beaten Harry there; a crook had been murdered by crooks.
The Condor was leading the way down an inner stairway. A lighted cellar was reached; there he stalked to the rear and stopped before an iron door set in the rock. The Condor lifted a bar of metal and clanged against the door.
An interval followed. Scraping came from beyond the door. Released, the barrier swung outward. Cliff saw a steep passage hewn through rock. Standing within the door was a brawny, dark-skinned giant who had the appearance of a Hindu. The man was robed and turbaned in native fashion.
The Condor spoke in a babbling tongue. The huge man bowed and stood aside. Treft and Cliff entered.
The giant barred the massive door behind them. Treft chuckled.
“The man is Salyuk,” he stated. “Up ahead is Toklar, awaiting us” — Cliff saw another huge man at the end of the underground corridor, as Treft pointed — “and this is where they live.”
The Condor paused while Salyuk passed to join Toklar. Like mammoth slaves, the two unbarred another door at the inner end of the lighted passage.
“Both Salyuk and Toklar,” explained Treft, “are Singhalese. They spent their lives in the ruby mines of Ceylon. I brought them to America as servants. I wanted two faithful serfs who could dwell underground.”
The second door was swinging outward. Lights glimmered from within. Treft motioned Cliff forward. The Singhalese servants stood aside. Cliff stopped short, his eyes wide with astonishment at sight of The Condor’s strong room.
BEYOND the corridor was a spreading limestone cavern. Long stalactites hung from its vaulted ceiling, like shapely icicles. Beneath them were stumpy stalagmites, upon which drops of water fell.
Hidden lights illuminated the walls. Flowstone formations produced a marvelous display. The cave was an Ali Baba’s cavern, rendered majestic by the lights. Cliff felt The Condor’s claw upon his shoulder as his companion drew him forward.
“This cave was known,” stated Treft, his harsh voice echoing from the tinted walls. “But it was scarcely noticed; never explored, until I had built the lodge. Our store of dynamite in the cellar was used, in part, to blast the corridor. A careful task, all noise avoided.”
They were turning a corner in the cavern. The Condor paused to point out a formation in the limestone of the ceiling. A light glowed full upon the shape — a beaked bird, black upon white background.
“Curious,” chortled The Condor, “that I should have a profile here so much like my own. However, as I was saying, we had dynamite left over; and some of it proved useful when we disposed of Spadling, a few nights ago.”
The cavern opened into a niche at the left. The Condor pointed. Cliff saw a pyramid of stacked boxes.
All were cubical in shape; each two feet square. They formed a pile six feet in height.
“Teakwood boxes,” informed The Condor. “Filled with our treasure. Your pearls, Marsland, have been added to the hoard. My Singhalese guards are the sole custodians of our wealth.
“Before we depart, day after tomorrow, we shall hold a meeting in this grotto. We shall survey our wealth; take inventory, before we carry it away.”
To the right of the niche, Cliff observed a stack of curious objects. They reminded him of torpedoes, save for the fact that the ends were somewhat blunt. A large array of metal cylinders, they tapered in size.
The lowermost was more than six feet in length and three feet in diameter. The others were smaller: some three feet long and one foot through; others half that size. Atop the stack were tiny cylinders, fully two dozen.
“Special containers,” explained The Condor. “To be used instead of the boxes, in case we find difficulty in removing the treasure. These could be packed and carried separately by individuals.
“The first ones were made too large. They will be useless to us. I had the smaller containers constructed afterward. One of those small ones, Marsland, would carry Walpin’s pearls quite nicely.”
The Condor’s tone carried a strange warning note that Cliff had heard before. It was harsh; it brooded no answer. It was Treft’s manner of ending talk on any particular subject.
“Come here.” The Condor clamped his clawlike hand on Cliff’s shoulder. “View this remarkable sight at the end of the last corridor. A subterranean lake, its water pure as crystal.”
TREFT led Cliff to a spot where the roof sloped to the ground. A light reflected the surface of a limpid pool. No glass could have matched the smoothness of that water.
“Ten feet in depth,” stated Treft. “Yet the eye would estimate inches only. The lake is fed by hidden springs. Its level is constant.”
“Where is the outlet?” questioned Cliff.
“Listen.” The Condor drew Cliff toward the low end of the passage. A sighing roar sounded from the floor of the cavern. “Listen and look yonder.”
Treft pressed a button against the limestone wall. A floodlight showed a low passage curving from the end of the pool. Cliff saw a stream of water pouring down into the ground. Its echoes roared back, muffled by the earth.
“A natural dam of smooth limestone,” stated The Condor. “Over it, like a waterfall, pours the surplus water from the pool. Few caverns can match this marvel, Marsland.”
Cliff nodded. The beauty of the natural waterflow impressed him. Momentarily, his mind was freed from the strain of his past surroundings. Then came The Condor’s fierce clamp. Cliff was jarred into reality.
Treft switched off the single light. They moved back past the pool, away from the treasure niche, down through the corridor to the door where the Singhalese stood.
Salyuk and Toklar closed the inner barrier after they had passed. They continued to the outer door, Salyuk hastening ahead to open it.
Then they reached the cellar. The massive portal was closed and barred behind them. Cliff had seen the strong room; a spot of matchless beauty, hidden beneath a lair of evil. The surroundings of the lodge seemed hideous as Cliff and Treft arrived upstairs.