“Good-night!” I cried. “Don’t I see the treasure?” Against the walls of chilled steel my voice rose like that of a tortured soul. “Don’t I touch it!” I yelled. “Don’t I even get a squint?”
Even the watchmen looked sorry for me.
“You do not!” said Edgar calmly. “You have fulfilled your part of the agreement. I have fulfilled mine. A year from now you can write the story.” As I moved in a dazed state toward the steel door, his voice halted me.
“And you can say in your story,” called Edgar, “that there is only one way to get a buried treasure. That is to go, and get it!”