t should be explained, however, that this system was not applied to
individuals selected for the purpose of exploration and research. Four
parties, well-armed and equipped, were sent out to explore both sections
of the island. These expeditions had numerous objects in view: to
determine, if possible, whether the island had ever been visited
or occupied by man; to determine the character of the fruits and
vegetables; extent and variety of animal life; the natural food
resources, etc. The groups were made up of men familiar with nature
in the rough. Lieutenant Platt headed one group, Professor Flattner
another, a Bolivian ranchman and an English horse buyer the remaining
two.

Abel Landover was to have gone out with the first day's shift to work
on the road through the wood. He refused point-blank to leave the ship.
This state of affairs lasted through the next two days, the banker
stubbornly ignoring the advice and finally the commands of Captain
Trigger. In the meantime he had been joined in his rebellion,--a word
used here for want of a milder one,--by half a dozen gentlemen who did
a great deal of talking about how the Turks were maltreating the
Armenians, but, for fear of being suspected of pro-Germanism, studiously
avoided pre-war dissertations on the conduct of the Russians.

The first shift's turn had come around once more in the natural order
of things, and practically all of the men had been landed. Landover
had refused to go out with either of the other shifts. He had stood
his ground obstinately. Percival's ultimatum, sweeping like wildfire
throughout the ship's company, brought nearly every one on board to the
rails to see whether he would carry out his threat. Would he dare throw
the great capitalist, this mighty Croesus, this autocrat, into the sea?

The first boat carried off Nicklestick, Block, Shine and the other
objectors. Landover was in his stateroom.

"Just a minute," called out Percival to the oarsmen, as they waited for
him to take his place in the last boat. "We're shy a man, I see." His
eye ranged the deck. His face was a sickly yellow. It would have been
white save for the tan. "Where is Landover?" he demanded of the crowd.

Some one answered: "He went to his cabin a couple of minutes ago," and
another volunteered: "It's Number 9 on the promenade deck."

Half a minute later Percival rapped peremptorily on the door of Number
9.

"We're waiting for you, Mr. Landover," he called out.

"Wai