uppose
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