"I suppose they keep the crop for presidents and dictators. The quality indicates it," Gerald suggested, and Kit smiled.
Gerald tasted his black coffee. "If it's not bad form, where did you get this? There's nothing of the kind in Cumberland, and it's better than the Turkish they give you in London."
"It came from a Costa Rican hacienda, and was a gift. I'll get no more when the bag is done. If you come back in a month, you'll find me living in plain north-country style."
"I imagine you made up for that while you were away," said Gerald, who rose and went to the side-board. "A curious little jar and obviously old! Is this the kind of thing the Aztecs made?"
"I rather think it is Aztec, though I didn't buy it in Mexico. I gave about a pound for the jar and found a gold onza inside."
"An onza? Oh, yes, an ounce! The kind of coin some countries mint but very seldom use. Something of a bargain!"
"I suppose it was," Kit replied incautiously. "For all that, the onza wasn't mine, and in a sense my efforts to find the owner cost me a very large sum."
Gerald gave him a keen glance. Askew was not boasting; he had enjoyed the command of money.
"Well," he said, "I think I'd have kept the onza, whether it was mine or not." He paused and pulled a knife from its sheath. The handle was ornamented and the narrow blade glittered in the light, although its point was dull. "But what is this? Has it a story?"
"Take care!" said Kit "It may be poisoned; the Meztisos use a stuff that will kill you if a very small quantity gets into your blood. The fellow who owned that knife came near burying it in my back."