were killed."

* * * * *

The tight little cabin began to reek of the tobacco. Paula pressed
close to Bell.

"But--Charles," she asked hopefully, "is--is it really all right,
now?"

"I think so," said Bell, frowning. "Our job's over, anyhow. We go up
the Chilean coast and find that navy boat. We turn our stuff over to
them. They'll take over the task of seeing that every doctor,
everywhere in South America, knows how to get The Master's poison out
of the system of anybody who's affected. Some of them won't be
reached, but most of them will. I looked at his formula. Standard
drugs, all of them. There won't be any trouble getting the news
spread. The Master's slaves will nearly go crazy with joy. And," he
added grimly, "I'm going to see to it that the Rio police take back
what they said about us. I think we'll have enough pull to demand that
much!"

He was silent for a moment or so, thinking.

"I do think, Jamison," he said presently, "we did a pretty good job."

Jamison grunted.

"If--if it's really over," said Paula hopefully, "Charles--"

"What?"

"You--will be able to think about me sometimes," asked Paula
wistfully, "instead of about The Master always?"

Bell stared down at her.

"Good Lord!" he groaned. "I have been a brute, Paula! But I've been
loving you--" He stopped, and then said with the elaborate politeness
and something of the customary idiotic air of a man making such an
announcement. "I say, Jamison, did you know Paula and I were to be
married?"

Jamison snorted. Then he said placidly:

"No. Of course not. I never dreamed of such a thing. When did this
remarkably original idea occur to you?"

He puffed a huge cloud of smoke from his cigar. It was an unusually
vile cigar. Bell scowled at him helplessly for a moment and then said
wrathfully:

"Oh, go to hell!"

And he bent over and kissed Paula.

(_The End._)

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