Elliott, still half-dazed, reflected that the missionary had not ceased to astonish him, even after death.
“He intended to give you a share of it. Do you remember that I once said that he might be able to do something great for you?”
“Well, in that case,” said Elliott, trying to focus this new aspect of events, “did he tell those fellows the right place? If he did, it’s too late to look.”
“Did he tell them anything?”
“He said the wreck was on Ibo Island, latitude and longitude something. I supposed that he said it merely to save himself—the first place he could think of. Do you remember where the exact spot was?”
“No. But I have the map in my trunk.”
“Would you mind getting it? Of course,” he added, “you’ll have an equal share in whatever we get out of it. But if you really know the right spot there isn’t a minute to lose.”
She sat without moving, however. “Come and see me this afternoon,” she said, finally. “I want to think it over.”
Elliott was astonished at this request. Surely she could not distrust him, though unquestionably it was her secret. He reflected dubiously that there is never any knowing what a woman will decide to do with a delicate case.
“You said that one of your friends—one of your partners—was in the city,” she said, as he left. “Please bring him with you this afternoon. I think it would be right.”