t stood concerning a division
of his money before they went farther. Now would be a good time to find
out. He made the suggestion at once that the islander grant him an
advance of funds until such time as he could obtain his money from
Legonia and Port Angeles.

"I have no money to spare," Bandrist answered curtly. "You are foolish
not to have been better prepared. Our business is one which should have
taught you that. You will have a hard time now to get your money from
the States."

An angry retort welled to Mascola's lips but he choked it back. Bandrist
was speaking again.

"Here is one hundred dollars. You are welcome to that. But no more."

Mascola's eyes flashed at the smallness of the sum. A hundred dollars
would be next to nothing, even in Mexico. Bandrist, he felt sure,
possessed money in plenty. If there was not enough for two, there would
be plenty for one.

Mascola made up his mind quickly. He would be the one. He had given
Bandrist his chance. The islander had tried twice to-night to give him
the double-cross. Would do it again if he got the chance. But Bandrist
would have no more chances. Reaching out his hand, Mascola took the gold
with muttered words of thanks. Then his fingers sought the switch and
the noise of the motor died suddenly into silence.

"Listen."

Mascola turned quickly in his seat and looked over the stern. At the
same time his right hand sought his dagger.

Bandrist twisted about, his eyes searching the gray waters astern.

"I don't," he began. But his words ended in a choking gasp.

Mascola's knife had found its mark and the Italian's fingers were
tearing at Bandrist's throat.

The islander struggled to reach his gun, but he felt his strength
leaving him. The moonlight shimmered before his eyes, mingled with gray
splashes of fog. A sharp pain laced his side. His mouth opened and he
fought hard for air. Heavy darkness began to settle about him. From the
far-off spaces he heard the sound of rapid breathing. Or was it the
faint pulsing of a motor-launch? Then the murmur grew fainter until it
trailed away into silence. Mascola pulled the islander roughly from the
seat and dragged him along the floor of the cockpit. Then he sprang to
the wheel and started the motor. There was no time now to get the money.
The fog was lifting. And there was a boat following.

* * * * *

Clear of the Diablo reefs, Gregory took the wheel and plunged the
_Richard_ i