The woman set it on a rude table, and the young inventor, Ned and Mr. Damon drew near to look at the image more closely.  It was the work of a master artist.  The statue was about eight inches high, and showed a man, dressed in flowing robes, seated crosslegged on a sort of raised pedestal.  On the head was a crown, many pointed and the face beneath it showed calm dignity like that of a superior being.  In one extended hand was a round ball, with lines on it to show the shape of the earth, though only the two American continents appeared.  In the other hand was what might be tables of stone, a book, or something to represent law-giving authority.

“How much?” asked Tom.

“No sell,” was the monotonous answer.

“Five hundred dollars,” offered our hero.

“No sell.”

“One thousand dollars.”

“No sell.”

“Why is it so valuable to you?” Tom wanted to know.

“We have him for many years.  Bad luck come if he go.”  Then the Mexican went on to explain that the image had been in his family for many generations, and that once, when it had been taken by an enemy, death and poverty followed until the statue was recovered.  He said he would never part with it.

“Where did it come from?” asked Tom, and he cared more about this than he did about buying the image.

“Far, far off,” said the Mexican.  “No man know.  I no know—­my father he no know—­his father’s father no know.  Too many years back—­many years.”

He motioned to the woman to take the statue away, and Tom and his friend realized that little more could be learned.  The young inventor stretched out his hand with an involuntary motion, and the Mexican understood.  He spoke to the woman and she handed the image to Tom.  The Mexican had recognized his desire for a moment’s closer inspection and had granted it.

“Jove!  It’s as heavy as lead!” exclaimed Tom.  “And solid gold.”

“Isn’t it hollow up the middle?” asked Ned.  “Look on the underside, Tom.”

His chum did so.  As he turned the image over to look at the base he had all he could do not to utter a cry of surprise.  For there, rudely scratched on the plain surface of the gold, was what was unmistakably a map.  And it was a map showing the location of the ruined temple—­the temple and the country surrounding it—­the ancient city of Poltec, and the map was plain enough so that Tom could recognize part of the route over which they had traveled.

But, better than all, was a tiny arrow, something like the compass mark on modern maps.  And this arrow pointed straight at the ruins of the temple, and the direction indicated was due west from the village where our travelers now were.  Tom Swift had found out what he wanted to know.

Without a word he handed back the image and then, trying not to let his elation show in his face, he motioned to Ned and Mr. Damon to follow him from the house.