They heard a sound of scraping within and a creaking, as if a door opened, then silence.... The city was very quiet about them—a gentle intoning from the temple and a rustling of leaves on the mountainside. For a long time they waited in the silence before the half-swung door. The old man appeared and beckoned to them and they passed into the cool quiet. They traversed a passage and crossed a court and entered a low room. The room was empty except for two objects on the right as they entered—a shrine to Buddha revealed through the half-open doors the god within; and across the room on a raised platform facing the shrine stood a red-and-black lacquered coffin. At the sight of the coffin Eleanor More’s face changed subtly. She turned to the interpreter. “Why have you brought us to a house of mourning?” Her hand moved toward the raised platform. The old man at the interpreter’s side spoke a few words.... And the interpreter translated in his sing-song voice. “It is his son—who is dead. He has no other to do him honor,” he chanted slowly, as if the words were full of presage. And Eleanor More’s eyes turned to the old man with a quiet look. But the stolid face gave no response. With a courteous gesture and a low word to the interpreter, the old man moved toward the shrine across the room and, squatting before it, opened a drawer beneath the half-open doors and drew out an oblong box. The three people standing by the red-and-black coffin waited quietly as he lifted it and turned to them. “What is it?” asked Richard More. He had a curious thrill—as if at the end of a long quest he put out his hand in the dark and touched a human hand like his own. The old man crossed to them in silence, and laying the box on the platform by the coffin lifted the lid.... A faint scent of spices drifted out; it floated about them and enveloped them as he took out, one by one, the soft thin papers that filled the box, and revealed lying at the bottom something that glowed and shimmered a little. Eleanor More leaned forward breathless. Her hands half-reached to the shimmer of blue and gold as the old man lifted it from the box and opened it with slow, reverent fingers.... The dragon’s played across the surface, and on the breast as he held it up were four cabalistic marks—the signs in the transparent map that guided them on their journey. They stood a moment in silence. All the color of the coat seemed to gather to a soft intensity, and glow. Eleanor More caught her breath with a little sound. “I had forgotten!” she said. “I had forgotten....!” Her face was filled with light—a look of happiness pervaded it. Richard More glanced at her. “Ask him how much it is,” he said in a low voice to the interpreter. The interpreter spoke the words and listened a moment and translated the answer swiftly: “Money will not buy the coat—not all the gold in all the world,” he chanted back.