A fierce silence reigned. Every wolfish eye was on the leader. He smiled, rested his pair of pistols on either knee.
"Is there," he asked softly, "any gentleman who shall objec'?"
"Who,' demanded Georgiades hoarsely, "is to divide for us?"
"It is for such purpose," explained Quintana suavely, "that my frien', Emanuel Sard, has arrive. Monsieur Sard is a brokaire of diamon's, as all know ver' well. Therefore, it shall be our frien' Sard who will divide for us what we have gain to-day by our — industry."
The savage tension broke with a laugh at the word chosen by Quintana to express their efforts of the morning.
Sard had been standing with one fat hand flat against the trunk of a tree. Now, at a nod from Quintana, he squatted down, and, with the same hand that had been resting against the tree, he spread out the pile of jewels into a flat layer.
As he began to divide this into five parts, still using the flat of his pudgy hand, something poked him lightly in the ribs. It was the muzzle of one of Quintana's pistols.
Sard, ghastly pale, looked up. His palm, sticky with balsam gum, quivered in Quintana's grasp.
"I was going to scrape it off," he gasped. "The tree was sticky——"
Quintana, with the muzzle of his pistol, detached half a dozen diamonds and rubies that clung to the gum on Mr. Sard's palm.