y.

"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.