More bewildered than ever, Elliott went away to find Bennett, who was able to throw no light on his perplexity. But they returned together to the hotel at three o’clock, where Margaret received them with a manner which was more animated than in the forenoon.
“This is the map,” she said, holding up a folded piece of paper, spotted and stained. “I have just been looking at it again. What place did you say my father told them?”
“Ibo Island, latitude south twelve, forty something. I forget the longitude,” replied Elliott. “Do you think that’s it?”
She consulted the map again.
“No. It isn’t Ibo Island, and it isn’t latitude twelve, forty, at all. It’s nearly a hundred miles south of that, I should think. It must be nearly two hundred miles from Ibo Island.”
“I thought he wasn’t telling the truth,” said Elliott, tactlessly.
“No,” the girl flashed back. “He died with an untruth on his lips for my sake. He thought I might still profit by this gold. Tell me,” she went on, after a nervous pause, “have those other men any right to it?”
“No more than we have.”
“Does the treasure belong to any one? I mean, will it be defrauding any one if we take it?”
“Apparently not. It’s treasure-trove. But where is it?”