"You're a sort of placid fellow, normally. If you could only stir up a few pounds of blood-pressure more frequently, you'd be quite a fellow."

"So I'm passive. I like peace and quiet. You don't see me running wild, do you?"

"Nope. Tell me, what happened?"

Cal explained in sketchy form, omitting the details about Benj.

"The Key to Murdoch's Hoard?" asked Lange, opening his eyes.

"Sure."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Send it back to the museum. They're the ones that own it."

"You'll give them Murdoch's Hoard if you do."

"Granting for the moment that the Hoard is valuable," laughed Cal, "it is still the property of the museum."

"Wrong. The law is a thousand years old and still working. Buried Treasure is his who finds it. That Hoard is yours, Cal."

"Wonderful. About as valuable as a gallon of lake water in Chicago. It's about as plentiful."

"May I have the Key?" asked Lange eagerly.

Cal stopped. This was getting him down. First that pair of ignorant crooks. Then his brother, trying to steal from him something that both knew worthless—just for the plain fun of stealing he'd believed. But now this man. Dr. Lange was advanced in years, a brilliant and stable surgeon. Was he wrong? Did the Key really represent something worth-while? If so, what on earth could it be? A hoard of treasure in a worthless medium of exchange and with duplicates all over the System? What could Murdoch's Hoard be that it made men fight for it even in this day?

"Sorry," said Cal. "This is my baby."

He said no more about it.

Whatever the Hoard might be, it was getting Cal curious. That and the desire to get the best of Benj worked on him night and day during the next week. He was forced to hide out all of that time, for Benj was looking for him. 

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