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Updated: June 2, 2025
Once, before Gregory could surmise his purpose, he sprang to the girl's side and assisted her with a piece of shaft and the ease with which he handled the heavy brass caused the young man to marvel. A queer specimen of man was Bandrist, he reflected, to be marooned in such a spot as this. Gregory's work gave him a chance to study the islander without being observed.
There was no need to row the launch as far as this. If Bandrist was going with him, he must learn he was to be only a passenger. The Fuor d'Italia did not belong to Rock and the islander. She was his own property. He would run her where he pleased and as he pleased. As he labored, he formulated his plans.
"I have no money to spare," Bandrist answered curtly. "You are foolish not to have been better prepared. Our business is one which should have taught you that. You will have a hard time now to get your money from the States." An angry retort welled to Mascola's lips but he choked it back. Bandrist was speaking again. "Here is one hundred dollars. You are welcome to that. But no more."
Mascola nodded his head in the direction of the beach. "My skiff lies close to rocks by the point," he said. "The launch is close by." Bandrist fingered his automatic nervously. "We can wait no longer," he said. As he spoke he began to crawl forward toward the water. The blue light from the signal flares flickered about the rock behind which Mascola had gone into hiding.
"I'm wondering about the same things our fathers wondered about," she said. As Gregory said nothing, she went on hurriedly: "Did you ever stop to think that if Mascola and that gray boat lay in at Hell-Hole that they are doing it with Bandrist's permission? That means that whatever they are doing there, Bandrist is in on it." She paused abruptly and her eyes rested full on Gregory's face.
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.
"The wind is blowing in our faces. We must keep at the oars. Then they will think us still on the island. If you start the motor now you'll bring pursuit." Mascola's hatred of Bandrist increased with the quiet tone of command with which the islander spoke. "There is no boat that can catch mine with this lead," he bragged. "Mr.
"I have an idea that old Rock is in on it, too," she said. "He and Bandrist are pretty thick evidently, and Rock always did stick up for Mascola. And all three of them are doing all they can against us." "And you think it is something else than fishing?" Gregory prompted. "Yes, I'm sure of it. I think our fathers had the same idea. I believe they came over here alone that night to find out."
Before the echoes of the two shots had died away Mascola's body slid from the seat and fell in a heap upon the floor. Dickie drew her revolver and sprang to the rail. Sweeping the darkness of the Fuor d'Italia's cockpit with the rays of her light, she drew back. "Bandrist," she whispered to Gregory through whitening lips.
We are interfering with no one's rights. We're here. The fish are here. And here we're going to stay." "I'll show you, you " Bandrist checked the Italian's angry outburst by placing a hand firmly upon his arm. "I'm sorry," he began. But Mascola's open muffler drowned his words and the Fuor d'Italia leaped away into the darkness. "Mascola's drunk," commented Dickie, looking after them.
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