“Mom’s jewel box!”
“A duplicate of Mom’s box,” Ken corrected.
With shaking hands he lifted the lid. The box was empty. But the lead lining in the bottom lay on a slant out of its proper place. Ken inserted the fork under one corner and pulled.
The lining lifted, revealing a half-inch of space beneath it. Ken took out the object that had been concealed in that shallow secret compartment. It was flat, almost the same size as the box, and wrapped in flannel.
He unwound the cloth.
Neither of them said anything for a long moment. They were looking at the three steel engravings required to print a ten-dollar bill.
CHAPTER XIX
OUT OF THE SKY
Sandy reached out to touch them as if he didn’t trust the evidence of his eyes. “The one for the back. And the two for the face—one for green ink, one for black.” He shook his head amazedly. “And they were in that box!” He felt the lead lining. “It’s as thin as paper,” he said. “They must have made it that way to compensate for the weight of the plates—to make both boxes weigh about the same.” He looked up at Ken. “But they didn’t quite do it—they were a few ounces out.”