Angela Ravenscroft entered her office. The display case drew her attention. The well-thumbed notebook had been returned. Alongside the presentational cigar box, a magic scepter, a saber-tooth, a videocassette of Doc's favorite technicolor jungle noir Secret of the Incas, and a near mint Uncle Scrooge #7, a small picture frame contained the photo from the watch. Angela smiled.

Rope uncoiled from a star-sown skylight on the solarium of a museum. Northwest slid down for a soft landing in the foyer. In a miraculous turn of events, the archaeologist had remarkably good luck getting by surveillance systems. The artifact he came in search of was not there, but on the way out he spotted a small statue and grabbed it.

Waves lapped against the slender chipped and gnawed pontoons beneath the confidently droning workhorse engines of the freighter. A glare from the rising sun gleamed off the cargo plane's oxidized metallic surface while it taxied against the current by mangroves. The voyager left footprints in golden grains of sand as fine as baker's sugar on a sublime stretch of sun-kissed beach to present the venerated monochromatic sculpture to a local tribe. The community cheered with palpable excitement as the sacred stone was placed in its shady garden alcove resplendent in glowing mushrooms. Snapping pictures and selfies with their phones, people turned to thank the man, but discovering the explorer already departed down the surf-splashed shore toward his old crate having a conversation with an invisible visitant beside him, they shared looks like the stranger must be crazy.

Locke bolt ramrod straight from the sofa he fell asleep on as Angela arrived at her office. Her hint of a smile quickly turned to a look of concern as she told him he was not exactly welcome in the museum since he had broken into so many of them lately.

"A few times and suddenly you're that guy?" The preeminent student and lecturer on matters occult began to tell Angela that his railroad watch he inherited from her father in Shard Mountain possessed a mysterious power, not needing winding and keeping perfect time; when suddenly the museum director interrupted them as he announced himself at Angela's door. Locke slipped away unseen. The curator said he was looking forward to tomorrow for the ribbon cutting with her at the second Ravenscroft Museum.