recruiter down to Tanna and over to Fiji, got a job as overseer on a
German plantation back of Apia, and finally settled down on the _Uncle
Toby_."

"Have you ever met Swithin Hall?"

Snow shook his head.

"Well, you're likely to meet him now. There's the windmill."

In the centre of the lagoon, as they emerged from the passage, they
opened a small, densely wooded island, among the trees of which a large
Dutch windmill showed plainly.

"Nobody at home from the looks of it," Grief said, "or you might have a
chance to collect."

The mate's face set vindictively, and his fists clenched.

"Can't touch him legally. He's got too much money now. But I can take
sixty thousand dollars' worth out of his hide. I hope he is at home."

"Then I hope he is, too," Grief said, with an appreciative smile. "You
got the description of his island from Bau-Oti, I suppose?"

"Yes, as pretty well everybody else has. The trouble is that Bau-Oti
can't give latitude or longitude. Says they sailed a long way from the
Gilberts--that's all he knows. I wonder what became of him."

"I saw him a year ago on the beach at Tahiti. Said he was thinking about
shipping for a cruise through the Paumotus. Well, here we are, getting
close in. Heave the lead, Jackie-Jackie. Stand by to let go, Mr. Snow.
According to Bau-Oti, anchorage three hundred yards off the west shore
in nine fathoms, coral patches to the southeast. There are the patches.
What do you get, Jackie?"

"Nine fadom."

"Let go, Mr. Snow."

The _Uncle Toby_ swung to her chain, head-sails ran down, and the Kanaka
crew sprang to fore and main-halyards and sheets.

IV

The whaleboat laid alongside the small, coral-stone landing-pier, and
David Grief and his mate stepped ashore.

"You'd think the place deserted," Grief said, as they walked up a sanded
path to the bungalow. "But I smell a smell that I've often smelled.
Something doing, or my nose is a liar. The lagoon is carpeted with
shell. They're rotting the meat out not a thousand miles away. Get that
whiff?"

Like no bungalow in the tropics was this bungalow of Swithin Hall. Of
mission architecture, when they had entered through the unlatched screen
door they found decoration and furniture of the same mission style. The
floor of the big living-room was covered with the finest Samoan mats.
There were couches, window seats, cozy corners, and a billiard table. A
sewing table, and a sewing-basket, spilling over with sheer