Thereafter, there was no keeping the story quiet. Reporters concocted a ridiculous account of the figurine’s mysterious origins, adding in elements borrowed from the “King Tut's Curse” news stories that had filled the columns of the less reputable press after the opening of the tomb of the Pharaoh Tut-ankh-ammon only five years before. You will perhaps recall the field day the press enjoyed after Lord Carnarvon and Howard Carter opened the burial chamber in 1923, which was followed by a series of mysterious deaths of several members of the expedition, including Lord Carnarvon himself, who died two weeks later. The reverberations of this sensational story had all but died down when Dr. Blaine's breakdown became newsworthy; and the muck-rakers delighted in drawing sinister parallels between the curse on a pharaoh’s comb, which some believed had brought many men to a premature death, and the curse on a mysterious Ponape antiquity, which, it was now being rumored, had brought two distinguished scholars to madness.
The lamentable items continued to appear in the public press, much to the distress of everyone connected with the Institute.
FROM time to time we received word from the authorities at the sanitarium of Dr. Blaine’s progress. By mid-January of 1929 he began responding favorably to Dr. Colby’s regimen of treatment, and by the first of March we were delighted to learn that he was able to speak coherently and to recognize people around him, although these lucid intervals were but of brief duration.
On March 3rd I received a telephone call from Dr. Colby, apprising me that my friend was temporarily himself again, although it could not be predicted just how long the interlude of sanity would last. Dr. Blaine was calling me urgently, in a very agitated manner, and the sanitarium staff were of the opinion that it might be salubrious were I to visit him, so that his agitation could be eased and his mind unburdened of whatever matter he desperately desired to reveal to me. I replied that I would come at once.
I motored through the hills, following a winding road, the next morning. Arriving at the sanitarium about ten o’clock, I was taken to Harrington Colby at once. He was a tall, fit-looking man in his late forties with a manner both affable and authoritative. He cautioned me against saying anything that might upset Dr. Blaine, advising me merely to agree to do whatever it was he wished of me. Then he led me into a sunny, pleasant ward that looked out on rolling hills, and left me alone with Dr. Blame.
It was all I could do to greet Dr. Blaine in a casual manner. He seemed to have aged ten years in the six months since his collapse. Hair that had been flecked with iron gray was now streaked with silver-white; he had lost forty or fifty pounds, his face was gaunt and lined, his once-robust figure curiously and horribly shrunken as he crouched in the chair, his trembling hands like pallid, withered claws.
His eyes were haunted and his voice tremulous as he greeted me.
"Hodgkins? Is that you? ... you look so different. I ... listen to me, Hodgkins ... I must know ... is the Ponape figurine yet on public display? ... please God, say it is not!"
I greeted him quietly, said I hoped he was feeling better, and assured him the artifact had not yet been put on display in the South Gallery.
"Thank God for that!” he cried in a weak, quavering voice; then, clutching my arm in a grip numbingly strong, he fixed his eyes on mine. The shadow of some indescribable horror filled chose fine eyes with cold fear.
"The figurine must never be shown, Hodgkins ... never, do you understand? ... it must be destroyed, if the sanity of mankind is to survive ... but you must be extremely careful how you manage it ... there is a terrible force locked in the substance of the figurine ... a force which we do not dare release ... listen to me, boy! The Necronomicon has the secret ... you must locate a copy of the Necronomicon ... try the Miskatonic University Library in Arkham, Massachusetts ... they have a copy of the Spanish edition ... Hodgkins, in the bottom drawer of my desk you will find my file of notes on the Xothic legend cycle ... the drawer is locked, bur you will find the key to it in the little teakwood box from New Guinea on the shelf beside the window where I keep the lava tomb figures from Easter Island ... read the file carefully, before doing anything else! Promise me that you will follow my instructions to the letter, my boy ... until you have absorbed the data in my file, little of this will make any sense to you ... so promise!”
Needless to say I understood absolutely none of this, but he was so pitifully insistent that I swore to do my best to obey his instructions. It was the least I could do, and my words seemed to reassure him. He grew calmer, and much of the tension left his features. We chatted a little on general matters concerning the Institute; shortly thereafter Dr. Colby entered the ward and intimated to me that his patient had had enough excitement for today. I left the sanitarium a few minutes later, after extracting from the physician his promise to keep me informed on the progress of the treatments.
II.
THE afternoon was spent at the Institute, finishing up a few last matters concerning the coming exhibition of the Copeland Collection. I did not again think of Dr. Blaine's urgent insistence that I study the material in his private file until just before I left for the day; recalling his words, and my own promise, I found the key where he had hidden it, unlocked the drawer, and took out the file.
That evening after dinner, I stretched our in an easy chair in my lodgings and began going through the bulging folder. It was filled with heterogeneous material, typewritten and handwritten notes, lists and summaries, packets of newspaper clippings, lengthy abstracts from scholarly works largely unfamiliar to me. and various items of personal correspondence, all bundled together without the slightest semblance of method or order. I could see it would take me quite a while to make head or tail out of all this.
Leafing through the papers, however, I got a general impression from the miscellany. It would seem that Professor Copeland had begun the file, for his spidery hand was unmistakable. He had started collecting newspaper clippings, and had been ordering his note's. The Copeland material formed the basic nucleus of the file. Dr. Blaine had obviously performed extensive work in organizing, collating, and extending the original Copeland material, for his bold yet neat Spencerian hand, quite familiar to me, could be seen throughout the mass of notes, clippings, and manuscript in the form of copious annotations, summaries, and marginal glosses. I glanced quickly through the material that evening, and studied it more closely and in detail for the next several days, so I can give you an accurate overall outline of its central thesis.
It seems that Professor Copeland had gone to the island of Ponape in the Carolines early in 1909, chasing down elusive clues as to a legendary, prehistoric Pacific civilization of vast antiquity. He had first encountered rumors of this lost civilization years earlier, while researching his monumental study Polynesian Mythology, with a Note on the Cthulhu Legend Cycle (1906). While compiling data for that great work of scholarship he had become intrigued by frequent references in the native folklore and literature to a “lost homeland” long since vanished beneath the waves. The old Maori Chant of Eternity, the magnificent but enigmatic Samoan Creation Song, and similar works abound in cryptic allusions to a mysterious lost land called variously "Ha-wa-iki" or "Maui", which last name was puzzlingly reminiscent of the legendary "Mu."