d.

Her touch of shyness had infected me, too. It was as if unwittingly I
had intruded on her private affairs, had seen that morning an incident
not meant for the eyes of a stranger. We avoided the common interest
between us, though both of us were thinking of it.

Later I was to learn that she had been as eager to approach the subject
as I. But she could not very well invite a stranger into her difficulty
any more than I could push myself into her confidence.

"I hope you find the paper exactly as you left it, or rather as it left
you," I stammered at last.

She had put the map in her hand-bag, but at my words she took it out,
not to verify my suggestion but to prolong for a moment her stay in
order to find courage to broach the difficulty. For she had come to the
office in desperation, determined to confide in me if she liked my face
and felt I was to be trusted.

"Yes. It was torn at the moment I threw it away. My cousin has the other
part. It is a map."

"So I noticed. My impression was that the paper was yours. I examined it
to see whether it held your name and address."

Her blue eyes met mine shyly.

"Did it--interest you at all?"

"Indeed, and it did. Nothing in a long time has interested me more."

I might have made an exception in favor of the owner of the document,
but once more I decided to move with discretion.

"You understood it?" Her soft voice trailed upward so that her
declaration was in essence a question.

"I am thinking it was only a wild guess I made."

"I'd like right well to hear it."

My eyes met hers.

"Buried treasure."

With eager little nods she assented.

"Right, sir; treasure buried by pirates early in the nineteenth century.
We have reason to think it has never been lifted."

"Good reason?"

"The best. Except the copy I have, this map is the only one in
existence. Only four men saw the gold hidden. Two of them were killed by
the others within the hour. The third was murdered by his companion some
weeks later. The fourth--but it is a long story. I must not weary you
with it."

"Weary me," I cried, and I dare swear my eyes were shining. But there I
pulled myself up. "You're right. I had forgotten. You don't know me.
There is no reason why you should tell me the story."

"That is true," she asserted. "It is of no concern to you."

That she was a little rebuffed by my words was plain. I made haste to
explain them.

"I am meaning that there is no reason why you s