e hotel keeper beamed upon them both as they went out
of the place. A slatternly, dark haired girl who leaned on his
shoulder smiled invitingly at Bell. And Bell, in his character of a
loutish sheepman from one of the ranches that dot the shores of the
Strait, grinned awkwardly back. But he went on with Jamison.

"We separate," said Jamison under his breath. "We want to find where
The Master lives, mostly, and then we want to find the laboratory
where his stuff is mixed. We don't want to do any killing until that's
settled. After all, the Trade has something to say!"

Bell codded indifferently and began to wander idly about the streets,
turning here and there as if moved by nothing more than the vaguest
curiosity. But gradually he was working through the sections in which
the larger buildings stood. Concrete structures, astonishingly modern,
dotted the business section. But none of them had the air that would
surround a place where a man with power of life or death would be. In
a town the size of Punta Arenas there would be unmistakable evidences
about The Master's residence, even if it were only that those who
passed it did so hurriedly and with a twinge of fear.

* * * * *

There were prosperous men in plenty on the streets, mingled with
deserting sailors, stockmen and farmers from the villages along the
Strait, and even a few grimy men who looked like miners. But there is
a lignite mine not far from the city, and a narrow gauge railroad
running to it. Of the prosperous-seeming men, however, Bell picked out
one here and there toward whom all passersby adopted a manner of
cringing respect. Bell lounged against a pole and studied them
thoughtfully. Men with an air of amused and careless scorn which only
men with unlimited power may adopt. He saw one grossly fat man with
hard and cruel eyes. The uniformed policemen drove all traffic
abjectly out of the way of his carriage, and stood with lifted hat
until he had passed. The fat man gave no faintest sign of
acknowledgment.

"I wonder," said Bell slowly, and very grimly, "if that's The Master?"

And then a passerby dodged quickly past his shoulder, brushing against
him, and waited humbly in the street. Bell turned. A party of men were
taking up nearly all the sidewalk. There were half a dozen of them in
all. And nearly in the middle was the bulky, immaculate, pigmented
Ribiera.

Bell stiffened. But to move, beyond clearing the way, wou