“One of our history professors found a description of the original garden in a journal that Iliana McGowan kept through the 1920s. After her husband died-your great-grandfather-she devoted herself to raising their children and tending to her father, serving as his official hostess. At the time, he was still president of the university. I’m sure you’ve heard the story before. This was his office.” Louise Burnette had remained standing. “That’s him, over the fireplace. It’s one of the few paintings we kept out of storage when we removed the others.”

Daria got out of her chair and walked to the portrait for a better look.

“He looks quite dashing, don’t you think?” Louise Burnette asked.

“He certainly does,” Daria agreed. “I’ve heard he was quite the rake. Loved the ladies, loved adventure, though supposedly after he founded the college, his adventures came to an end. He took his responsibility here quite seriously.” Daria turned and smiled. “Or so the story goes.”

“He did a wonderful job putting the college together, and his generous endowment has kept Howe going through the years.” Dr. Burnette frowned. “At least, until now.”

Daria looked at her quizzically.

Vita knocked once on the half-opened door, then came in bearing a silver tray with a cut-glass decanter and two goblets. Daria noticed that the silver appeared to be freshly polished and the glasses gleamed as if recently washed.

“I’ll just set this here for you,” Vita said as she placed the tray on a table between the two chairs. “Let me know if you need anything else, Dr. B.”

“Thank you, Vita.” Dr. Burnette poured the cold tea. Handing one to Daria, she said, “I suppose I should get right to the point. Howe is in desperate need of funds. Our athletic teams have never been strong enough to pull in student athletes, and our campus is, as you may have noticed, a bit run-down. Each year it gets more difficult to attract good students. This year, our enrollment hit an all-time low. We’re not conveniently located, we don’t have an all-star faculty, and we lack the funds to attract the type of professors that could help our reputation.”

“I thought you said Benjamin Howe left a generous endowment.”

“He did, but with the drop in the number of tuition-paying students, we’re running through it more quickly than we’d like. The trustees met last month to discuss alternatives-selling off land, selling some paintings, perhaps a few of the buildings on the opposite side of the road-none of those options were particularly desirable, but the consensus was that we’d do what we had to do to buy a little more time. Later that night, after the meeting, I was walking back to my house-I live on campus-and I passed by the museum. It’s been closed for a number of years.”

“I wasn’t aware of that.”

“The funds weren’t there for a curator, and the building isn’t properly ventilated. It was closed ‘temporarily’ by my predecessor. It was pretty much forgotten. Well, we’d been talking about finding money for the school, and here we had our own museum with who knew what stored away down there. The next morning I started looking around, taking stock, and you’ll never guess what I found.”

“The crates my great-grandfather brought back from Shandihar.” Daria found herself tapping her foot impatiently.

“No. Well, yes, eventually, I was led to them. They’re buried somewhere deep in the basement behind a locked door, as I’ve since learned. But what I found that day was dinosaur bones, still on display from the last time the building was open, and some signs relating to another dig funded by the university around the same time as your grandfather’s.”

“Oliver Jacobs’s dig.” Daria smiled. “Howe sent them both off with the promise that whoever returned first would be the first to exhibit their find. My great-grandfather was the first back but the building hadn’t been completed yet.”

“And by the time the building was finally ready, he’d passed away. Jacobs’s findings were put on exhibit and written up in all the newspapers and magazines, and your great-grandfather’s discovery was pretty much forgotten over the years.”

“And the Jacobs artifacts?” Daria asked.

“Remain in the basement of the museum. In the 1950s, the museum was turned over to a man named Casper Fenn, who decided the emphasis here should be on American natural history, so he proceeded to purchase or trade for all manner of things. Dinosaurs-small ones, of course-and animal skeletons, a collection of stuffed birds and monkeys.” She rolled her eyes.

“He sold or traded some of the artifacts from the Jacobs dig for-”

“Bones and stuffed animals, yes. Oh, and some Indian relics. Buffalo skins and a tepee,” she said drily. “They were a big hit with the school kids but really brought in nothing in terms of revenue.”

“So what exactly remains of the Jacobs find?” Daria frowned.

“There are still several crates of objects in the basement clearly marked as his. We do have the inventory, and for all his faults, Fenn kept impeccable records. Every sale, to whom, how much, when and where, it’s all written down. And in his defense, he did attract some positive attention to the school.”

“Dr. Burnette, when we spoke, you said you wanted to talk to me about reopening the museum. That you wanted me to work on a display of my great-grandfather’s find. I thought that was what you called me here to discuss. Please understand, I left an important dig thinking that-”

“Yes, yes, I’m getting to all that.” Louise Burnette leaned forward and patted Daria’s arm reassuringly. “I do intend to reopen the museum. I have every intention of displaying the Shandihar collection.”

“And that would bring in the funds you need to keep the school going…how?” Daria wasn’t following the logic. “Are you aware of how expensive it is to exhibit such a find? You’re going to need to design special display areas. The building will certainly need upgrades of the mechanical systems. There’s publicity, there will be staff needed, insurance, security once you start reminding people what you have here. And then there’s my fee…”

“I understand. But here’s what I’m thinking.” She took a sip of her tea. “If you could appraise the collection-set a value on it-we would have collateral for a bank loan. Once the display is ready and we can reopen the museum, we’ll be able to attract other experts like you from all over the world to view it. We can have symposiums here, host guest lecturers…”

“Which would bring in little more than a drop in the bucket, compared to the costs.”

“Yes, but we’ll be able to loan out the collection, won’t we? For a fee?”

“Possibly,” Daria responded cautiously.

“Until your great-grandfather’s find, Shandihar was thought to be a place that existed only in the epic poems written by ancient scribes.” Dr. Burnette’s eyes narrowed. “Between the time he found his lost city and now, there have been two world wars and any number of political changes in Turkey, where he made his discovery. The treasures of Shandihar have been forgotten, essentially, for over two thousand years.” She smiled. “There will be television specials, there will be books. And-God forgive me-if we’re lucky, coffee mugs and coasters.”

“You’re looking at this as a strictly commercial venture.” Daria’s voice held a touch of disapproval.

“With all due respect, Dr. McGowan, I have no other choice. The revenue this collection will generate will not only save this college, it will offer an opportunity for countless scholars to study up close the treasures of a lost civilization that have never before been exhibited. We’ll attract not only the most promising students in the field, but the best professors, just as we did a hundred years ago. Just as Benjamin Howe dreamed of when he financed not one, but two, expeditions.”

She leaned closer to Daria and said, “Don’t you at least want to open those crates and see what your great-grandfather spent his life searching for?”