UNDER ORDERS
"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. Gregory left Legonia at ten-thirty with his speed-boat. There were
five in the launch. Four men and Miss Lang."
Mascola drew in his breath sharply.
"That damned Lang girl," he began. "She is a----"
Bandrist slid from his chair with a quick movement which carried him
wriggling about the table.
"Keep your tongue still," he gritted as he towered over the Italian.
"You talk too much."
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. "But it is only natural that
they should come here. Their boats have been fishing along the north
shore of the island. Your men failed to drive them off."
Mascola flushed.
"My men did drive them off," he contradicted hotly. "Only a few minutes
ago they returned with other boats. I will drive those off too."
Bandrist smiled insultingly.
"Why don't you do it?" he challenged. "To-night is a time I must have
something more than talk. I want you to go down and join your fleet at
once, keep a close watch and if the speed-boat does not arrive within a
half-hour, let me know immediately."
Mascola made no move to obey.
"Gonzolez is laying in at the goose-neck," he said. "I sent Rossi round
to join him. The _Fuor d'Italia_ lies in the little cove beyond."
Bandrist's blue eyes flashed. "I can tend to that," he exclaimed. "You
do what you're told and quit meddling with my business."
"It's my business too," Mascola retorted doggedly. "Gonzolez is becoming
angry at the delay. He will wait no longer."
Bandrist walked slowly to the window and stared out into the fog. When
he faced about an automatic shone dully in his hand.
"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. Then he slowly replaced it
in his pocket. The Italian might only be bluffing, but it was best to
take no unnecessary chances. Mastering his anger at Mascola's
insubordination, Bandrist walked again to the table.
"Perhaps you are right," he said pleasantly. "Let us go on to the
goose-neck."
* * * * *
When Gregory returned to the _Richard_ with Slade and Hawkins he found
Dickie Lang huddled close beside the crumpled figure of his captive. The
girl was sobbing softly as she listened to the whispered words of the
little Mexican.
Feeling his way to her side, he placed an arm about her, and drawing her
away from the other man, waited for her to speak. Then she explained in
a voice shaken by tears.
"It's Mexican Joe. He was with our fathers on the _Gull_. No one knew it
at Legonia. He went out with them at midnight and reached Diablo a
little before daybreak. They left him on the launch while they went
ashore. He saw them murdered on the beach. The launch was run down a few
minutes later. Joe was thrown overboard. He struck his head on the
rocks. When he came to, he heard them searching for him but he hid in
the sea-grass and escaped to the other side of the island. He's been
living there ever since in a cave in the hills. It was he who stole the
gun and provisions from the _Petrel_."
Gregory held the girl close as she told the Mexican's story. For an
instant tears dimmed his eyes, then melted away before the white-hot
heat of the blood-lust which surged into his heart. His father had been
murdered at El Diablo. By whom? He put the question.
The girl's fingers tightened on his arm and she placed her lips close to
his ear.
"A number of men overpowered them on the beach and drowned them. Mascola
was with them."
Gregory's jaws locked and the muscles of his body grew tense. Mascola
had murdered his father and Bill Lang. Releasing the girl, he hurried
over to the three men who were talking to the Mexican and grasped
Hawkins by the arm.
"What are we waiting for?" he cried. "While you're talking the man may
get away."
"Just a minute, Cap," Hawkins remonstrated. "Things are coming along
fine. Billings and Slade are learning a lot from the Mex. As soon as
they get him filled up with those sandwiches he's going to show us the
wireless tower and the cove where the _Gray Ghost_ put in to-night. He
says there's a cave close by where he saw----"
Gregory shook off his restraining arm.
"What is all that to me?" he flashed. "Don't you know that Mascola
murdered my father? Let the men go where they will. I'm going after
Mascola."
Hawkins started at Gregory's words.
"I didn't know, Cap," he muttered blankly. For a brief instant he strove
to express his sympathy for his friend. Then he gave it up. "Brace up,
old man," he said at last. "Take a grip on yourself. You can't do
anything over here alone. Before morning we'll have the whole gang
rounded up and Mascola with them. I guess the boys are ready to go now."
Gregory shivered in his wet clothes and Hawkins pressed his slicker upon
him. While the men took their places in the skiff Gregory found Dickie
Lang. The girl came into his outstretched arms and clung close to him in
the darkness.
"Take me with you," she pleaded. "Don't leave me here. I can't stand
it."
He released her gently and shook his head.
"No, dearest," he said softly. "If you were with us I might be afraid.
And I can't afford to be afraid to-night. Stay close and keep under
cover. If the fog lifts, pull the anchor and drift in to the shadow of
the rocks."
"Why don't you tell me what you are going to do?" the girl asked. "You
know that----"
Gregory drew her closer.
"I'm going to get Mascola," he answered in a whisper. Then his voice
changed suddenly. "And if I don't come back," he went on. "You'll know
now that I love you."
For an instant his lips met hers. Then he climbed over the coaming and
joined the men in the dory. Dickie listened to the soft creak of the
oar-locks until the sound was no longer audible.
Mascola had killed her father and Richard Gregory. His son had gone to
bring the Italian to justice. But what could five men do on the island
against the hordes of Bandrist and Mascola? Who were the mysterious
strangers who had accompanied them from Legonia? The questions crowded
close upon one another as they raced through her brain. Then her mind
surrendered to a single thought,--a thought which warmed her heart and
took possession of her being.
"You'll know now that I love you."
She whispered the words softly through lips which were still warm with
the memory of Gregory's kiss. Hope surged into her heart. God was good.
Breathing a prayer for the safety of the man she loved, she caught up
her rifle and sat down to wait.
* * * * *
The men from the launch landed silently on the beach and hid the skiff
among the rocks. Then they followed the Mexican up the trail. Crawling
through the brush, they halted at length at their guide's direction.
"From the top of the hill," he whispered, "the devil speaks."
Billings caught the Mexican by the arm.
"Come," he said. "Lead the way and the devil will speak no longer."
When the sheep-herder's shack loomed across their path, Slade commanded
a halt. Then he gave orders to surround the building. As the men drew
near the cabin the door opened suddenly and a man stepped out. Before he
could close the door, Slade and Hawkins were upon him. Gregory and
Billings darted for the open doorway as the light disappeared from
within. From the fog-shrouded cabin came the sound of muffled blows, the
quick breathing of men, the rasp of feet upon the creaking floor. A
choking cry died away into silence. Silence broken after a moment by a
sharp click. Then another. Slade relighted the lamp and turned to
examine the two white-faced men who lay handcuffed on the floor.
"Look like 'snowbirds,'" he said. "The two of them haven't the strength
of one healthy cat."
Passing the men over to Billings with instructions to search them, he
walked to the radio switch-board and examined it carefully.
"They've got a regular set just the same," he said half-admiringly.
"They could reach Encinitas with this one all right."
Seating himself on a stool by the board he placed his hand on the key.
"I'm going to try to get the _Bennington_," he said.
Billings nodded. "She ought to be close along shore by now," he
answered. "If they left when they said they would."
While the search went on the radio spluttered spasmodically. Finding
nothing of value on the persons of his captives, Billings bared the arms
of the two men and scrutinized the flesh intently in the yellow
lamplight.
"Snowbirds," he announced. "One of them's punctured up one side and down
the other. Other's not so bad. Good business I'd say for them to get
hold of a couple of fellows like these. They're about the only ones they
could get to stick in a God-forsaken hole like this and keep their
mouths shut."
He rose as he spoke and began to move slowly about the room.
"Tell the Mexican to keep a good lookout outside," he instructed
Hawkins. "Then you and your friend can help me go through the shack."
Gregory assisted mechanically in the search but with little interest.
The sooner they were through the sooner they would go down to the cove
where the _Gray Ghost_ lay at anchor. Then he would find Mascola. A
muttered exclamation from Hawkins caused him to look up quickly.
The newspaperman was handing Billings a cigar-shaped capsule half filled
with a coarse white powder.
"What's this, Jack?" he asked. "Looks like sugar. Found it in the
grub-locker."
Billings poured the contents of the capsule into the palm of his hand.
For a moment he scrutinized it intently. "That's the stuff we're looking
for," he said quietly. "Though I never saw it in a package like that
before."
Slade held up a hand for silence and pulled his head-set closer about
his ears. For a moment his attention was held by the instrument. Then
his hand again sought the key. When the sputtering of the radio had died
away he announced:
"Got the _Bennington_. She's about a mile off the goose-neck. They're
going to land in the next cove. The _Gray Ghost's_ at anchor now off the
isthmus cove. Mascola's speed-boat passed them in the fog about an hour
ago. He's lying in somewhere farther down."
He rose as he spoke and began to wreck the radio set.
"Tie those fellows up good, Jack," he instructed Billings. "We don't
want to be bothered with them down below. We've got to be on our way.
The boys will be there by the time we get down the hill. What's that
you've got there?"
Billings extended the capsule and Slade examined it curiously.
"Queer package," he said. "But it's the straight dope."
Hawkins' eyes shone with excitement as he crowded closer to Slade. "What
is it, Tom?" he asked.
"Heroin," answered Slade quickly. "A refined product of opium. Never saw
it put up like this before though. When we hit the beach maybe we'll
learn the idea."
Beckoning Gregory to his side, Slade took from his pocket a deputy
shield of the United States Customs and pinned it on the young man's
vest.
"For your own protection," he explained. Then he added: "You must act
entirely under my orders from now on, Mr. Gregory. Do only what I tell
you. Nothing more. You have been in the service of the government
before. You know what it means."
A few moments later the four men followed the Mexican down the trail
leading to the goose-neck.
Under orders. Do only what I tell you. Nothing more. The words echoed in
Gregory's mind. Slade did not understand. Mascola was to the revenue man
only one of many. A man to be arrested and tried. Perhaps acquitted on a
mere technicality of law or a perjured alibi. Slade did not know the
Italian. Had Dickie Lang not said that Mascola laughed at the courts?
Gregory's jaw set tighter as he descended the trail. To-night, orders or
no orders, he would bring Mascola to justice by the law of the sea.