Arnold stood in the doorway with his mouth hanging open. It was eleven-thirty and he had given up on Gretta's promise and readied himself for bed. Now, with his knee-length, tent-striped robe gathered modestly about his waist and his feet stuffed into a pair of holey sock slippers, he stood facing the kept promise.

"I'm sorry it's so late, Arny," she said with a soft purr and a shy smile. "May I come in?"

He nodded dumbly, backing away as she breezed by, slipping off her jacket. He closed the door and stared after her, one finger twiddling with the belt of his robe. Gretta looked quickly about and then sank comfortably onto his sofa, drawing her stunning legs up beneath her.

The mist green blouse and the short black skirt seemed the only possible combination suitable for her colouring.

"Uh . . . uh . . ." He tried, forcing his attention to the moment.

"Thanks, yes. A drink would be nice." She dazzled him with a smile and blinked her huge eyes.

"Drink . . . right . . ." He stalked out to the kitchen, uncertain as to what he was doing and then suddenly his daze cleared and he gaped down at the robe and slippers, uttering a mournful yelp.

"You okay?" Came the musical sounding question from the other room.

"Uh yeah, I uh- I just - I'll be right back."

Gretta accepted the glass of wine and graciously refrained from commenting on his change of clothing. "You're a real peach to put up with this, Arny." She sipped her wine and pinned him with a thousand-watt gaze. "Did you bring my bag home with you?"

He paused at the slight tremor in her voice and then, setting his glass down, went to his bookcase in the corner and returned with the bag.

"Did you peek?" She asked with a weak smile.

"No. No I didn't. It's not my business." He picked up his glass and gulped a mouthful of wine.

Gretta set down her glass and opened the drawstring on the bag, removing a small statue of a head about three inches high. She fondled it for a moment then held it out to him.

"What is it?" He took it from her and studied it curiously. It felt quite heavy for its size.

"It's a miniature replica of an Olmec deity. It's a pre-Columbian sculpture from around 1500 to 300 BC."

"Olmec?"

"They were the first major Mesoamerican civilization to develop along the central coast of the Gulf of Mexico."

Arnold stared incredulously at this unimagined new version of Gretta, the office goddess. "How- what- I . . ."

She went on, lost in her own thoughts, ignoring his bewilderment. "The original stone heads, of which there about sixteen, are about eight to twelve feet high and weigh in the neighbourhood of ten tons. The largest found weighs in at more than twenty-five tons. Can you imagine? Think of the engineering knowledge required to build and move these? They're made out of basalt," she added, as though Arnold had begged the question.

"Why are you telling me all this?" He asked, still stumbling mentally over the whole situation.

"You asked."

"No, I mean . . . why are you telling me this?" He held out the sculpture and wiggled it questioningly.

Gretta took the statue back and replaced it in the bag then retrieved her glass, drained it and held it out for more. Arnold took it automatically and marched to the kitchen, returning with two full glasses.

"It was left to me by my uncle about a year ago. He was an archaeologist working in Mexico on a private grant."

"Left to you? He uh, he died?"

"Yes. He was found at one of his dig sites by a military patrol. They gathered up all his things and shipped them back to his financial backer who passed this on to me."

"Geez, I'm sorry. How'd he die?"

"We don't know." The statement hung heavily between them. "Anyway, this little guy," she tapped the bag on her lap, "is the only clue I have."

"To what?"

"To what my uncle died for. There's a letter that I have at home. It explains what he'd suspected might be in store for him and what he discovered before he died."

Arnold waited, his head nodding encouragement. "What? What did he discover?"

"A treasure that would make Fort Knox look like lunch money." Arnold stared, calculating the comparison and trying to rinse the information through his mind.

"I guess I should tell you why I asked you to hold it for me." He wagged his head, still not tracking properly.

"The man that backed my uncle didn't realize what he had given me until later when he had pored over all the notes and other material that had been shipped home. He thought it was simply a souvenir for a favourite niece."

"But it wasn't."

"No. This little statue is the key to the approximate location of what my uncle discovered." She took it out of the bag again. "That man who called me at work was sent to get it from me. I needed a way to get it out of the office without having to carry it myself - just in case."

"Enter the stooge, Arnold."

"Please, don't think that, you were- you just seemed . . ."

"Less of a threat. Thanks."

"I'm sorry . . . I- look . . ." She hesitated, then removed the statue from the bag and did something with the bottom, extracting a rolled piece of vellum.

"This is a coded map my uncle sent specifically to me. He wanted me to continue his search and find the treasure for the people of Mexico."

For the people of Mexico? That suddenly sounded like a B movie. Arnold took the proffered map and unrolled it, staring blankly at the contents, his ignorance of what he was looking at plastered across his face.

"Do you understand this?"

"Not all of it, but with some time . . . and some help, I think I could figure it out."

He scratched his neck and swirled the wine in his glass. "So you left this with me why again?"

"The backer, a man named Gravestone, called me a few days ago asking for it back and when I refused he told me was going to get it - by any means. That man who called the office today, he was sent to use those means; he confronted me when I left work. "

"What happened? You don't look hurt."

Greta looked away and cleared her throat. "I uh- I managed to put him off . . . temporarily."

"So go to the police."

"I can't. If this gets turned over to a bureaucracy the rightful heirs, the people of Mexico, will never see any of it."

Again with the people of Mexico! "So then go to the Mexican government." Gretta's look was so filled with disappointment he blanched. "What?"

"The Mexican government is as bad as the man I met after work. This treasure belongs to a people in the State of Vera Cruz, specifically the village of San Lorenzo. That was my uncle's dream."

"So then-" Arnold flapped a hand. "How can you leave a treasure dwarfing Fort Knox in the hands of some jerky little Mexican village?

"Don't keep saying, so! Any government, not just the Mexican, coming into possession of such a treasure would never leave it in the hands of the people. You know that, Arnold."

He did know that, at least the way she said it he thought he probably should. He also knew that by getting involved in this thing he might also be at risk.