"Really," I protested, "I had no intention----"

"Not you, perhaps," said Edgar grudgingly; "but your Japanese valet
conceals himself behind those curtains, follows me home, and at
night----"

"I haven't got a valet," I objected.

Edgar merely smiled with the most aggravating self- sufficiency.
"It makes no difference," he declared. "NO ONE will ever find that
map, or see that map, or know where that treasure is, until I point
to the spot."

"Your caution is admirable," I said; "but what," I jeered, "makes
you think you can point to the spot, because your map says
something like, 'Through the Sunken Valley to Witch's Caldron, four
points N. by N. E. to Gallows Hill where the shadow falls at
sunrise, fifty fathoms west, fifty paces north as the crow flies,
to the Seven Wells'? How the deuce," I demanded, "is any one going
to point to that spot?"

"It isn't that kind of map," shouted Edgar triumphantly. " If it
had been, I wouldn't have gone on with it. It's a map anybody can
read except a half-caste Portuguese sailor. It's as plain as a
laundry bill. It says," he paused apprehensively, and then
continued with caution, "it says at such and such a place there is
a something. So many somethings from that something are three
what-you-may-call- 'ems, and in the centre of these three
what-you-may-call-'ems is buried the treasure. It's as plain as