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Stout, Rex, 1886-1975

"Under the Andes"


Harry crossed to the middle of the apartment and stood gazing
curiously about him. I turned to the door and looked down the
outer passage in both directions--our guide had disappeared.
"We appear to be friends of the family," said Harry with a grin.
"Thanks to Desiree, yes."
"Thanks to the devil! What did she mean--what could she mean?
Was it one of her jokes? For I can't believe that she would--
would--"
"Have sent us to death? Well--who knows? Yes, it may have been
one of her jokes," I lied.
For, of course, Harry knew nothing of the cause of Desiree's
desire for revenge on me, and it would have served no good
purpose to tell him.
We talked for an hour or more, examining our apartment meanwhile
with considerable curiosity.
The gold excited our wonder; had it come from Huanuco four
hundred years ago, or had they found it here in the mountain?
I examined the little blocks of metal or gems with which the
tables and seats were inlaid, but could make nothing of them.
They resembled a carbon formation sometimes found in quartzite,
but were many times more brilliant than anything I had ever seen,
excepting precious stones.


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