More monkeys came. The men withdrew from the race, leaned back against the wall, panting for air, watching the scampering monkeys.
Phil’s palms were bleeding, his knees raw, but a slow smile of content swept his face.
The monkeys had pulled out all of the mortar that could have been reached by human fingers. Now they were plunging their slender, sinewy arms in between the rocks, picking out little chunks of mortar, flinging them wildly, chattering, scrambling, scampering. And they enjoyed the game.
A monkey snatched a bit of mortar from a different place, getting it where it was more accessible. Phil made a swift kick at the animal. The monkey avoided the kick, stopped to chatter his rage and surprise. But the others continued the game.
Then the chase slowed. The monkeys became interested in prying into the wall. Minutes lengthened into an hour, and still the monkeys worked, exploring, chattering, pulling out mortar. Bit by bit they loosened the mortar all the way around the stone. The mortar became harder as it went deeper into the wall, but the tough little fingers made short work of pinching out bits, dragging it to the floor.
Finally they wearied of the game. One of the monkeys jumped for the window, paused, hesitated a bit, saw the green tops of waving trees, and scampered for the cool forest. Another joined him, and soon the cell was deserted save for the human occupants.
Phil stooped to the floor, began picking up the fine chunks of mortar.
“This comes first,” he said. “We can’t let the guards get suspicious.”
For more than an hour they labored frantically, getting the mortar picked up, throwing it through the bars. At length they had the cell well cleaned, and Phil was able to turn his attention to the stone which had been partially loosened.
He placed his hands against the face of the stone, heaved, grunted, twisted, withdrew his hands and shook his head. There were two red blobs upon the rock where his bleeding palms had strained.
“Still solid. Can’t loosen it a bit, but there’s a lot of mortar gone. I’ll keep tugging, first one direction, then the other. Then you can try it for a while.”
He inserted fingers in the crack in the wall, tugged at the stone, then placed palms against it again and pushed. Alternately he tugged and pushed, pushed and tugged. When he was exhausted Forbes tried it for a while.
“No use, old chap,” remarked Forbes, after a bit of last, straining effort, during which they had crowded their grimed, perspiring faces together to both pull and tug at the stone in unison. “It’s too heavy and it’s still anchored too well. The thing must be two feet square, and no knowing how far back it goes. The mortar gets stronger as it gets back where it’s protected from the air. I have a hunch we’re on a wrong tack.”
The men slipped to the floor, sat slumped against the wall, surveying each other dispiritedly. It had been their one chance and they seemed to have lost.
The sun swung away from the window. The heat became more pronounced. Flies droned lazily. Phil noticed that Forbes was nodding, dozing. His own eyes felt leaden. The lids closed, opened, blinked, and fluttered closed again.
Phil Nickers slept, a fitful sleep of dreams, of irritated slaps at crawling flies that clung to his greasy skin. His eyes opened at length, sleep swollen and bloodshot. His temples throbbed and pounded.
But his first, automatic concern was for that which had awakened him. A single glance told him all he needed to know. A monkey, holding some glittering object in its paw, was racing around the cell. Behind him came half a dozen other monkeys in mad pursuit. The animals paid no attention to the motionless forms of the sleepers. It was the brushing of a furry body against his shoulder that had awakened Phil.
The monkey who held the coveted prize wheeled and dodged, but Phil’s hand, snapping out, caught the animal by the tail.
With a shrill squeak of rage, he turned, and flashed glittering teeth. But that which he had been holding dropped from his paw.
Phil made a grab for it, not realizing what it was, hardly knowing why he had interfered in the chase. He let go the monkey’s tail as he grasped the glittering object. The monkey jumped for the bars, stood in the window, jabbering monkey-curses. The other animals followed him, remained grouped just without the bars.
Phil gasped as he saw what he had secured. It was a diamond ring, set after the fashion of an engagement ring, and it was engraved with Sanskrit characters on the inner circle.
The size of the stone alone was enough to command attention. It was a crystal-clear diamond of the finest water, and light radiated in snapping scintillations from its facets. It was larger than any diamond Phil had ever seen, and more brilliant.
He glanced at the monkeys, wondering where the ring had come from, sensing that it had been pilfered from one of the principals who were to take part in the wedding ceremony.
And then, as he saw the round, inquisitive eyes watching him greedily, Phil conceived a brilliant idea. He took the diamond between thumb and finger, made a quick pass, and thrust his fingers into the chink the monkeys had made in the stone side of their cell.
Apparently the diamond was in his fingers when he thrust his hand to the wall. Actually the diamond had been slipped to his other hand. Therefore, when he slowly withdrew his empty fingers from the dark chink, the gesture was convincing.
Then Phil gazed solemnly at his snoring partner, and smiled, with his face turned toward the window. Then he, too, crawled back against the wall and pretended to sleep.
The monkeys looked at each other.
Such things they could understand. The strange man-creature had stolen the gem from the monkeys, and had now hidden it in that strange dark crack in the wall. Then the man had gone to sleep.
The leading monkey cautiously dropped along the wall, his powerful, furry tail looped about the bars of the window. For several seconds he hung swinging back and forth, while Phil anxiously surveyed him from half-closed eyes.
Then the monkey dropped to the flag floor, and scampered across to the wall. He plunged his hand gropingly within, pulled forth his arm, and inspected that which he held in his grasp. It was nothing but a round piece of dead white mortar. He made a grimace, dropped the bit of mortar to the floor, screwed his forehead into washboard wrinkles and reached again.
The other monkeys trooped into the room.
Phil remained motionless, his eyes closed to mere slits, watching with tense anxiety, praying that Forbes would not awaken and frighten the little workers.
The afternoon sun slanted to the west. The cell became darker. Both men leaned against the wall, breathing regularly, rhythmically. The monkeys worked feverishly. They had apparently seen the gem go in that crack, they had not seen it come out. And they had become fond of the diamond, wanted to survey its glittering surfaces. There was nothing to fear from these two sleepers, and so they pulled out bit after bit of mortar, each monkey thinking he had secured possession of the gem until that which his fingers had closed upon was brought to light.
It was not until dusk approached and Arthur Forbes terminated a snore in a snort, moved, rubbed his eyes, that the monkeys took alarm, scampered off into the gathering shadows.
Phil made a swift leap for the stone.
At the bottom of the wall was a considerable pile of mortar fragments. The monkeys had worked their way well around the stone, searching for their plaything. And each monkey had dug for himself. As a result a dark band showed about the entire outline of the stone.
Phil tugged at the rock, pushed, tugged again. A very faint, crunching sound transmitted itself through the stone.