In 1931, F.A. Mitchell-Hedges published a novel, “The White Tiger”. The novel relates the adventures of “White Tiger” – a nickname some would give to Mitchell-Hedges himself – in Central America, where White Tiger, an English ex-pat, becomes the leader of a local Indian tribe. As part of his initiation and preparation for coronation, he is shown the treasure of the Aztecs, over which the tribe guards.
The treasure contains “crystal heads”, which is of course of interest as Mitchell-Hedges’ name would become associated with the most famous of crystal skulls. Coincidence, or did Mitchell-Hedges use a work of fiction to reveal how the skull came to be in his possession?

CHAPTER XVI
THE TREASURE OF THE AZTECS

LATER the White Tiger learned that there was no mystery in the disappearance of his Indians. Too terror-stricken to utter a sound, they had been led away by the silent-footed Maya while he was engrossed in his thoughts. They were taken care of in another part of the city—only the high priest, his personal attendants and the White Tiger occupying this section of the citadel, which was sacred to those initiated into the higher mysteries of their religion.
Undisturbed, cut off from the world, all these strange people had their appointed work. To some was allotted the task of keeping the space round the city clear, and the buildings in good repair. Others devoted their lives to astronomy and mathematics, in which sciences they excelled. They had evolved a calendric system more perfect than our present Gregorian. It had started on a date 4 Ahau 8 Cumhu, synchronising with our date 3373 B.C. and had functioned without the loss of a single day from that remote period up to the present.
As the days lengthened into weeks the White Tiger learned much ; their language and customs—religion—and even more than this. He gained a knowledge, though only slight, of the occult.
The mystery of how they had known of his coming—even the exact time of his arrival—and had prepared accordingly to receive him, he could never solve. Neither could he ever ‘ understand how they moved gigantic blocks of stone weighing many tons. Over this a veil of secrecy was drawn. That in some fashion they were cognisant of events taking place in the outside world, was certain. That they practised esoteric rites, and could employ light-rays, he was convinced. He suspected strongly that the secret of levitation, or suspension of gravity locally, was known to the higher adepts. Why they chose to withhold their knowledge, and why they withheld their power from the world was a mystery known only to themselves.
Quick at languages, he rapidly mastered the Maya tongue; and then one morning the High Priest announced that the time had arrived for his initiation. He explained there must be a public ceremony, that before all the assembled Maya he should be proclaimed king in the ancient custom. His coming had been foretold by the gods, who had commanded that he should be obeyed. Further, it was decreed that the vast treasure entrusted to the Maya by the last of the Aztecs should be placed in his keeping.
The gods had spoken. When the moon was at its full the ceremony of coronation should take place.
And so it came to pass. Not a cloud marred the beauty of the night when the White Tiger, dressed from head to foot in a long embroidered garment and wearing the royal mask and towering head-dress, passed along the white roadway between the pyramids. Behind followed the priests, nobles and lesser orders, whilst last of all came the women. A few hundred in all—a pitiful handful. Yet this remnant of a once-powerful civilisation that had numbered millions still retained its ancient dignity.
Slowly the White Tiger advanced. He made a regal figure as he took the place appointed to the ruler of the Maya at the summit of one of the flat-topped pyramids overlooking the arena, where stood the people.
The rays of the moon struck down, illuminating the scene with a ghostly light. The silence was broken by the incantations of the High Priest. The religious ceremony, long drawn-out, was brought to a conclusion by the offering up of the customary sacrifices to the gods of the Maya—a food-offering to Cuculcan, the god of Fertility—the slaughtering of a beast to Cimi, god of Death, but the ancient sacrifice of the maidens was, by order of the White Tiger, abolished.
Then as he rose to his full height, the High Priest drew near and hung round his neck the royal insignia—an enormous jade disc, and placed in his left hand a strange emblem carved from the same stone. The fingers of his right were then clasped round the hilt of an obsidian dagger encrusted with jade. The priest made a sign and the people bowed to the ground, and so remained silent and motionless whilst, with only the priest in attendance, the White Tiger descended from the pyramid and returned along the sacred road to the temple which had now become his residence.
The climax however was yet to come. As they passed into the temple, the priest impressively led him to one of the massive walls, placing his hand in a certain manner upon what appeared to be a solid block of stone. At his touch it rolled slowly back disclosing a flight of steps down which they passed. A lamp which the priest carried flung weird patches of light into the darkness. On and on down countless steps—into the very bowels of the earth until again the priest pressed the apparently solid rock barring their progress. With scarcely a sound the stone block turned as easily as if on oiled hinges and before them yawned a long tunnel. Passing through this they descended another flight of steps. For a third time the priest touched the wall and a huge stone rolled aside. Then in the dim light of the lantern the White Tiger saw that he was in an immense vault cut out of the living rock.
Before him, piled in endless confusion, lay the treasure of the Aztecs.
Gold chalices, bowls, jars and other vessels of every size and shape; immense plaques and strange ornaments all glittered dully. Of precious stones there were none, but many rare chalchihuitl (jadeite pendants). Masks of obsidian and shells beautifully inlaid were all heaped together with heads carved from solid blocks of crystal, Legend had not exaggerated the treasure of the Aztecs. Almost boundless wealth lay at the disposal of the White Tiger. [emphases added]
Bloodshed, rape and sickening torture, that the wretched Aztecs had undergone at the hands of the Spanish Conquistadores, had failed to wring from them this secret hiding-place. True to the oath which had they had sworn to their gods they had died rather than that their hated conquerors should benefit.
With this vast fortune a man could rise to any height, indulge in any luxury, purchase any title, and become one of the exalted of the earth. But the Indians judged, and rightly, that to the White Lord these things were of no account, and that only for their regeneration would this treasure be used.
The High Priest ceremoniously placed all at the disposal of El Tigre Blanco and instructed him how to gain entrance to the vault. Then turning, the two men left the chamber, the great stone doors rolling back into place behind them.
That night there came to the White Tiger strange dreams—vivid and disturbing in their realism. Blood and fighting, distorted heaps of dead, groans of the dying, quivering bodies rolling in agony. Spectral figures hurried past with gaping wounds and faces impressed with the stamp of death. The scene changed, and now he stood in a palace surrounded by his guards, while he received the ministers of foreign powers—he, the President of a great republic.
The dream of power was abruptly broken. A form appeared —tall, fair, with soft grey eyes and ash-gold hair. Her arms were stretched out to him, pleading. He could hear her whispered words—” I know it is not Good-bye, beloved. Have you forgotten ? ” Suddenly unseen hands snatched her away while her cry of despair rang through his brain. He started from his troubled sleep, the sweat pouring down him. He sat up and a low groan broke from his lips. It was horribly real. Of the bloodshed and his ultimate triumph as the President of a republic he knew and cared nothing. It could be but the fantasy of a disordered mind; but the girl ! the wound, never properly healed, was re-opened. Those words impressed for ever on his mind—” I know it is not Good-bye, beloved”—what could it mean ?
What was the significance of those unseen hands tearing her from him ? Why the despairing cry ? He shivered in sudden fear. Was she dead ? Had her spirit come to him in farewell ?
He rose, dressed and passed into the open. The day was breaking and in the early light the pyramids looked ghostly, and a cold wind whispered across them. Alone in this vast citadel, the resting-place of kings, priests and nobles, whose autocratic word had been obeyed by the Maya through thousands of years long past, he shuddered as over him swept the knowledge that no matter to what heights he might rise, to what power he might attain, what wealth might be his—all would be Dead Sea fruit; each step up the ladder of success would but add to his bitterness, his incompleteness, his utter loneliness. He knew that only if once more he might bold in his arms the dear form that had clung to him on that unforgettable night in the garden of Whiteleaf Manor, and know the indefinable wonder of her soft lips on his—then, and then only would he understand the real meaning of living. He turned. At his side stood the High Priest, enquiry in his eyes.
“Vision has come to me also,” he remarked simply. “Great your future, but red is the road you must travel. Nor shall you attain to the height which I prophesy without much suffering. Failure will be near. Man of blood, hand in hand with you shall Death stalk. At a time when the shadow of eternal night hovers over you, then to you will come the one you have lost and in union you shall become complete and fulfil your destiny. With his dying breath the Emperor Montezuma foretold your coming. The treasure is yours, so take freely what you desire, for it is decreed that this day you depart to that destiny which the gods have appointed. Come—even yet there is much to learn.”
And together they passed within the temple.
The further mystical rites in which the White Tiger was initiated will never be known. Hours elapsed, and when he emerged into the open and stood on the white roadway leading from the lost city, his face showed the strain of a great ordeal, but hope shone in his eyes.
His Indians were waiting, heavily laden with the golden treasure. The entire population was assembled. The ceremony of farewell was simple, as led by the High Priest they broke into a chant—a song of triumph.
As it died away they prostrated themselves and in silence the White Tiger set out to face once more the ruthless jungle.