awned
again.

Wilson looked at them all; then back at his parchment.

Yes, it was still there before his eyes, and represented a treasure of
probably half a billion dollars in gold and precious stones!

CHAPTER IX

_A Stern Chase_

Wilson came out into the night with a sense of the world having
suddenly grown larger. He stood on the broad stone steps of the
library, breathing deep of the June air, and tried to get some sort of
a sane perspective. Below him lay Copley Square; opposite him the
spires of Trinity Church stood against the purple of the sky like
lances; to the right the top of Westminster was gay with its roof
garden, while straight ahead Boylston street stretched a brilliant
avenue to the Common. Wilson liked the world at night; he liked the
rich shadows and the splendor of the golden lights, and overhead the
glittering stars with the majestic calm between them. He liked the
night sounds, the clear notes of trolley bell and clattering hoofs
unblurred by the undertone of shuffling feet. Now he seemed to have
risen to a higher level where he saw and heard it all much more
distinctly. The power and, with the power, the freedom which he felt
with this tremendous secret in his possession filled him with new
life. He lost the sense of being limited, of being confined. A minute
ago this city, at least, had imprisoned him; now his thoughts flew
unrestrained around half the globe. But more than anything else it
made him stand better in his own eyes before the girl. He need no
longer await the whims of chance to bring her to him; he could go in
search of her. Somehow he had never thought of her as a girl to be won
by the process of slow toil--by industry; she must be seized and
carried away at a single coup. The parchment which rustled crisply in
his pocket whispered how.

The chief immediate value of the secret lay to him in the power it
gave him to check Sorez in whatever influence he might have gained
over the girl. As soon as he could convince Sorez that the girl's
psychic powers were of no use to him in locating the treasure, he
would undoubtedly lose interest in her. Strangely enough, Wilson felt
no moral scruples in retaining the map which he had found so
accidentally; to him it was like treasure-trove. If it rightly
belonged to anyone, it belonged to this fanatical priest and his
people.

In some way, then, he must communicate with Jo before it was too late.
He knew that it was impossible to