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Updated: June 14, 2025
Strongly contrasting was the darkly handsome face of Harkness, man of wealth and Pilot of the Second Class, and the no less pleasing features of Chet Bullard, Master Pilot of the World. For Bullard's curling hair was as golden as the triple star upon his chest that proclaimed his standing to the world and all the air above.
And I grant that your interest in the ultimate destination of my diamonds is the most natural thing in the world. Incidentally, your friendship shall not go unrewarded." He waved aside Bullard's quick protest. "But I have grown whimsical in my old age, and you must bear with me." He smiled gently and became grave. "Ultimately my diamonds will be divided into three portions.
He was decently clothed in ready-mades and almost recovered, roughly speaking, from his bout of the previous night. But he was full of melancholy. Bullard's fee for the opening of the Green Box, not to mention the small fortune annexed from Mr. Marvel, was all gone. What he had not lost over the cards had been stolen while he lay fuddled.
What they did was this: Rose went out and bought a second-hand carpet bag and put the bonds into it, save sixty five-hundreds, which they divided, and Bullard resolved to leave the bag with a friend of his. This friend, strangely enough, was the widow of a policeman and sister of two others. But she knew nothing of Bullard's character, believing him to be a workingman.
The old call the S O S! it had come from that throat; it had seemed a call sent directly to him! And Chet Bullard's eyes held steadily toward that place of mystery and of a sender unknown. "I'm going down," he told himself more than O'Malley. "There's something about it I can't understand, something pretty damnable about it, I admit. But, whatever it is, that's what I am here to find out."
He dug out pork chops and almost succeeded in making us cornbread out of some coarse flour I saw him pouring out of the food chopper. He had perked up enough to bewail the fact that all he had was canned spinach instead of turnip greens. But by night, the temper had changed and the food indicated it again. Bullard's cooking was turning into a barometer of the psychic pressure.
Flitch took a long breath and faced his patron, fairly and squarely. "Mr. Marvel's gone," he said. "What?" "I was fearin' ye meant ill by him, and this mornin' I gave him back his money and let him go free." Grey and ugly was Bullard's face; his body was rigid; his jaw worked stiffly. "You you damned fool!" The other drew his crumpled cap across his sweating forehead.
He dragged two grain sacks behind him, and he was so grotesquely bow-legged that the first sight of him always provoked laughter. This was old Pete the snow-packer, bound on his nightly trip to the hills. Outside his burros waited, their pack-saddles empty. By dawn they would come down from the world's rim, the grain sacks bulging with hard-packed snow for the cooling of Bullard's liquor.
And, I say! as you go out now try to look as if you had been damned badly treated. Further, before you come back, do what you can to alter that face of yours." The door closed; Bullard's expression relaxed. For the first time in his life he had been within an ace of admitting to himself defeat.
Wouldn't take on the job again for ten, times the money." "Well, it's over, and I take it that you were quite successful." "Oh, that part of it was easy, Mr. Bullard." "Good!" With that Mr. Bullard's geniality vanished. "I say, where's the Green Box?" Mr. Marvel grinned pleasantly. "Always in such a hurry, Mr. Bullard! But don't be alarmed; the Green Box is all right very much all right."
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