* * * * * Finally Prince Krassnov spoke again. "What, gentlemen--you have no further curiosity about me? How unflattering! I thought perhaps you might want to know why I have chosen to maintain my headquarters here on Kinchinjunga, the past two years, and how I have been occupying my time. But I hold no resentment. I shall tell you, so that you will be prepared for what I am going to propose." He turned and addressed the pigmy host in what must have been their own tongue. Then, facing his guests again, he said: "Now, come. Let us retire to my private study, where we shall have more leisure." They followed him from that dazzling chamber and proceeded on down the cavern to a fork that ended about twenty paces further in a massive steel-bound door. There he paused and twirled a knob like the dial of a safe. After a moment there came a click, as of tumblers meshing, and a tug on the knob swung the door open. The prince bowed. "Step into my little apartment," he said. They entered, to find themselves in a large oblong room furnished in Slavic luxury. * * * * * As they crossed a rich Oriental rug spread over the threshold, a musical gong sounded somewhere, and almost instantly two enormous Cossacks sprang into view, to bar their way with rifles. "My bodyguard," apologized Krassnov, shutting the door. "They are quite harmless, except to intruders. Just one of the little precautions that make life safer." He spoke to the men in Russian and they withdrew. Then he advanced to a divan beside a teakwood table on which stood a large copper samovar. Dropping down, he motioned for them to take seats beside him. "You will have tea, my friends? Or perhaps you would prefer whiskey and soda?" They chose the latter, since their recent exertions seemed to have warranted it, and their host tinkled a silver bell, bringing a Chinese boy beaming and salaaming. A few words to him and the samovar was lit; then he hurried off on padding feet, to return with miraculous speed, bearing not only the whiskey and soda but a platter heaped with exotic cakes, cubed sandwiches of caviar and spiced fish, together with a profusion of other delicacies--doubly welcome to men who had toiled all day on a mountain peak, with nothing but chocolate to sustain them. And while they drank and ate, Prince Krassnov told his story--a story whose very first words were an admission that he was the head of the great diamond-smuggling plot Stoddard had set out to trace down. * * * * * It was a story as dramatic and romantic as it was unscrupulous. Finding himself and the crew of the rocket marooned on the upper slopes of this mighty mountain, in the midst of an incalculable wealth, he had set about at once to capitalize their astounding discovery.