rt. After all, he could only
confess that he had failed to murder me. But suppose I do it?"

"What--complain?"

"It occurs to me I might. I'm not vindictive, but I really don't care
for pistols with my drinks."

"To whom?"

"Why, to the manager, I suppose; the maestro--the man who holds the
gambling concession in this place."

"That's the johnny with the beard. He would be pleased to get a
complaint from you!" he snorted. "Why, it was he who gave this poor fool
his orders!"

"Oh!" I said, for lack of more adequate comment.

"And he, again, is only a lesser devil. And if you should call the
police, or the military, or anybody, all the way up--the governor
himself--you'd probably find the same."

I regarded him to know whether he was serious. He was; and his laconic
method of statement had an extraordinary effect of bitterness. Action
had lent him relief, but the cloud of some fixed discontent dwelt in his
strong soul. Even as I watched, its shadow descended upon him again.

"From your account they seemed prepared to spare no pains in making the
visitor feel quite at home," I observed--"up to the point of inducing
him to remain permanently.... Was there any other object in the recent
attention to me, do you think?"

"You've got it in your hand."

I unclenched my hand and sat blinking down, with some astonishment, at
the thing I had held throughout and was still holding--the Portuguese
doubloon. His smile was grim this time.

"Pieces of eight--what? They used to cut throats for 'em."

"Who wants the thing so badly?" I asked squarely. "Who's after it?"

"Number One," was his cryptic answer.

"Number One!" I cried. "Which Number One?"

"Do you think I'm trying to mystify you?" he returned impatiently. "Look
here--I've had that confounded relic only since yesterday myself. They
tried these same tricks on me until I got tired and wrung a little
yellow viper's ears for him.... Well, Number One wants it. Number One is
the cause, the source, the trouble maker, for whose sake they move. I'm
telling you every bit he could tell me--just that: Number One."

I drew a long breath. Adventure--romance? The most hardened realist must
have admitted that here was a promising lead. From the opened windows on
the terrace came a stealthy, sudden rush of rain, confusing and drowning
the fret of the sea below. The curtains flapped inward and we had a
whiff of the island night, warm and damp, charged with the heady scents
of