At last we gave it up in disgust; though, if the mass had suddenly risen before our eyes, I doubt if we should have screwed up courage to step over Gagool’s mangled remains, and once more enter the treasure chamber, even in the sure and certain hope of unlimited diamonds.  And yet I could have cried at the idea of leaving all that treasure, the biggest treasure probably that in the world’s history has ever been accumulated in one spot.  But there was no help for it.  Only dynamite could force its way through five feet of solid rock.

So we left it.  Perhaps, in some remote unborn century, a more fortunate explorer may hit upon the “Open Sesame,” and flood the world with gems.  But, myself, I doubt it.  Somehow, I seem to feel that the tens of millions of pounds’ worth of jewels which lie in the three stone coffers will never shine round the neck of an earthly beauty.  They and Foulata’s bones will keep cold company till the end of all things.

With a sigh of disappointment we made our way back, and next day started for Loo.  And yet it was really very ungrateful of us to be disappointed; for, as the reader will remember, by a lucky thought, I had taken the precaution to fill the wide pockets of my old shooting coat and trousers with gems before we left our prison-house, also Foulata’s basket, which held twice as many more, notwithstanding that the water bottle had occupied some of its space.  A good many of these fell out in the course of our roll down the side of the pit, including several of the big ones, which I had crammed in on the top in my coat pockets.  But, comparatively speaking, an enormous quantity still remained, including ninety-three large stones ranging from over two hundred to seventy carats in weight.  My old shooting coat and the basket still held sufficient treasure to make us all, if not millionaires as the term is understood in America, at least exceedingly wealthy men, and yet to keep enough stones each to make the three finest sets of gems in Europe.  So we had not done so badly.

On arriving at Loo we were most cordially received by Ignosi, whom we found well, and busily engaged in consolidating his power, and reorganising the regiments which had suffered most in the great struggle with Twala.

He listened with intense interest to our wonderful story; but when we told him of old Gagool’s frightful end he grew thoughtful.

“Come hither,” he called, to a very old Induna or councillor, who was sitting with others in a circle round the king, but out of ear-shot.  The ancient man rose, approached, saluted, and seated himself.

“Thou art aged,” said Ignosi.

“Ay, my lord the king!  Thy father’s father and I were born on the same day.”

“Tell me, when thou wast little, didst thou know Gagaoola the witch doctress?”

“Ay, my lord the king!”

“How was she then—­young, like thee?”

“Not so, my lord the king!  She was even as she is now and as she was in the days of my great grandfather before me; old and dried, very ugly, and full of wickedness.”