Isabel lifted her shoulders in a deep shrug. ‘Maybe—that is all I can say. señorita, I must tell you something now of which I am much ashamed.’ She paused. ‘I love my brother, but sometimes he is not kind. Sometimes, when he has his friends, he tells me to go away, to leave them in peace, and this hurts me. So they go to his room and they talk, and sometimes I go to my room where there is an amario on the wall next to Miguel’s where there is also an amario.’ She paused again. ‘You know what I am trying to say?’
‘I think so,’ said Rachel. ‘There are adjoining—wardrobes, perhaps, and you can—hear what they are talking about.’
Isabel blushed unhappily ’si, it is so. I am much ashamed now, but before I used to laugh to myself because Miguel thought he had his friends to himself, and I could not share in the things they talked about.’
Her eyes gleamed for a moment and Rachel thought that the sheltered daughter of the house had probably found her eavesdropping on purely masculine conversations more than enlightening at times.
She said, ‘So you listened and you heard Mark and Miguel talking. Is that it?’
Isabel nodded. ‘It was then I knew my father would be angry because Miguel had spoken to Marcos of forbidden things.’
‘What forbidden things?’
Isabel looked down at her lap again. ‘Emeralds,’ she said in a low voice. There was a long taut silence, then she went on. ‘Our emerald mines here in Colombia, Señorita Raquel, are the most famous in the world. They make much money for our country. But not all the emeralds that leave Columbia do so with the will of our government, you understand.’
There was another pause and Rachel made herself say dry-mouthed, ‘Smuggling? You mean Miguel and Mark were talking about smuggling emeralds?’
’si, and from what Miguel is saying I know that he has done this thing, and that if my father ever finds out he will be angry, because it is so much against the law, and the law means everything to my father. He would think that Miguel had dishonoured him.’
Rachel said in a hollow voice, ‘Do you mean that Miguel was suggesting that Mark should become an emerald smuggler?’
‘No, not that. He seemed to be warning him. Many people die all the time because of emeralds. There is much danger. He says that he thinks your brother is a little mad. And then Señor Marcos says “You would not think I was so mad if I came back with the Flame of Diablo.” ‘
‘What is the Flame of Diablo?’
‘It is a legend, Señorita Raquel, a story that I heard when I was a child, as did Miguel. It is said that somewhere in the hills to the north there is a mine where one can find emeralds worth many millions of pesos. But it is also said that no one has set eyes upon this mine since the days of El Dorado, the Golden One who used emeralds from the Diablo mine to ornament himself before he made the offering in the Sacred Lake.’
‘Then Diablo is a place?’ Rachel queried.
Isabel shuddered. ‘It is truly named,’ she said in a low voice, ‘for it is a place of the devil. Many people seek the Diablo mine and the green flame which burns there, but they do not return. My father says the reason is simple. It is a dangerous place. Often there are landslides, and the rivers are deep with fierce currents and little fish that can eat a horse and rider before a man can utter a last prayer, and leave only the bones. And there is el tigre who kills, and many snakes. Also bandidos and other evil men,’ she added, crossing herself. ‘Perhaps it is all so, but there are those who say the reason why the Flame of Diablo stays hidden is that it is guarded by the old gods who were worshipped before the conquistadores came to this place, and that all who seek the Flame are accursed.’
In spite of herself, Rachel felt a long cold shiver run the length of her spine. It was all very well to tell herself robustly that only the very credulous would believe such a tale, but here in this alien land, in the very shadow of the pagan mountains, it was difficult to dismiss Isabel’s recital as nonsense.
‘And you think Mark has gone to this dreadful place?’ she asked, steadying her voice.
Isabel’s eyes met hers frankly. ‘I did not, because Miguel talks much to your brother, telling him of the dangers. But now you come and tell us that he has not returned to Gran Bretaña, and I worry, because he told Miguel that was what he planned to do. I think perhaps he only told Miguel this to put his mind at ease, so that he would not blame himself for having told him the legend. There are many such stories, you understand. I think Miguel did not believe Marcos would take him seriously.’
‘Mark’s a geologist,’ Rachel said, passing her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I suppose he might think that if this mine existed he had as good a chance as any of finding it.’ Or of dying, her mind ran crazily on. Of being drowned in a river, or eaten by piranha fish, or shot by bandits, or even swept off a mountain ledge by a giant condor. Hadn’t she read somewhere that they sometimes attacked unwary travellers?
Isabel’s cold little hand crept into hers. Her great dark eyes looked enormous suddenly, too large for her pinched face.
‘What will you do, señorita?’
‘I don’t know,’ Rachel said rather helplessly. ‘After all, we have no real proof that that’s where Mark has gone, although it does seem more than likely.’
‘If and when I ever do come back, I’ll be rich. I’ll have so much bloody money, I’ll make you eat every word you’ve said. And I shan’t come back until I’ve got it.’
The words seemed to sting and burn in her brain. Through Miguel Arviles, Mark now knew of the possible existence of an emerald mine which could fulfil his wild promise. Also through Miguel he could know of a way to get any gems that he found out of the country. Generations ago there had been a wild streak in the Crichtons. Perhaps this streak had been reborn in Mark, blinding him to all aspects of the perilous game he was playing but its high stakes.
Rachel smiled reassuringly into Isabel’s anxious eyes.
‘I expect I shall go back to England myself,’ she said untruthfully. ‘After all, we may be making mountains out of molehills.’
‘Que quiere decir eso?’ Isabel’s brow wrinkled; ‘What is this molehill?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Rachel assured her. ‘I—I’ll inform the authorities here that Mark—seems to be missing, so that they can keep an eye open for him, but there isn’t much more I can do.’
‘No,’ Isabel agreed, but so despondently that Rachel was tempted to throw caution to the winds and tell her that she intended to set out for Diablo herself the following day. But she restrained herself. Isabel might fear her father’s wrath, but Rachel felt sure that would not prevent her telling Señor Arviles about her plans if she got wind of them, and he, Rachel did not doubt, would take steps to prevent her from doing anything so foolhardy.
She soothed her conscience by telling herself she did not want to cause the Arviles family any more anxiety on her behalf. But she knew in her heart that this was not altogether true. Perhaps it was not only in Mark that the forgotten wild streak had surfaced.
I’m going to Diablo, she told herself, even if it means coming face to face with the devil himself.
THE bus rounded the bend with a lurch that almost had Rachel flying out of her seat. She controlled the startled cry which had risen to her lips, and settled herself more firmly. The other passengers seemed used to coping with the bus’s vagaries, she noticed. Across the aisle, an Indian woman continued to feed her baby in the shelter of her ruana, her coppery face impassive. Rachel had seen as she boarded the