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Updated: May 26, 2025
As the Russian slouched down the street, Mascola reopened his door and went into his office. Then he got Ankovitch on the phone. "Come down to the boat right away," he ordered. "I want you to get right out." Day was breaking when McCoy stood with Dickie Lang on the steps of the Lang cottage. The bullet had been found and removed. Kenneth Gregory was resting as well as could be expected.
Then he looked out to sea and his eyes brightened as the mast of a fishing-boat rounded the point and turned shoreward. It was Ankovitch with the Lura. His launch rode high on a capping swell and a puff of wind caused him to look anxiously at the beach. The tide was beginning to set in strong and the breeze was freshening. He snapped out his watch and scowled.
"He's workin' for the Lang girl now," put in another. Boris snarled and, flinging his tormentors away from him, made his way to the bar, jabbering excitedly in Russian to Pete Ankovitch. Blagg moved nearer. "What's he sayin', Pete?" he asked. Ankovitch laughed. "He say everybody go to hell," he interpreted. "He say he show Mascola he ain't 'fraid of no woman."
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