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Updated: May 9, 2025
The visitor smiled as he caught the mast-stay and drew himself gracefully over the rail. "I am Leo Bandrist," he introduced. "I fear my men have caused you some annoyance. I am sorry." Dickie rehearsed the incidents leading up to the trouble with the natives and when she had concluded, Bandrist's forehead wrinkled in a frown. "I am very sorry," he repeated. "My men, you see, are very stupid.
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.
Gregory's boat is faster than yours for one," Bandrist disputed quietly. "The new revenue cutters are faster for others. Why are you a fool?" A hot argument began on the instant between the two men. An argument which ended by Bandrist's knocking Mascola to the cockpit. Mascola lay where he fell for a moment, dazed by the blow. Bandrist was not rowing he noticed.
Bandrist, he remembered, never trusted his money to banks, but paid his bills in yellow gold which he carried in the coin belt about his waist. The observation gave Mascola comfort. Bandrist had enough for them both. He would see that he received his share. He ceased rowing. "Far enough," he muttered. "No." Bandrist's reply was sharp and decisive. "Your exhaust can be heard for miles," he said.
"Do as I tell you," he ordered quietly. "And do it quick." Mascola's face purpled. Still he made no move to do Bandrist's bidding. "Don't forget," he said thickly, "that there are others who know besides you and me. If anything happens to me at Diablo there is one who will tell what he knows. I have seen to that." Bandrist's fingers tightened on the revolver.
Bandrist twisted about, his eyes searching the gray waters astern. "I don't," he began. But his words ended in a choking gasp. Mascola's knife had found its mark and the Italian's fingers were tearing at Bandrist's throat. The islander struggled to reach his gun, but he felt his strength leaving him. The moonlight shimmered before his eyes, mingled with gray splashes of fog.
She's on tide and you haven't any more claim to that than I have. You know that as well as I do. I'm going to take my time. When I get through, I'll go. And not before. If you are on the square you'll stay here until I do. We don't want trouble any more than you do. But we're not going to be bluffed out on this deal or any other." Bandrist's eyes shone with unconcealed admiration.
"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.
Dickie stepped into the dory of the Pelican which Jones shoved into the water. "I want to get Tom to the launch and have her ready to get under way," she explained to Gregory. "Will you stay and help Sorenson load the rest of the motor?" Gregory nodded and set to work. Bandrist's eyes followed the departing skiff until it disappeared around the point.
Kenneth Gregory looked after the departing lights of the Fuor d'Italia. "Score one for the invaders of Bandrist's island," he said grimly. "Mascola didn't learn much on his reconnoitering expedition, except that we had a better boat than his." Then he turned to Bronson. "Take us up to the other end," he instructed.
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