El Diablo Part 53

From the darkened c.o.c.kpit of the _Fuor d'Italia_ came a bright jet of flame. Then another. Before the echoes of the two shots had died away Mascola's body slid from the seat and fell in a heap upon the floor.

d.i.c.kie drew her revolver and sprang to the rail. Sweeping the darkness of the _Fuor d'Italia's_ c.o.c.kpit with the rays of her light, she drew back.

"Bandrist," she whispered to Gregory through whitening lips.

CHAPTER x.x.xII

FOR ALL THE WORLD TO KNOW

Silva.n.u.s Rock was at the Golden Rule Fish Cannery at an early hour on the morning following the raid upon El Diablo. When Blankovitch entered the office, he noted at a glance that the face of the capitalist looked drawn and worried.

"Any news, Blankovitch?"

The words tumbled eagerly from Rock's thick lips as he caught sight of the ruddy countenance of the manager.

Blankovitch shook his head.

"Only the broken message a little before midnight," he answered. "You got that. Gonzolez landed. That's all we know."

Rock fidgeted while his eyes roved about the room. "You don't suppose anything went wrong?" he hazarded after a moment.

Blankovitch did not think so. The wireless had failed for some reason or other. But it had done that before. He was expecting Rossi in at any moment. There was no occasion for worry. Would Mr. Rock care for a drink so early in the morning? The bank president gulped down the brandy, and under the stimulus of the fiery liquor his wavering courage rallied perceptibly.

"Had a bad night," he explained. "Didn't sleep a wink. Neuralgia."

The Slavonian nodded sympathetically and the two men lapsed into silence. After some time had pa.s.sed a fisherman entered.

"Rossi's coming in," he announced.

Rock leaped to his feet with the youthful exuberance of a schoolboy.

"I feel like a new man," he confided to Blankovitch, when the messenger had gone out. "The brandy was just what I needed. Lack of sleep surely pulls a man down."

The manager agreed and together the two men went out to the receiving platform to await the arrival of the boat from El Diablo.

When Rossi drew alongside, Rock greeted him effusively.

"How is everything at the island?" he asked. "Have you plenty of fish?"

The fis.h.i.+ng captain answered the bank president's greeting with his usual shrug.

"_Bonne,_" he said shortly. "Everything's fine. I got some good fish."

Rock was jubilant. His fears had been groundless. Everything was quite all right. For had not Rossi given the accustomed signal to that effect?

Blankovitch had already taken the cue.

"If his fish are first-cla.s.s, we might put them up special for those A-1 orders," he suggested.

Rock nodded as he noted the stolid faces of the fishermen peering over the rail. Rossi had his regular crew. Still, one could never be too careful. For a moment he appeared to deliberate. Then he said:

"Good idea, Blankovitch, we're short on high-grade stuff."

The manager moved at once to the receiving-vat and pulled the grating over the traveling conveyer which carried the fish into the cannery.

Then he opened a valve at the bottom of the tank.

"All right, Rossi," he said. "Dump them in."

Rock stood by for a moment watching the fish slide into the vat. Then he walked away in the direction of the cannery office. Pa.s.sing through the room where he had conferred with the Slavonian, he entered the manager's private sanctuary which lay beyond and closed the door.

In the far corner of the room was a small clothes-closet. To this Rock made his way hastily, and, fitting a key in the lock, pa.s.sed within, slamming the door after him. In the darkness of the stuffy cubby-hole, his fingers found a small flash-light in the pocket of an old vest which hung from one of the hooks. Directing the rays of the light about him, he worked his way through the hanging garments and reached the end of the closet. For an instant his fingers slid along the inside wall. Then a cool draught of air fanned his face, strongly tinctured with the smell of the mud-flats.

Swinging the panel shut behind him, Silva.n.u.s Rock descended the narrow stairway. When he reached the bottom he paused and drew his coat collar closer about his neck. The air was damp and cold and the waters of the bay were lapping softly against the pilings which supported the building.

Grasping the wooden rail of the gangway which led away from the bottom of the stairs, the capitalist crept on through the darkness until he reached the base of a big concrete storage-vat. Groping for the lock which secured the outlet-cleaning-door of the big tank, he unlocked it and pa.s.sed within.

With the water-tight door closed behind him, he switched on the electric light. The cement floor of the vat was already partly covered with the fish which slid downward from the receiving tanks on the platform above.

Rock listened intently. But only the soft slip of the fish through the chute and the drip of the water from the draining-table, disturbed the silence. Then he heard the murmur of men's voices from the platform. The valve was still open. When Blankovitch closed that, no sound would penetrate the vat from the outside world.

He turned his attention at once to the fish. Drawing one of the albacore to one side, his fat fingers delved carefully into the fish's belly.

Then they brought forth a large aluminum capsule and laid it carefully on a tin-topped table which stood conveniently near a small capping-machine.

For some moments he repeated the operation until all the fish had been emptied of their contents and a double row of capsules covered the table.

The albacore, he noticed suddenly, had ceased to slip through the chute.

He frowned at the observance. Surely Rossi had brought a larger cargo than this.

Walking again to the intake from the tank above, he listened. The valve was still open. There would be more or Blankovitch would close the chute and a.s.sist him below. Wiping his hands carefully on his handkerchief, he walked nervously about the tank. There was nothing he could do but wait.

There would be no use to fill the cans at present or start the conveyer to carry the empty-bellied fish to the cannery floor. Both would necessitate the use of machinery, and even electric-driven power made some noise.

If the Slavonian was through, why didn't he close the valve and come down? The door of the storage-vat opened suddenly and Blankovitch's bulky figure staggered within. Rock drew back at the expression on the Slavonian's face. All color had fled from the manager's ruddy cheeks.

His eyes were staring and his heavy jaw sagged.

Then Rock noted that the door was still open. As he made haste to close it before questioning the frightened Slavonian, he found the way blocked by three shadowy figures who sprang upon him.

"You are under arrest, Mr. Rock."

Silva.n.u.s Rock wriggled vainly in the arms of the men who forced him back into the tank. In the struggle the light fell full upon the open vest of one of the strangers. Then Rock collapsed.

For years he had suffered this nightmare. In his troubled dreams he had seen the glittering s.h.i.+eld of the revenue men winking at him from the darkness. Now it was a tangible reality. He was caught with the goods through the Slavonian's treachery. Glaring in sullen anger at his trembling manager, he opened his mouth to speak but no word came. Then one of the deputies who had made a cursory examination of the vat, began to speak:

"Well, Mr. Rock," he said, "it kind of looks like we had the man higher up. At the point of a gun, Mr. Blankovitch showed us the way to your little office down here. And Signor Rossi brought us all the way over from Diablo hidden away among his fish so we could have the pleasure of finding out where he sold his cargo. The little ride was worth as much to him as it was to us."