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"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.
Doubtless she would be kept fully occupied at the goose-neck. The next instant the fog-wall ahead dripped in the rays of the searchlight. Gregory's hand flashed to the spark as his foot released the throttle. The angry roar of the speed-boat died away on the instant and the hull dropped sullenly. Putting about, he started shoreward at right angles to his former course.
Turning the skiff about, Gregory started for the launch. Had the man landed others on the Richard? Surely he had reached the speed-boat and had put about. Was he bent only upon stealing the boat or was he only one of many who would be down upon them any minute? Arriving alongside the Richard Dickie hailed him softly. "Some fellow tried to steal our boat," he explained to the girl.
The cool rush of air revived Gregory's senses and he found himself leaning weakly against the coaming of the speed-boat. Then he heard the girl calling from the wheel. "Mascola's broken through." He gulped in the moist sea air and groped his way forward. Far astern the wreck burned fiercely, bringing into bold relief the frowning peaks which fringed the shore-line of El Diablo.
And the next time you try to lay around me I'm going to run through your nets and cut them to pieces." Mascola dropped to the cushioned seat and whirled half about. "I will not forget," he said. "To-day you win. Next time " His words were lost in the roar of his motor. The speed-boat shot forward like a horse at the touch of a spur. In a whirl of white water Mascola sped away for the beach.
The police were clearing a way for him. As a police captain touched a gold-flashing cap to him, Carl remembered how afraid of the police that hobo Slim Ericson had been. Tony and he completed examination of the machine, with Tony's mechanician, and sent it off to a shop, to await Martin Dockerill's arrival by speed-boat and racing-automobile.
They had been running only a few minutes when they sighted Mascola's speed-boat astern. The girl frowned as the Fuor d'Italia roared by in a swirl of white water. "This is where speed counts," she exclaimed. "If Mascola tumbles on to Big Jack he'll have his gang around the Albatross before we can get within hailing distance of our nearest boat."
But his loss would be a serious one. Without the speed-boat, Gregory would be greatly handicapped. He set his jaw grimly in the darkness. He could not afford to tie up the Richard. He would run her himself. Directing Hawkins to pull the anchor, he slid into Bronson's seat and focused the rays of his flash-light on the speed-boat's starting mechanism. "Are you going to try to run her?"
She watched the hulk of marriage drifting down on her frail speed-boat of aspiration, and steered in desperate circles. Then her father got the nervous prostration he had richly earned. The doctor ordered rest. Claire took him in charge. He didn't want to travel. Certainly he didn't want the shore or the Adirondacks. As there was a branch of his company in Minneapolis, she lured him that far away.
Curtis Gordon's face was red and angry as he shook hands stiffly with his guest and voiced the formal hope that they would meet again. "I'm glad to be gone," Slater observed as the speed-boat rushed across the bay. "I'm a family man, and I've got principles. Gordon's got neither." "It was outrageous for you to walk out so suddenly. It embarrassed me."
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