FOR ALL THE WORLD TO KNOW
Silvanus Rock was at the Golden Rule Fish Cannery at an early hour on
the morning following the raid upon El Diablo. When Blankovitch entered
the office, he noted at a glance that the face of the capitalist looked
drawn and worried.
"Any news, Blankovitch?"
The words tumbled eagerly from Rock's thick lips as he caught sight of
the ruddy countenance of the manager.
Blankovitch shook his head.
"Only the broken message a little before midnight," he answered. "You
got that. Gonzolez landed. That's all we know."
Rock fidgeted while his eyes roved about the room. "You don't suppose
anything went wrong?" he hazarded after a moment.
Blankovitch did not think so. The wireless had failed for some reason or
other. But it had done that before. He was expecting Rossi in at any
moment. There was no occasion for worry. Would Mr. Rock care for a drink
so early in the morning? The bank president gulped down the brandy, and
under the stimulus of the fiery liquor his wavering courage rallied
perceptibly.
"Had a bad night," he explained. "Didn't sleep a wink. Neuralgia."
The Slavonian nodded sympathetically and the two men lapsed into
silence. After some time had passed a fisherman entered.
"Rossi's coming in," he announced.
Rock leaped to his feet with the youthful exuberance of a schoolboy.
"I feel like a new man," he confided to Blankovitch, when the messenger
had gone out. "The brandy was just what I needed. Lack of sleep surely
pulls a man down."
The manager agreed and together the two men went out to the receiving
platform to await the arrival of the boat from El Diablo.
When Rossi drew alongside, Rock greeted him effusively.
"How is everything at the island?" he asked. "Have you plenty of fish?"
The fishing captain answered the bank president's greeting with his
usual shrug.
"_Bonne,_" he said shortly. "Everything's fine. I got some good fish."
Rock was jubilant. His fears had been groundless. Everything was quite
all right. For had not Rossi given the accustomed signal to that effect?
Blankovitch had already taken the cue.
"If his fish are first-class, we might put them up special for those A-1
orders," he suggested.
Rock nodded as he noted the stolid faces of the fishermen peering over
the rail. Rossi had his regular crew. Still, one could never be too
careful. For a moment he appeared to deliberate. Then he said:
"Good idea, Blankovitch, we're short on high-grade stuff."
The manager moved at once to the receiving-vat and pulled the grating
over the traveling conveyer which carried the fish into the cannery.
Then he opened a valve at the bottom of the tank.
"All right, Rossi," he said. "Dump them in."
Rock stood by for a moment watching the fish slide into the vat. Then he
walked away in the direction of the cannery office. Passing through the
room where he had conferred with the Slavonian, he entered the manager's
private sanctuary which lay beyond and closed the door.
In the far corner of the room was a small clothes-closet. To this Rock
made his way hastily, and, fitting a key in the lock, passed within,
slamming the door after him. In the darkness of the stuffy cubby-hole,
his fingers found a small flash-light in the pocket of an old vest which
hung from one of the hooks. Directing the rays of the light about him,
he worked his way through the hanging garments and reached the end of
the closet. For an instant his fingers slid along the inside wall. Then
a cool draught of air fanned his face, strongly tinctured with the
smell of the mud-flats.
Swinging the panel shut behind him, Silvanus Rock descended the narrow
stairway. When he reached the bottom he paused and drew his coat collar
closer about his neck. The air was damp and cold and the waters of the
bay were lapping softly against the pilings which supported the
building.
Grasping the wooden rail of the gangway which led away from the bottom
of the stairs, the capitalist crept on through the darkness until he
reached the base of a big concrete storage-vat. Groping for the lock
which secured the outlet-cleaning-door of the big tank, he unlocked it
and passed within.
With the water-tight door closed behind him, he switched on the electric
light. The cement floor of the vat was already partly covered with the
fish which slid downward from the receiving tanks on the platform above.
Rock listened intently. But only the soft slip of the fish through the
chute and the drip of the water from the draining-table, disturbed the
silence. Then he heard the murmur of men's voices from the platform. The
valve was still open. When Blankovitch closed that, no sound would
penetrate the vat from the outside world.
He turned his attention at once to the fish. Drawing one of the albacore
to one side, his fat fingers delved carefully into the fish's belly.
Then they brought forth a large aluminum capsule and laid it carefully
on a tin-topped table which stood conveniently near a small
capping-machine.
For some moments he repeated the operation until all the fish had been
emptied of their contents and a double row of capsules covered the
table.
The albacore, he noticed suddenly, had ceased to slip through the chute.
He frowned at the observance. Surely Rossi had brought a larger cargo
than this.
Walking again to the intake from the tank above, he listened. The valve
was still open. There would be more or Blankovitch would close the chute
and assist him below. Wiping his hands carefully on his handkerchief, he
walked nervously about the tank. There was nothing he could do but wait.
There would be no use to fill the cans at present or start the conveyer
to carry the empty-bellied fish to the cannery floor. Both would
necessitate the use of machinery, and even electric-driven power made
some noise.
If the Slavonian was through, why didn't he close the valve and come
down? The door of the storage-vat opened suddenly and Blankovitch's
bulky figure staggered within. Rock drew back at the expression on the
Slavonian's face. All color had fled from the manager's ruddy cheeks.
His eyes were staring and his heavy jaw sagged.
Then Rock noted that the door was still open. As he made haste to close
it before questioning the frightened Slavonian, he found the way blocked
by three shadowy figures who sprang upon him.
"You are under arrest, Mr. Rock."
Silvanus Rock wriggled vainly in the arms of the men who forced him back
into the tank. In the struggle the light fell full upon the open vest of
one of the strangers. Then Rock collapsed.
For years he had suffered this nightmare. In his troubled dreams he had
seen the glittering shield of the revenue men winking at him from the
darkness. Now it was a tangible reality. He was caught with the goods
through the Slavonian's treachery. Glaring in sullen anger at his
trembling manager, he opened his mouth to speak but no word came. Then
one of the deputies who had made a cursory examination of the vat, began
to speak:
"Well, Mr. Rock," he said, "it kind of looks like we had the man higher
up. At the point of a gun, Mr. Blankovitch showed us the way to your
little office down here. And Signor Rossi brought us all the way over
from Diablo hidden away among his fish so we could have the pleasure of
finding out where he sold his cargo. The little ride was worth as much
to him as it was to us."
Turning to the man who was standing by the Slavonian, he ordered:
"Better put the steels on him, Jack. I'll take this one while Joe stays
down here with the stuff."
* * * * *
When the _Bennington_ entered Crescent Bay followed by the _Richard_
towing the _Fuor d'Italia_, excitement was rife at Legonia. And as the
boats came to anchor off the Golden Rule Cannery a large crowd of
curious village-folk collected on the dock.
The consensus of opinion, in Silvanus Rock's absence, was expressed by
the local postmaster. There had been another fight at El Diablo and
"Uncle Sam had stepped in and 'pinched' the whole darned bunch." To that
opinion, the crowd for the most part concurred though there were some
who thought otherwise.
It remained for Silvanus Rock himself to upset the truth of the
postmaster's statement. Scarcely able to credit their sight, the
villagers saw the magnate of Legonia led forth from the Golden Rule
Cannery in the custody of strangers. Strangers who spoke and acted with
an air of authority and displayed shining badges to part the crowd as
they walked with their prisoner to meet the small boat from the cutter.
Then came Blankovitch wearing hand-cuffs.
It was some time before the truth leaked out through the lips of a
newspaperman who was aboard the _Bennington_. Even then there were some
who doubted.
Mascola killed by Bandrist? Impossible. Bill Lang and Richard Gregory
murdered at El Diablo and Mexican Joe who had been with them, found on
the island?
Silvanus Rock a smuggler? Why the very thought was absurd.
But the postmaster was gifted with more sagacity. With an ear trained to
catch the slightest drift of public opinion, he declaimed after hearing
all the evidence:
"I ain't much surprised. Kind o' had my suspicions of old Rock all along
though I never said nothin'. But I allays did say that young Gregory was
a comin' citizen."
* * * * *
Purple dusk settled closely about Legonia at the close of the most
memorable day in the history of the village. For a time the streets were
deserted as the fishermen sought their homes at supper-time to retail
the latest bits of gossip which were current in the saloons.
Kenneth Gregory's name was upon every lip. No story was complete unless
he figured in it. The Golden Rule Cannery had been closed until further
notice. Gregory had bought all the fish brought in by the alien fleet.
His wharves were piled high with fish-boxes. His vats were full of
albacore. He was going to give everybody a chance if they "shot square"
and became American citizens. Rock and Blankovitch had been taken with
the men from Diablo Island to the jail at the county-seat. The body of
Mascola was still in the custody of the local undertaker and Bandrist
had been removed to a hospital. But of the men themselves little was
said. An era of universal friendliness prevailed throughout the village.
At the Lang cottage Aunt Mary was striving vainly to assemble her guests
about the table for the evening meal.
"The biscuits will be ruined," she pleaded. "Leave the talk go. You've
all talked yourselves half-sick now."
Jack McCoy protested as Miss Lang led him to the table.
"Remember, I wasn't there," he said. "And I've got a lot to find out
before I get caught up."
Hawkins slid into a chair by McCoy.
"Well that's about all there is to it, Mac," he said. "Except that the
_Gray Ghost_ made a clean get-away in the fog. You see the Custom House
has been wise to her for a long time but they never could catch her with
the goods. For some time there has been a lot of dope floating around in
tuna cans so they kind of laid it to some fish cannery. In talking it
over with Cap. I began to look this fellow, Rock, up. And I found among
other things, that he didn't have a dollar until a few years ago. He
made his money quick, and as far as we knew, right here in town. Then,
this Diablo stuff gave me a hunch."
Gregory looked up quickly at the mention of the island.
"Easy on the Diablo stuff, Bill," he cautioned. "Aunt Mary doesn't know
much about that."
When supper was over, Jack McCoy rose hastily.
"I must be getting back," he said. "We have a big night-shift and fish
to burn. And they will burn unless I'm on the job."
Gregory followed him to the door.
"I'll be down pretty quick, Jack," he said. "I want to see Miss Lang a
minute before I go."
A crooked little smile twisted the corners of McCoy's mouth and for a
moment he looked deep into Gregory's eyes.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," he began somewhat uncertainly,
and seeing that Gregory made no denial, he put out his hand. "I hope
you'll both be happy," he said slowly.
Then he turned quickly and hurried out the door. Hawkins hurried after
him.
"I guess I'll go down with McCoy," he explained. "I want to keep near a
phone." Then he turned to Aunt Mary. "In to-morrow's _Times_ you'll get
the latest details of the secret of El Diablo," he said as he bade her
good night.
When Hawkins had gone out and Aunt Mary had retired to the kitchen,
Gregory exclaimed to Dickie Lang in a low voice:
"There's one secret she won't get in _The Times_. She won't have to wait
that long. For I'm going to tell her now."
"You'd better not," answered the girl. "You would have to shout. She's
unusually deaf to-night. All the neighbors would hear."
"That's what I want," Gregory cried as he walked to the kitchen with
Dickie following close behind.
In the semi-darkness of the little pantry-closet he took the girl in his
arms.
"It's the only secret I'd never be able to keep," he confessed. "And I
want the whole world to hear it."
Pushing aside the swinging-door, he went into the kitchen to tell Aunt
Mary.
[Illustration: In the semi-darkness of the little pantry-closet]
THE END
[Transcriber's Notes: Punctuation errors have been corrected and hyphen
usage made consistent. Illustrations (excepting frontispiece) have been
moved from their original page locations to the paragraph which they
illustrate. Printer's errors have been corrected as follows:
Page 7: Dois amended to Dios (Gracious a Dios)
Page 49: bare-booted amended to bare-footed (bare-footed fishermen)
Page 67: speak amended to speck (speck on the horizon)
Page 81: do amended to go (to go down anyway)
Page 82: run amended to ran (He ran his boats)
Page 148: be amended to he (he began to fall down)
Page 171: slippel amended to slipped (slipped a hand into his pocket)
Page 173: furinor amended to furrinor (bossed around by a "furrinor")
Page 182: rememberance amended to remembrance (a sharp remembrance)
Page 205: unimpeachible amended to unimpeachable
(unimpeachable standing)
Page 225: Back amended to Black (together off Black Point)
Page 278: lose amended to loose (cut loose from the _Pelican_)
Page 279: she's amended to she'd (she'd take it)
Page 293: preceptibly amended to perceptibly
(expenses mounted perceptibly)
Page 313: jibbering amended to gibbering (gibbering with fear)
Page 328: order amended to ordered (Smith ordered.)
Page 331: extra "the" removed (darkness across the cave)
Page 347: died amended to dyed (dyed red with his blood)
Page 357: steals amended to steels (put the steels on him)
Errors in foreign language spelling (_Gracious a Dios_ and _Sangre de
Christo_) have been retained.]