“Life and death—life and death!” said the Marquis. “Flint, we are in deep water.”
“If it’s only water, we’re lucky,” I said, leading the way out of the house again. “Sentries after this, Mark. I take no chances.”
The Marquis was looking at the marea, where the sorcerer, no doubt, was coolly sleeping.
“Blood—blood!” he said. “Always, where there is a great diamond, there shall be blood. The stone is blooded now, my Flint. When will be the next?”
55
II
THE JUMPING BAMBOO
CHAPTER II
THE JUMPING BAMBOO
To enter an unknown, hostile town in the heart of New Guinea—to have trouble over a village beauty, see a sorcerer restore the dead to life, discover a huge diamond, and be involved in a sudden death—all within twenty-four hours—is adventure enough for any one. Enough even for the Marquis.
It was more than enough for me—I do not go out looking for adventures, any more than I suppose a confectioner’s boy would go out looking for cakes; and for the same reason—I am sick of them. I go looking for gold, as a rule; sometimes I find it, and sometimes I don’t. If I do, I can have a good time with it in Sydney or Melbourne; if I didn’t, I can look again. But I never saw the adventure that you could pay in over the counter of a bar, or at the box-office of a theater. Adventures are a nuisance and a hindrance, so far as I have experienced them; and as to going out actually hunting for them——