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Updated: June 11, 2025
As he sat down to wait for the evil tidings he felt sure would come, he took up an unopened letter from Hawkins which had been on his desk two days. A part of the letter caused him to read it the second time. "So I got to nosing around and incidentally tumbled on to something which I think may be of interest to you. Would it surprise you to know that Mascola does not own a single fishing-boat?
As he formed an answer to her question he saw that her sun-bronzed cheeks were flushed with red and her clear brown eyes were looking into his inquiringly. In her hand she held an automatic revolver. Gregory strove to make his explanation brief. "These men refused to work. I told them to go. Mascola and I had some trouble. He drew his knife. Then you came."
Mascola turned to look straight into the muzzle and drew back sharply. Then he flourished a roll of bills. "Quick," he said. "You have me at a disadvantage this time. I will pay. Here is the money." He tossed the bills to the deck. "All right, Mascola. That squares us for to-day. I'll dump your nets over right where they are as soon as I check up the money.
Mascola returned to his fleet, his cheeks burning with rage. In the first preliminary skirmish with the enemy, he realized he had been beaten. He had found out nothing of value. Had damaged his boat too, no doubt. Well, he'd make somebody pay for it before morning. Circling his boats, he gave orders for an immediate advance in the direction of the cannery fleet.
In a frenzy of mingled fear and rage, Mascola whipped out his dagger and leaped to the cockpit to battle with the hurtling figure that sprang from the other boat as the two hulls scraped. Gregory caught Mascola's knife arm and twisted it backward, crowding the Italian to the rail. For an instant the two men were locked in a swaying, bone-racking embrace.
The aliens had come upon him from around the point in ever-increasing numbers. Had hedged him and taken his school. When the cannery boats arrived the albacore quit biting and took to other waters. Dickie Lang issued orders for the return of the fleet to Legonia. Then she vented her wrath on Kenneth Gregory. "So you thought you had Mascola beaten, did you? What did I tell you?
Mascola faced about a few minutes later to find himself fighting alone. Then he heard the rattle of loose stones dropping from the cavern wall. Bandrist was leaving him. The Italian's blood warmed at the islander's treachery. Did Bandrist think he was the only one who knew the way out? His anger mounted as he climbed the wall and wormed his way through the narrow opening.
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.
I've just got a hunch it won't be long before we hear from Mascola. He's bringing more boats in here every day from down the coast and the islands." Seeing they were getting nowhere by their talk, Gregory tossed the balance sheet to the desk and got to his feet. "We'd better be on our way," he said.
The dry sticks snapped beneath his feet as he felt his way through the impenetrable darkness, stopping at intervals to listen. That Mascola had preceded him only a few minutes before, he felt reasonably certain. By the time he reached the end of the passage the Italian might have gained a place of safety. Why had he not jumped from the ledge at first sight of his father's murderer?
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