“Why!� she exclaimed, brushing aside her tears, “I, myself, have the other half and also the image.�
I stared at her stupidly, not in the least taking in her meaning and she evidently resented my dullness.
“I have the other half of the parchment, the missing portion of the map, and the little idol, I tell you,� she urged.
“You don’t mean to say—� I began in amazement.
“Yes,� she interrupted, “they came to me from my mother. When she died five years ago she gave them to me with much the same account as my father writes. I have never shown them to anyone, never mentioned the circumstances, even.�
“Why not?� I asked.
“I scarcely know. The torn map was valueless. I attached no special importance to the hideous little image. But now, now—�
“It is a miracle,� I said, “that the two pieces should have come together in your hands.�
“I don’t yet understand what it all means,� she said, “but—�
“Meanwhile,� said I, “may I respectfully suggest that you get the other piece and the idol or image and let me look at them? I know something about such matters.�