“Go on, go on,” cried Mrs. Jasher. “This is most interesting.”
Don Pedro plunged into his story without further preamble.
“Inca Caxas held his state amidst the solitudes of the Andes, away from the cruel men who had conquered his country. He died and was buried. This manuscript,”—he touched his pocket—“was written by his son, and details the ceremonies, the place of sepulchre, and also gives a list of the jewels with which the mummy was buried.”
“Jewels,” murmured Hope under his breath. “I thought as much.”
“The son of Inca Caxas married a Spanish lady and made peace with the Spaniards. He came to live at Cuzco, and brought with him, for some purpose which the manuscript does not disclose, the mummy of his father. But the manuscript was lost for years, and although my family—the De Gayangoses—became poor, no member of it knew that, concealed in the corpse of Inca Caxas, were two large emeralds of immense value. The mummy of our royal ancestor was treated as a sacred thing and venerated accordingly. Afterwards my family came to live at Lima, and I still dwell in the old house.”
“But how was the mummy stolen from you?” asked Random curiously.
“I am coming to that,” said Don Pedro, frowning at the interruption. “I was not in Lima at the time; but I had met the man who stole the precious mummy.”
“Was he a Spaniard?”
“No,” answered Don Pedro slowly, “he was an English sailor called Vasa.”
“Vasa is a Swedish name,” observed Hope critically.
“This man said that he was English, and certainly spoke like an Englishman, so far as I, a foreigner, can tell. At that time, when I was a