Rocks was so sunk in grief that he scarcely noticed the men who lifted all that was mortal of the old archeologist on to a stretcher.
Kennedy came to him and said sympathetically. "Don't take it so hard, Malone. Morton, I guess, was a friend of yours."
Rocks told the detective what the archeologist had meant to him. Kennedy's eyes softened. "I'm sorry, Malone. We'll do everything we can to discover what happened, but frankly I don't know which way to turn. I've been talking on the phone to some of the men who are in charge of the museum. McCumber was one, Sharp was another. They're on their way over here."
The detective hesitated. "Malone, maybe you can help us."
"I'll do anything I can."
"Good. When I talked to Mr. Sharp, he said, 'I knew something like this was going to happen. I knew it!' When I asked him what he meant he said something about a box that Morton had brought back with him from Asia."
"Box?" The touch of an eerie chill raced down Rocks' spine. "Yes. There it is, sitting on the scale we use to weigh specimens."
The lid was open.
"He—he must have opened it this afternoon," Rocks said.
He wondered what Morton had found in that box. Treasure—or something else? It was empty now, the lid back, the cunning combination lock visible.