245

XXIV A FIGHTING CHANCE 253

XXV THE BANKER AT THE HELM 264

XXVI THE VALUE OF PUBLICITY 280

XXVII TO SOLVE THE MYSTERY 291

XXVIII THE ISLAND'S PRISONER 304

XXIX UNDER ORDERS 315

XXX THE FIGHT IN THE CAVE 325

XXXI BENEATH THE WATERS 340

XXXII FOR ALL THE WORLD TO KNOW 352

EL DIABLO

CHAPTER I

FORBIDDEN WATERS

Richard Gregory stirred restlessly in his sleep vaguely aware of an
unfamiliar sound, a faint tapping, insistent, disturbing. He wakened
sharply and sat bolt upright, conscious of the fact that he was fully
dressed. Then he remembered.

"All right, Bill," he called softly. "Coming."

It took but a minute to shove his automatic into his pocket and secure
his rifle from the corner. Groping his way to the door he stood
shivering on the threshold, staring into the thick gray fog which
enveloped him.

A hand touched his shoulder. Strong fingers tightened on his arm.

"This way," a low voice directed. "Careful, don't scuff."

Gregory started to speak but a warning pressure of the big fingers
restrained him. His companion led the way. He followed in silence.
Through the winding streets of the little fishing village they went,
the familiar landmarks about them looming grotesque and mystical in the
low-hanging fog. At length the acrid air of the sea assailed their
nostrils and the silence of the night was broken by the noisy splashing
of a marsh-loon.

Bill Lang stopped suddenly. Faintly through the gray void came the
muffled gulping of an under-water exhaust. Huddled together they stood
listening. To Richard Gregory the sound indicated only the slow approach
of a motor-boat. To the trained ear of the fisherman it meant that
Mexican Joe was on time with the _Sea Gull_.

Lang led on down the loosely boarded wharf piled high with ill-smelling
fish-boxes and paused at the head of a narrow gangway, looking back,
listening. Close by the dock Gregory discerned the outline of a
fishing-boat, magnified by the fog into whimsical proportions.
Descending cautiously, he followed Lang aboard and groped his way into
the protecting shelter of the engine-house. The cold mist clung to his
flesh and he drew his coat closer about him. The soft breathing of the
heavy-duty motor became more pronounced, more labored. The clut