at no one would dream of looking there. He had no idea
that his pursuers were so close behind him; he was merely taking
precautions against any casual tramp who might be tempted to run through
his pockets.

Ten minutes later James Carstairs, explorer, gentleman and rolling
stone, limped into the picture, and the story of The Lost Valley entered
upon its penultimate phase.

PART III

_THE FINDING OF THE LOST VALLEY._

CHAPTER I.

THE CYPHER.

"You may smoke if you like, Mr. Cumshaw," Moira said graciously to our
visitor.

I said nothing; instead I silently handed the man my cigar-case. He
selected a weed with a discriminating care that I felt cast an
unwarranted reflection on the quality of the cigars I smoked. I watched
him in silence while he cut off the end with a neat, precise stroke of
his penknife, lit the cigar and blew a cloud of blue smoke out of his
mouth. All the time I was staring at him I could feel Moira's eyes on
me, and I knew that she was wondering what made me so boorish and
morose. Or, perhaps, with a woman's keen instinct for ferreting out the
things she shouldn't know anything about, she guessed just what was the
matter. To tell the truth I was just beginning to feel a little jealous.
Frankly I considered that she was paying too much attention to Mr.
Albert Cumshaw, and I hadn't two sharp eyes without seeing that he
openly admired her. Of course I had turned down her overtures of
reconciliation, and I think I told her plainly enough that there was no
possibility of my falling in love with her again; but, if all that were
perfectly true, I shouldn't have been jealous because the two of them
took to making eyes at each other. The fact remained that I was a little
hurt by what I saw, and I had to recognise, even though I ran counter to
the promptings of my common-sense, that I wasn't as indifferent to her
as I would have myself believe.

I brought myself back with a jerk to the matter in hand.

"What do you propose doing about the matter?" I asked of Cumshaw.

He did not reply immediately. His right little finger flipped the ash
from off the end of his cigar, and then the dark curly head lifted and
the glowing eyes looked straight into mine.

"What do I propose doing!" he repeated. "Well, if it was left to me," he
said, after a contemplative pause, "I'd say the treasure's there, and
the sooner we go after it the better. We know already that there's other
people on the job--t