Seeking Hidden Treasures: A Collection of Curious Tales and Essays

By James Magner

There are few things more intriguing in life than a hunt for hidden treasures. In a collection of short stories, commentaries, essays, and a novella, James Magner presents diverse characters, engaging plots, and enriching insights into the human condition.

Within Magner’s stories, his characters search for buried gold, seek a forgotten safe, lift cash from gangsters, solve a murder, escape Nazi-occupied Vienna with hidden assets, secure loot from a Spanish shipwreck, assist an uncle who may be living on top of a goldmine, and embark on other adventures that lead to entertaining and sometimes dangerous situations.

Magner’s essays explore a variety of topics including the necessary limits of science as a tool for understanding the meaning of our lives and the world, and the significant role of luck in life and poker. Finally in a novella set in Las Vegas in 2015 during a famous international poker tournament, Magner details a deceitful conspiracy scheme while also recounting his real-life experiences as he won more than a quarter of a million dollars (lifetime winnings $400,000).

Seeking Hidden Treasures shares the struggles and joys of an eclectic group of characters on unique quests to find riches with the potential to change their lives forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480893399

James Magner

James Magner, MD is an endocrinologist and scientist who spent years studying the biochemistry and physiology of the pituitary hormone, TSH, and providing medical supervision for several projects within the pharmaceutical industry. He is an avid chess player and an expert poker player who placed twenty-seventh in the World Series of Poker Main Event, Las Vegas, in 2015. Dr. Magner is married and has two adult daughters. This debut collection of fiction is his third book.

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Copyright © 2020 James Magner, MD.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

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without the written permission of the author except in the case

of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture quotations are from Revised Standard Version of the

Bible, Apocrypha, copyright © 1957; The Third and Fourth

Books of the Maccabees and Psalm 151, copyright © 1977

National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of

America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9338-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9337-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-9339-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020913300

Archway Publishing rev. date: 08/06/2020

To my wife, Glenda, who provided advice and

encouragement. My daughters and sons-in-

law, Erin and Mike and Carly and Russ, were

supportive. My two young grandchildren,

Beverly and Remington, provided inspiration.

In Memoriam: John Caputo (1951 – 2019)

A kind man, and a poker buddy of mine who

frequently played at Foxwoods Casino

In Memoriam: Lewis E. Braverman, MD (1929 – 2019)

A giant in thyroid science who loved good stories

CONTENTS

Preface to the Second Edition

Introduction

PART I: CURIOUS TALES

Gold for the Taking

Joe’s Mysterious Talent

Crazy Aunt Ruth’s Legacy

Comments about Writing Crazy Aunt Ruth’s Legacy

The Combination

Emerging from the Gray Twilight

Miracle in Montana

Ends and Means

The Best Policy

The Message

Comments about Writing The Message

Homicide in Hartford: Nice Guys Sometimes Win

Fooling the Devil

Bamboozle: A Poker Mystery

Knowledge is Power

Subplot

PART II: CURIOUS ESSAYS

How Do I Politely Defend Religion to my Best Friend, an Atheist?

Jesus at my Back Door: When Science Meets Religion

Was George Washington Aided by Miracles?

A Poker-Playing Physician Reflects on Luck

Winning at Poker: Luck or Skill?

The German-American and the German

Acknowledgments

About the Author

PREFACE TO THE

SECOND EDITION

Updating a previously published book is not merely an exercise in vanity, though there can be a few corrections needed. Chasing annoying typos should not be the main purpose, however. I’m a physician and scientist, so throughout my career I’ve seen that new data and novel thinking compel medical and scientific textbooks to go through many editions. But my work on these pages is not strictly science. I provide fiction that contains some scientific elements as well as opinion. Still, given the general concept of issuing a second edition, examples from the scientific world provide insights.

As a young teenager I frequently read science fiction, and a favorite author was Isaac Asimov, who was also a serious scientist. He once shared in an essay that he felt immense pride and satisfaction as a young academic in Boston in 1952, when his new textbook of biochemistry, co-authored with B. Walker and W. Boyd, finally was completed and released for use. This was quickly followed by shock and surprise when the next month his publisher, Williams & Wilkins, sent him a copy of his precious textbook that seemed to be more than twice as thick when he first hefted it in his hand. A cover letter explained to the deflated Dr. Asimov that it was now time to start the year-long task of writing the next edition. To help authors in this situation, the publisher was providing a copy of the book in which each printed page alternated with two blank pages on which to write corrections and other new text. It turned out, I believe, that Asimov was so broadly engaged with new ideas and projects that he never wrote an updated edition. (His biochemistry text was his eighth published book, but he eventually went on to publish a total of 468 books.) His brilliant textbook was soon eclipsed by newer books prepared by others. Since my stories are more fiction than science, fortunately I was not under a severe threat of obsolescence.

Darwin was in an analogous but somewhat different position after publication of On the Origin of Species in 1859. By the way, the correct full title of this work as published by John Murray, Albemarle Street, London was On the Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection, or the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life. The book was widely read and went through many printings. But through the years Darwin did not just authorize new printings. He also changed the text substantially to create new editions. Though even in the first edition he anticipated objections to his theory and rebutted them preemptively, in subsequent editions he added arguments, corrections, and clarifications. For example, in the sixth edition he added a new chapter of about forty pages entitled, Miscellaneous Objections to the Theory of Natural Selection. He also found it necessary to alter some of his ideas. Of course, his key, brilliant insights have been borne out.

My little book certainly pales in comparison to On the Origin of Species. Yes, I did have the intent to inform readers about certain scientific concepts (such as genetically proven breeding between Neandertals and Homo sapiens) and actual events (such as the clever smuggling scheme used by a Jewish chemistry professor to sneak assets out of Nazi-occupied Vienna). I also included some Christian elements to stimulate reflection because I believe that our modern secular society in the West values too little the importance of a mature spiritual life. But my main goal, unlike Darwin’s, was merely to provide thoughtful entertainment.

Perhaps the most heartwarming (and mildly humorous) example of the production of a second edition, or more precisely a second full and different book, is the case of the eminent philosopher, Mortimer J. Adler. Born in 1902, he published in 1977 his carefully constructed autobiography, Philosopher at Large. He had many accomplishments to discuss and ideas to communicate, but he had no suspicion that he would remain healthy and active for decades more. In 1992, he published another autobiography, A Second Look in the Rearview Mirror: Further Autobiographical Reflections of a Philosopher at Large, in which he commented that he had written his first autobiography prematurely. He died in 2001, at age 98. Not to be outdone by Adler, I also published a memoir in 2015, and my goal is to have the need of publishing additional memoirs!

I prepared this second edition because I had new ideas I wanted to share, and it seemed appropriate to put most of my fiction works and essays together in one convenient place. This Preface and five new chapters have been added. Even one of my personal heroes, the mathematician and philosopher Martin Gardner, found it advisable to correct typos, add comments, and provide clarifications in a second edition of his much discussed book, The Whys of a Philosophical Scrivener. He chose to make most updates by adding a 31-page Postscript at the end of the book in which he makes comments, many hilarious, about each chapter in turn. Readers who wish to pursue this book by Gardner should be certain to acquire the second edition published in 1999. Similarly, I hope that readers will enjoy my stories and essays in this improved second edition.

James Magner, MD

Woodbridge, CT

June, 2020

INTRODUCTION

For most of human history, people lived in small groups as hunter-gatherers. Anthropologists who have studied surviving hunter-gatherer cultures believe that for hundreds of thousands of years, it was predominantly the males who matched their wits against nature to hunt. They learned the ways of herds or of small animals, observed carefully clues left as tracks, broken twigs, or other fragile signs, made plans based on the terrain and wind direction, and then used tools and oftentimes teamwork to bring meat back to the camp. The animals were hidden treasures, but they could be found and taken. Analogously, it was predominantly the women who foraged for edible tubers, nuts, fruits, and plants. Clues to their whereabouts had to be observed and these hidden treasures located and taken. These were matters of life or death. Other hidden treasures included flint, ochre, and even sexual partners. Men and women have been seeking hidden treasures for a very long time. It is what humans do, and we are very good at it.

Stories about finding hidden treasures have been shared orally for millennia. Consider The Odyssey. In more recent centuries, this has also been a popular topic in literature. Formulas arose involving pirates and chests of gold, for example, and entertaining tales have been written featuring ragged-edged maps, obscure clues, and coded messages. Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe, published in 1719, is more of a shipwreck survival story than a treasure search, but the book is thought to have greatly influenced Edgar Allan Poe. Poe also became interested in cryptography, an ancient art used long before the birth of Christ; a simple letter substitution cipher was used by the Roman army. While in Philadelphia in 1840, Poe wrote essays in a newspaper challenging readers to send him messages in code to see if he could read them. The influence of Robinson Crusoe as well as his cryptography hobby were thought to have inspired him to write The Gold-Bug, a short story published in 1843 that tells of a buried treasure found by managing to read a coded message. Poe won a hundred-dollar prize for this story, which may have been the most he earned for any story. The Gold-Bug was widely read and was later viewed as one of his most sophisticated stories. The Gold-Bug, in turn, influenced many authors, including Robert Louis Stevenson, who wrote Treasure Island (serialized 1881–1883, published as a book 1883).

The general theme of this collection of ten short stories, two story analyses, and five essays is seeking hidden treasures. (The second edition has a Preface and five chapters added, and it consists of fourteen short stories, two story analyses, and six essays). The first story, Gold for the Taking, is perhaps the twenty-first-century version of The Gold-Bug. (Please take a few minutes to find and read Poe’s classic tale.) My story is modern in that a bright young woman takes the lead to decipher clues. She works in partnership with her likable and loving husband. In this story, the code is not based on a simple substitution of letters but is much more sophisticated. Her gradual unraveling of the problem, step by step, is portrayed in a comprehensible manner. Very importantly, although the clues seem to be obscure, an astute reader could pause midstory, reflect on the clues for an hour or two, and have all the information necessary to solve them. But most readers will not succeed. Yet, when the solution is revealed at the end, essentially every reader will admit that the puzzle was fully solvable at midstory and the given solution is obviously correct. This makes, I think, for a very satisfying reading experience.

Yes, the treasures in these stories might be gold or silver, but in several cases along the way, romance, perhaps a greater prize, is found as well. In some cases, clues are followed to catch a murderer or to steal cash from gangsters. A more abstract and poignant gain is achieved when a husband cleverly sends an important coded message to his grieving wife.

One story deserves special comment since it contains rather dark elements. I have been very concerned for decades about unchecked global human population growth and the damage to the earth’s ecosystems, so I recently wrote this story (perhaps never to be submitted) to explore my own frustrations about the unfolding tragedy that will eventually engulf humanity. The main characters are a scientist and a priest. They actually reflect two aspects of my own mind. They debate a need for decisive, urgent action that might be cruel and unthinkable, versus taking a more sanguine philosophical or religious view as the lights slowly go out. Thus, Ends and Means contains accurate facts, but the characters are fictional and are holding a conversation. My mental model was Galileo’s 1632 book Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems. Galileo had been forbidden to publish in support of the Copernican view, so instead he cleverly crafted a conversation among characters about the old Ptolemaic and new heliocentric Copernican systems and the supporting available evidence. Galileo got in trouble, however, because the character supporting the Ptolemaic view was made quite a simpleton. The pope thought Galileo was mocking him. Galileo was put on trial and ended up under house arrest.

The longest story in this book is actually a short novel. Set in Las Vegas in 2015, a thirty-six-year-old doctor who recently lost his wife to cancer comes to Las Vegas to unwind by playing in a big poker tournament. He falls in love with a woman he meets there. The romance and the mystery, which involves an international plot to poison players, are fiction. But I wanted to make the technical aspects of the poker authentic, so the detailed poker information recaptures day by day my real-life poker experience in this major international tournament that year. I had attended a writers’ conference in New York in 2018, and a program organizer, the author Paula Munier (A Borrowing of Bones: A Mystery, 2018), advised that writing short stories is wonderful but that novels are more commercially successful. After hearing about some of my interests, she advised me to write a poker mystery, and she wanted it to be ninety thousand words long. Paula actually knows many things about poker and Las Vegas. I went home and produced this poker mystery, although it is only about half as long as she desired. Still, Paula likely will be quite surprised when she sees this. Regardless of what the commercial success may be, I enjoyed the opportunity to recount the biggest poker adventure in my life. Poker enthusiasts will appreciate the detail, but the novel is arranged such that nonplayers need only skim the poker chapters. This manuscript was also an opportunity to develop discussions between characters that may seem a bit didactic but that share more serious thoughts. Also of note, I had never written bedroom scenes before. I was amused when my loving wife of more than forty years, Glenda, reviewed a draft and then requested that I allow her to see what I was intending to include in those romantic interactions.

Though most of this book is fiction, in the essays in part II, I discuss a variety of topics. Three essays explore the necessary limits of science as a tool for understanding the meaning of our lives and the world. Two essays reflect on luck and offer hope that riches normally out of reach might be found at casinos at the green-felt poker tables. So the general theme of seeking hidden treasures has been developed in these stories and essays in quite diverse ways. These texts are primarily intended to be entertaining but also thought-provoking. Have fun!

PART I

CURIOUS

TALES

GOLD FOR

THE TAKING

"Y ou shouldn’t just have things handed to you! You need to earn them!"

There was fire in the old man’s eyes, and he wheezed a bit as his breathing quickened. He was eighty-five and had seen better days.

The wayward son, dressed somewhat sloppily and unshaven, stood silent for a moment. His father was always difficult when he asked to borrow more money. His struggles with alcohol and drugs were continuing, but he thought he was starting to make some progress. Surely Dad would understand and give him another helping hand. It was not easy to be chronically unemployed at age sixty, and he had never recovered financially from the divorce settlement twenty years ago. Jason Simms looked down at the carpet and took a breath. Both men stood in the well-worn living room, where so many memories still lingered.

The elder Simms continued; his tone was now less explosive, but the pain in his voice was clear. I have sold off the farm piece by piece to help you, and all that is left is this twelve-acre plot with the house and barn. And the little family graveyard. I can’t sell that!

Dad, I haven’t had a drink for a month. I just need about five thousand dollars to hold me over while I try to find a new job. I promise I will pay you back in six months. Jason paused hopefully, and he glanced at the old man’s chess pieces set up on the corner table. The shelves on one wall were full of books, including a Bible and several books about the Old and New Testaments. There were books about farming, others about chess, and still others about mathematics, his father’s college major decades ago. But after college, his dad returned home to help run the farm.

You know that I have almost nothing in the bank. The house and barn are practically falling down. I just can’t do it.

But, Dad, Jason began, and then he paused. What about your gold coins? This really is an emergency.

Silence filled the room.

The old man finally spoke, but he spoke softly and without anger. There was just sadness. Let’s sit together in the kitchen. I have to talk to you.

The elder Simms did not have good news for his son. He had changed his will, he explained. A small checking account, the remaining bit of land, and the buildings plus their sorry contents someday would be Jason’s—except for the chess books, which would be given to the Plainfield Library. And regarding the coins, there was a special provision about them.

Matthew Simms was a saver. He had worked hard, and through the years, little by little, he had purchased US and Canadian gold coins. It was his hedge against the uncertainty of the world. The quantity of coins grew sizable, and he had never sold even one.

A special provision for the coins? Jason repeated. What do you mean?

Jason had been aware of the existence of the cigar box of coins in the bedroom closet since about age fifteen. It was a special family secret, and he was sworn to keep his lips sealed. His father once let him hold one of the impressive gold discs; it was astonishingly heavy for its size. He never saw his father handle them, but he knew that one box had grown to two and then three. And that was years ago. When his mother died twenty years ago, his father had mentioned in passing that he still had his shiny assets, but he had moved them to a place he thought was a bit safer. And he added that he was buying more from time to time. There should be even more boxes by now.

Charity, the old man replied.

Jason’s mind raced as the ramifications sank in. Why, Dad?

Jason, Mom and I tried to raise you the best we knew. And you know how I helped you through the years. The old man paused to wipe his brow with a red handkerchief and then stuffed it back into his jeans pocket. But I figure I don’t have much time left. And maybe there are other people who could use some help too.

Other people?

There are lots of good young people in this county. Think of Tony Smith, who lives next to the church. And that young Bill Miller boy who just got married this year to Alice Parsons. They live right across the highway from us, and I see him work hard every day from sunup to sundown.

Bill Miller … Jason’s voice trailed off. Jason knew him superficially as a neighbor’s only grandson. He was always well behaved and a good student. He worked hard to help his family with the farm and attended church every Sunday. Jason smirked. A real goody boy, he mumbled almost silently to himself. He recalled that Bill walked across the highway for a weekly chess game with his father. But he had never seen them play. This year, Bill inherited the farm and had just married his high school sweetheart.

So are you just going to give the coins to a charity?

Well, eventually, Matthew began. But first, there will be a little contest. In spite of the recent tension in the house, the old man smiled a little, and there was a twinkle in his eye.

A contest?

Yes. The coins may very well in the end go to the regional hospital. But when the probate process is almost complete about ninety days after my death, the attorney will begin the contest with the coins as the prize. Every legal resident in the county—including you, Jason—will be eligible to participate. If no one wins them within thirty days, then the coins will be donated to the hospital.

Why a contest?

Matthew sighed. "I do love you, Jason. And I know that you are clever. You are a survivor. But I think someone should earn those riches. Then, if no one can win the coins, the money can provide a lot of good for our community. Good that should also benefit you."

Jason was stung by his father’s words. And he was angry. But in his heart, he knew that he had no right to be too angry. What sort of contest?

The coins are hidden. Whoever finds the coins will be the winner. But they only have thirty days to solve the clues. After that, the regional hospital will get the money.

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Bill Miller stood facing south on the edge of the east-west highway. He looked carefully both ways before starting to cross the road. Trucks are unforgiving. There was already a little private memorial seventy-five yards down the road for Brad Kinsley, a twenty-one-year-old farmhand who had been out drinking with friends. As he was walking along the highway one dark night, he was struck by a car. It would not do for a young husband to be killed while crossing the road on the way to a burial.

The church service in town had been well attended, and now the hearse was delivering the body of Matthew Simms for burial in the private family cemetery on his farm. Since Alice was not feeling well and needed to lie down, Bill parked the truck in his driveway and was just going to walk across to the cemetery.

Mourners had parked along the south side of the highway and were gathering at the grave. A flat, rectangular stone was the marker for Catherine Simms, and now Matthew would be placed at her side. There were only a dozen gravestones, some more than a century old. Most were rectangular markers flat on the ground, but a few were vertical, flat slabs with the classic rounded top. A larger marker in the last row had a good-sized winged stone angel with a shield and sword, and Bill seemed to recall that was the traditional image of Michael, the archangel. One flat stone had Greek letters on it, possibly a short Bible verse in Greek. Brief prayers were said, and then the two dozen mourners bid one another farewell. Bill approached Jason to shake his hand, though Jason seemed distant and was slow to extend his hand, probably due to the death of his father, he thought.

During the next few weeks, as Bill was doing chores, he often saw Jason walking back and forth on the property. Bill thought it odd that Jason was walking in circles, and one afternoon, he seemed to be cleaning weeds and debris out from under the front porch. But Bill reasoned that Jason probably needed to go through his father’s things, donate clothes to charity, and so on. One afternoon, Bill saw Jason by the cemetery with a long piece of laundry line spooled out on the ground. Oddly, Jason kept walking back and forth along the line; then he angled the line differently and walked that path. He seemed to be intently looking at the ground. It didn’t really make any sense. But Bill was too busy with his chores to think much more about it.

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The Iowa summer passed quickly, and the first cool night in late September provided a sharp contrast to the ninety-degree heat the previous afternoon. But what really got the community talking was not the change in the weather. It was the legal notice that appeared that day in the Plainfield Register.

Bill had not seen the paper that morning, but at noon, the mailman excitedly explained the situation and gave him a newspaper. By that time, a police car was already in the Simms’ driveway, and people had appeared across the highway. The estate of Matthew Simms was announcing that there would be a sort of treasure hunt in fulfillment of the old man’s will. Police would be present on the property as well as a refreshment vendor daily for the next month, and orderly behavior would be enforced. Only Cass County residents were eligible to search for and ultimately claim the treasure, and police would be checking driver’s licenses for residency. Of note, the probate judge had ruled that a portion of the treasure, if found, would be used to pay for town expenses and police overtime, since facilitating the execution of the will inevitably had costs. People were to follow the clues published in the notice to attempt to find and recover one or more boxes of valuable coins. If the coins were not located in the next thirty calendar days, then at a future time whenever they might be found, the money was to pay for related town expenses and the remainder donated to the hospital.

Apparently, Matthew Simms had provided clues but had not given anyone the actual location of the coins.

Bill was still working in the north acres during the late afternoon, but Alice took a break from laundry to sit at the kitchen table. She slid her Sherlock Holmes anthology out of harm’s way, poured a glass of iced tea, and puzzled over the clues yet again. She grabbed a red pencil out of the miscellaneous-things mug sitting at the center of the table. Maybe if she underlined some of the words in red, they would make more sense. The five clues were as follows:

1. Just as you read the book of Revelation.

2. Michael, Archangel! Take retribution in Xerxes!

3. 0000011000000000110000000001100000011111111 0001111111100000011000000000110000000001100

0000000110000000001100000000111100000011111

100001111111100011111111000111111110001111111

1000111111110

4. 200 feet S

5. 75 feet E

Alice was a smart and imaginative young woman with a college degree in English literature. She loved Shakespeare as well as mystery stories. But these clues made little sense to her. Obviously, the fourth and fifth clues were lengths or distances, as well as directions. Vectors, she recalled. But distances from where? The first two clues had something to do with the Bible or history. But the third clue was pure gibberish. After a few minutes, she could draw with moderate certainty only one inference. If the last two clues were distances and directions along a path from some point, then it seemed likely that the first three clues described the starting point. And if one is pacing off distances from a point on a farm in Iowa, then most likely the treasure was buried. Yes, she was sure about that. The coins were in the ground.

After Bill had washed up and sat down for dinner, Alice shared her guesses about the meaning of the clues. Bill liked Alice’s analysis and complimented her. She beamed, stood up, and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Bill had an additional thought. He recalled seeing the statue of the winged angel in the cemetery, and that had to be Michael, the archangel. Clearly that statue could be the starting point. He wanted to take a measured length of rope and a shovel over to the Simms’ first thing in the morning. Maybe they would be rich! They both laughed. They agreed that looking for buried treasure almost always was a fool’s errand.

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Bill was up at five thirty, and as he was making coffee, he was a bit surprised to hear voices until he remembered that a crowd might already be gathering at the Simms’. A few minutes later when he stepped out on his front porch, he counted twenty-five cars parked along the highway, including two police cars, and there were at least fifty people milling about on the property. Bill cut a 210-foot length of rope and used a yard stick and red marker to indicate seventy-five feet, one hundred feet, and two hundred feet. It dawned on him that this must have been what Jason was doing with the laundry line in June, just a few days after the funeral. The public was not informed of the treasure hunt until September. A short flash of anger rose within him, but he quickly quenched it. He was a competitive person, but he had common sense. The whole thing was rather silly, and there was no sense getting worked up about it. He grabbed his Boy Scout compass, canteen, and a shovel and hopped down the front steps.

Officer Richards checked his license, a mere formality since they knew each other, and he joined the gaggle of hopeful souls already standing in the cemetery. He was only slightly taken aback when he saw three ropes already on the grass, stretching southward from the angel statue. He walked south and east where others had already marked off the distances that he had planned to investigate. At the point two hundred feet south and seventy-five feet east, there was already a huge hole, about fifteen feet across and ten feet deep. Two men were down in the hole making it deeper, and a group of men and women stood above and cheered them on. People seemed good-natured, but there was a hint of tension in the air. Perhaps this was why there were two police cars here today, whereas yesterday there had been only one.

Bill realized that men digging another hole about thirty feet away had measured out two hundred feet south and seventy-five feet east, starting at the gravestone with the Greek letters on it. Their hole was not yet as large but was just as nonproductive. They were sweating and digging with enthusiasm, however. But Bill was now fairly certain that neither of those two gravestones was the correct starting point. Poor old Mr. Simms could never have dug a hole more than ten feet deep. He and Alice and everyone else clearly did not yet understand the clues. The logical next step was to do more work with one’s brain rather than one’s back.

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Clue three certainly is not gibberish. We need to figure that out, stated Alice with conviction. Bill sat next to her at the kitchen table. They had just washed the dinner dishes, and it was time to relax.

Bill had been an excellent student in high school but had returned to the farm rather than attend college. He was naturally bright, but he had substantial respect for Alice’s considerable intellect. She was again wielding her sharpened red pencil, and she pointed at the string of zeros and ones. She underlined the ones in red. The ones were clearly grouped. A pair of ones occurred three times. Then a string of eight ones occurred twice. Then pairs of ones occurred five more times, followed by strings with larger numbers of ones. This regularity must mean something.

Alice shared an observation: Clue three contains 187 digits, and those digits are only one and zero. Why 187 digits? What could be special about 187?

Maybe there are 187 coins, Bill suggested.

No, Alice responded with certainty. The clues are not about the coins themselves. The clues are describing the location of the coins. I think that the odd number 187 must be very important for locating the coins.

Incredulous, Bill smiled and teased his wife a bit, You are focused on that number like it is one of your old friends!

That reminds me of the famous mathematician, Srinivasa Ramanujan, she replied. She stood to grab an old green-covered spiral notebook from the shelf and showed Bill a dog-eared handout she had been given by a math teacher in college. Professor Kirk told us the most interesting stories about Ramanujan, who was a poor young man from India who showed remarkable math skills. He was invited to study at Cambridge in England just before World War I.

He really traveled a distance for those days.

Yes, and he had key insights. Alice pointed at a paragraph. See, he once was told that a taxicab number was 1729 and immediately remarked that it was a very interesting number.

Interesting number?

Yes. He could instantly see that 1729 could be expressed as the sum of the cubes of two positive integers in two different ways.

Sum of cubes?

Alice pointed again at the page. See, Bill. The number 1729 = 1³ + 12³. And 1729 = 9³ + 10³.

Bill blinked, then smiled at Alice. So what are the secrets in the number 187?

We are just going to have to keep thinking, she responded.

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They were almost out of time to understand the clues. For two weeks, large crowds had gathered daily to look for treasure, and the property was pockmarked with countless holes. By the third week, the numbers of searchers gradually declined. Now nearing the end of the fourth and final week of the search, only two or three people came each morning. Enthusiasm was greatly diminished when the police chief and mayor of Plainfield gave interviews for the Register, stating that hundreds of man-hours had been spent by residents, and several hundred holes had been dug, all to no avail. They were now concluding that