That was a stone temple carven with gods by some race long since forgotten. It had been covered by jungle until a few months before: now by many burnings, hackings and tearings its face had been cleared and its doorway laid open.
“What do you think of that?” the man repeated.
“I suppose it is one of these Indian temples,” Hi said.
“Yes,” the man said, “one that hasn’t been touched. Do you know anything about these places?”
“No,” Hi said, “I’m afraid I don’t.”
“What do you think of it?”
“It’s very grand.” Indeed it was very grand, being in two orders of colossal architecture, carven to the cornice with grotesques of gods. It seemed to Hi to be five cricket pitches long. It was built with a tough stone facing over brick. Wherever trees had broken the facing, the brick core was laid bare: they were small bricks laid in a mortar like melted flint spread very thin. The bricks were rose-red and seemingly as tough as stone. All the roof of this temple was covered with trees, shrubs, plants and flowers, beautiful exceedingly. It occurred to Hi that this was the sort of place for which Dudley Wigmore may have come prospecting.
“I’ve had the men at work at this one for some time now,” the man said. “I’m getting it a bit clear now. Where do you suppose the treasure would be?”
“I suppose the Spaniards got all the treasure at the conquest.”
“Not from this one: they never came near this one.”