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He knew me all right and he had the nerve to ask me if he could come to see me," she concluded. Gregory's dislike of Bandrist increased. "What did you tell him?" he asked. Dickie laughed. "I told him I wasn't any more anxious to receive callers at my home than he was at his." Gregory wondered if the caustic answer to Bandrist might have been retailed for his own benefit.
Mascola's eyes flashed at the smallness of the sum. A hundred dollars would be next to nothing, even in Mexico. Bandrist, he felt sure, possessed money in plenty. If there was not enough for two, there would be plenty for one. Mascola made up his mind quickly. He would be the one. He had given Bandrist his chance. The islander had tried twice to-night to give him the double-cross.
Peters nodded and drew up a chair close to Rock's side. "This one's about the fishing-boats," he said in a low voice. "They got into a scrap with the American boats off Northwest Harbor. Bandrist says that Gregory's fleet won out. Mascola's lay in at the harbor. The Florence burned up and a lot of his other boats are pretty well shot. He couldn't stop the other fellows at all and they loaded up."
Mascola started from his chair, but there was a look in Bandrist's eyes which made him drop back. A sneering smile played about the Italian's lips but he said nothing. If Bandrist was a fool about a woman, what was that to him? He could not afford to quarrel with the islander. Not yet. "How did Peters know they were coming here?" he asked after a moment. "He didn't," Bandrist answered shortly.
When Bandrist and Mascola reached the Fuor d'Italia, the Italian kicked the dory adrift as the two men climbed aboard. "Pull the hook," he cried, "while I start the motor." "No," Bandrist whispered. "You'd be a fool to do that. The cave was filled with revenue men. That means there's a cutter lying in around here somewhere. Perhaps at the goose-neck. She would spot you in a minute with her search.
A man by the name of Bandrist has it leased on long time from the government. He's Swiss, I think. He farms a little of the land that isn't too rocky and runs his sheep over the rest. The island is about twenty miles long and over ten in the widest place." "Is fishing good out here?" "Fine," the girl answered. "Only it's dangerous. Fogs in spring and summer, and storms the rest of the time.
"You have seen nothing of the speed-boat from Legonia?" Mascola shook his head in answer to the question and reached for the bottle which stood on the table in Bandrist's ranch-house. Bandrist jerked it away. "Cut that out," he said sternly. "You've had enough. To-night you have work to do. You must keep sober." Mascola scowled, glaring angrily at the islander as he went on: "Mr.
If you will permit me, I shall summon the others to care for their companion." He waited for the girl's consent. Then he waved his hand to the men on the beach. When they were within ear-shot, Bandrist addressed them rapidly, nodding toward the spot indicated by Dickie Lang. As the men hurried away, he explained: "They come to me from many countries. Some of them are bad and cause me much trouble.
The isolation of the island was threatened by the increasing activities of the American fleet in that vicinity. Mascola's opportunity was only a means to an end. Gregory's frown deepened. What Rock and Bandrist were doing at Diablo concerned him in itself, not at all. In so far as it related to Mascola's interference, however, it was all-important.
Then he slowly replaced it in his pocket. The Italian might only be bluffing, but it was best to take no unnecessary chances. Mastering his anger at Mascola's insubordination, Bandrist walked again to the table. "Perhaps you are right," he said pleasantly. "Let us go on to the goose-neck."
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