Jack looked hard at Tim and hesitated, but Philip, curled up luxuriously in his big chair, asked him to proceed. "You're going to tell an Arabian Night story, Jack." "Well, it sounds like one." "Good! I love romance. It's something about buried cities, and Aztecs, and treasure, and the god Huitzilopochtli." "Oh, bosh! You've been reading Prescott." "It seems to me," observed Peter, plaintively, "that with all these interruptions we'll never hear the story." "The first that speaks will be crushed," announced Tim, glaring around. "If you please, Mr. Duval, it's waiting we are." Jack laughed, and resumed his story. "While I was at Tlatonac--that is the capital of the Republic--I became mixed up in certain events, political and otherwise. I found I could do nothing I wanted to without assistance; so, as I suddenly remembered our promise to meet here this year, I came straight to London. In fact, I was in such a hurry to find out if you three had remembered the appointment, that I left my luggage at the railway station, and came on by a hansom to Portman Square. This is the reason I am not in evening dress." "Oh, deuce take your evening dress," said Philip, irritably; "you might have come in a bathing-towel, for all I cared. I didn't want to see your clothes. I wanted to see you. Go on with the story of the buried city." "How do you know my story is about a buried city?" "I never heard a romance of Central America that wasn't." "You'll hear one now, then. This isn't about a city--it's concerning a stone." "A stone?" echoed his three listeners. "Yes. An opal. A harlequin opal." "And what is a harlequin opal, Jack?" "Tim, I'm astonished at your ignorance. A special correspondent should know all things. A harlequin opal is one containing all the colours of the rainbow, and a few extra ones besides." "Well, Jack, and this special opal?" "It's one of the most magnificent jewels in the world." "Have you seen it?" Jack drew a long breath. "Yes; once. Great Scott, what a gem! You fellows can't conceive its beauty. It is as large as a guinea-hen's egg. Milky white, and shooting rays of blue and green, and red and yellow like fireworks. It belonged to Montezuma." "I thought those everlasting Aztecs would come in," said Philip smiling. "Well, Jack, and what about this stone?" "Ah, that's a long story." "What of that? The night's young, and the liquor's plentiful." "I don't mind sitting up all night, if the story is interesting. Start at once Jack, and don't keep us any longer in suspense. I hate wire-drawn agonies." "A year ago I was pottering about at Zacatecas, over a wretched little railway that wasn't worth bothering about. Being hard up, I went in for it in default of something better; but meanwhile kept my eyes open to see what I could drop into. After some months, I heard that the Republic of Cholacaca was about to open up the country with railways, so I thought I'd go there to get a job." "Where is Cholacaca?"