As they ate, El Diablo told Skye of their hunt for the jaguar, how the Indians had tracked it up the hillside and, when finally they had found its lair, they had discovered the dead body of its mate. It might have been grief that had driven it berserk, making it seek to kill not for food but for revenge.

“How will you cure its skin?” Skye asked.

“The Indians will cure it,” El Diablo replied. “It is a long and laborious process for they have no modern tools, but their skill makes it just as permanent and effective as if it was done by Rowland Ward.”

“Rowland Ward?” Skye repeated, remembering the taxidermist in Piccadilly where her father had send the first ptarmigan he had shot to be set up and where some sealskins from the Orkneys had been made into a rug for her aunt. “So you do know London?”

“I know enough to know that I never wish to see it again,” El Diablo said harshly. “Let’s talk of something else.”

He pushed back his chair from the table as he spoke and Skye had the sudden conviction that he had made a slip. He had not meant to refer to Rowland Ward, it was a mistake on his part, and suddenly she was very curious, longing to know more, yet knowing that she would gain nothing by asking questions.

El Diablo went to his desk, where he picked up something wrapped in paper.

“I have a present for you,” he said.

“A present?” Skye rose to her feet. “I don’t want any presents.”

“I am afraid you will have to have this one,” El Diablo said. “It has been made for you while I have been away.”

He crossed the room to her side. He opened a piece of bark such as the Indians use for wrapping paper and she saw what was lying in it flash in the light of the candles.

Earrings, fashioned of twin aquamarines, were set around with big diamonds. They were lovely and yet at the same time it was easy to see the Indian craftsmanship in the arrangement of the stones in the gold setting and in the strangely fashioned clips that held the ear.

“Did the aquamarines come from these mines?” Skye asked.

“No, but from one in the furthest West of the country, right on the Paraguayan border,” El Diablo answered. “I worked there some years ago and I mined these myself and also the diamonds, so, unlike those I offered you before and which you refused, they are mine to give.”

“I won’t take presents from you.”

“I am leaving you no choice in the matter,” El Diablo replied. “They are a present for my wife.”

He took one earring in the palm of his hand and held it out to her.

“Will you put it on yourself or must I do it for you?” he said. “I might hurt you.”