"I remember," nodded Jager. "Go on, young woman."
"Then there was the box."
"The box?" repeated both men quickly.
"Yes. It was a small case, of dark gray metal, or stone—or something. This, too, was when I was little. He offered it to Larue, and laughed when Larue could not open it."
Jager and Lanark darted looks at each other. They were remembering such a box.
"My stepfather then took it back," Enid related, "and said that it held his fate and fortune; that he would live and prosper until the secret writing within it should be taken forth and destroyed."
"I remember where that box is," Lanark said breathlessly to Jager. "In the old oven, at——"
"We could not open it, either," interrupted the preacher.
"He spoke of that, too," Enid told them. "It would never open, he told Larue, save in the 'place of the Nameless One'—that must be where the house burned—and at midnight under a full moon."
"A full moon!" exclaimed Lanark.