NO. 13 TORONI (continued 4)

"Seattle, July the third, 1918,

"William Robertson."

"LIST OF THE OWNERS OF THE GOLD."

1. William Robertson, only relative, one daughter, Elaine . . . 200,000 dollars

2. Nicholas Sanderson (drowned), probable relatives at West Hartlepool, England . . . 600,000 dollars

3. Craig Russel (drowned), family in Chicago, one brother in Melbourne . . . 1,200,000 dollars

4. Christian Dreyel, domiciled in Sweden, Captain Street, Borne . . . 200,000 dollars

5. Victor Dreyel, cousin of the above, domiciled in Sweden, 30 John Street, Stockholm . . . 200,000 dollars

6. Aaron Payter (died in boat, no relations . . . 800,000 dollars

7. Frederick O'Bryan (drowned), wife in Dublin, 142 Green Street . . . 800,000 dollars

8. Hippolyte Xerxes Byrnes (died in boat), probably mother and sisters in Louisiana . . . 500,000 dollars

9. Jean Rameau (shot on board), three sisters in Ontario . . . 200,000 dollars

10. Sandy McCormick (drowned), no relations . . . 200,000 dollars

11. Phil Murray (shot on board), parents in a village in Sussex, England . . . 600,000 dollars

12. Walter Randolph (died in boat), possibly relatives in Wales or Cornwall, England . . . 300,000 dollars

"Total . . . 5,800,000 dollars"

Wallion and Tom looked up from the last page at one another. It had grown so dark that they could hardly decipher the final lines.

"What do you think of that?" whispered Tom.

"It is beyond my most sanguine expectations," replied Wallion.

He rolled the papers up again in the oilcloth.

"What do you intend to do?" inquired his friend.

"I intend to replace the packet in Dixon's coat pocket. If he were to miss it and give the alarm, that would be an end to our liberty."

Wallion wriggled out of the boat and restored the packet to its place, after which he returned to his hiding-place; without a word he lay down on his back with hands clasped under his head. Tom, who thought his friend must be turning over in his mind the amazing story they had just read, did not venture to break the silence for a time. At last one of the thousand questions with which his brain was teeming could no longer be restrained.

"Maurice," he said, "do you think McTuft has any idea where we are?"

Receiving no answer, he bent down to look at his friend and repeat his question.

Maurice Wallion was sound asleep.

CHAPTER XIX

WHERE THOMAS FALLS INTO THE HANDS OF THE PHILISTINES

Next morning there was a strong wind, and the yacht pitched a good deal; the violent motion woke Tom to find Wallion already awake. A shower of rain came down, but under the tarpaulin, though rather cramped, they were dry. Now that the mystery of the wooden dolls was solved, Wallion resumed his usual placid demeanor. They breakfasted on salmon, bread and sausage and then, in subdued tones, discussed the information gleaned from William Robertson's notes.

"It never occurred to me that 'King Solomon' might be a wrecked vessel," remarked Wallion thoughtfully. "I wish I had known that three days ago; it rather alters the situation. Evidently our adversaries do not contemplate a long delay; they have brought divers, and all is clear at the so-called 'wharf.' Having located the spot only a few hours are required for hauling up the gold. I wonder..."

He laid his finger on his lips and his hand on Tom's arm; footsteps could be heard on deck.

"Thursday morning," said Doctor Corman irascibly, "that is rather late, Dixon."

"Rubbish! Why?" asked the owner of the yacht.

"Why? Because I am under no delusion about what we have left behind. Wallion is out of the reckoning" (here the latter pinched Tom's arm), "but don't forget McTuft, who was at Toroni's heels, and Wallion's Swedish friend, too, would not be idle either; it is quite possible that he was at the Golden Snake Hotel with Wallion. William Robertson has been set at liberty ere this, and would, naturally, tell all he knows. In short," said the Doctor with bitterness, "there is no lack of witnesses who can swear that we went out on a trip whence we shall require no return tickets."

"Fudge," said Dixon again, "the ocean is large."

"Answer me one thing," interrupted the Doctor. "How is it our wireless has received no inquiries about the 'Ariadne' from either incoming or out-going vessels?"

"Oh, I don't know."

"Well, I can tell you: it is because we are being tracked, and it was probably known that same evening that we were on board her. As they don't seem to be making inquiries about the yacht, I conclude they know all about her, that very likely a patrol-boat is chasing us already; and if they have discovered our final destination they will make straight for Hurricane Island and as likely as not arrive there before us."

A mournful silence followed this speech.

"I should say you're right about that," said Dixon.

"I'll just have a talk with the captain."

He was back again in five minutes.

"Hawkins says that with this wind the 'Ariadne' can be at Hurricane Island by Wednesday evening, if I will take the risk of the boiler bursting," he said evidently greatly relieved.

"Well?" growled the Doctor.

"I said," continued Dixon, rather brutally, "I didn't mind if the 'Ariadne' were shivered to atoms, provided he landed us safely on Hurricane Island by mid-day Wednesday, at the latest."

The Doctor, apparently satisfied, said nothing more, and, judging by the sound, the two men had turned back towards their cabins. Dixon had picked up the coat he had forgotten.

"Corman is no fool," remarked Wallion. "I was just going to say I wonder how far McTuft has got. When he gave up the black car, he very likely went back to the 'Golden Snake,' where he would be told that the 'Ariadne' had put out to sea. A patrol-boat would have been put at his disposal yesterday morning at latest, and a nice race it will be, indeed. I should rather like to give him a few choice bits of information...."

"Information as to what?" asked Tom.

"That there are always means of evasion," said Wallion suavely. "I only wish I had my faithful Browning."

"But tell me, do you think Captain Hawkins and the crew would come over to our side if we explained the situation to them?"

"H—m! I don't feel inclined to run the risk; my papers of identification are at the bottom of the sea near the Golden Snake Hotel, because I took off my shoes and coat when I swam out to the yacht. The coat I am wearing now I borrowed from the Captain's exceedingly well-stocked wardrobe." He laughed, but immediately became grave again. "No, my friend, if we were to show ourselves now, that precious 'Italian Detective' would have us shut up as members of the 'Black Hand.'" He pondered a while, and then remarked philosophically: "We must leave it to time, we have no particular inducement for interfering; besides, the 'Ariadne' is taking us precisely where we want to go...."

"To Hurricane Island? I am not particularly keen on going there, especially in company with these gentlemen," replied Tom; "the place is so infernally out of the way too."

"That can't be helped," said Wallion, "business must always be settled in its proper place and at the proper time."

Soon the smoke from the tall, yellow funnel grew thicker and thicker, until it rolled in a compact black mass over the water. The vibration increased, and the noise of the propeller became louder; evidently the engines were working at the highest possible pressure. The strain had begun.

"Look here," said Wallion, much interested, "this abnormal speed shows the captain is keeping his word; by twelve o'clock the 'Ariadne' will be lying at anchor off Hurricane Island."

* * * * *

The yacht's wireless was installed behind the bridge and connected with the chart-house. Occasionally they caught a glimpse of the operator, a pale young man named Moreland. He had not much to do, and sometimes left his apparatus for an hour or two; consequently no messages were sent, and calls were left unanswered.

On the bridge, taking turns with Captain Hawkins, they noticed a young, smart-looking ship's officer, whom the captain addressed as "Weston." These two were evidently the only men in authority. Wallion took the crew to consist of five or six men only.

About 2 P.M., Tom experienced a sudden, most delightful thrill. Elaine Robertson appeared on deck; she was accompanied by Madame Lorraine, and the two walked up and down for nearly fifteen minutes, without uttering a word. Elaine seemed grave and worried; at every turn she stopped for a few seconds and looked wistfully towards the horizon. Did she hope she might see the smoke of a liner? Perhaps; but all around nothing was to be seen but passing clouds; and eventually she and Madame Lorraine went below. In the afternoon there was no one on the bridge.

Tom yawned; he was bored to death. He and Wallion had come to the end of their provisions. Night had fallen.

* * * * *

After some hours of troubled sleep Tom awoke; the hard bottom of the boat was not exactly an ideal resting place; moreover, he was very hungry. It was still dark, but most of the night had passed and day was dawning in the East. He tried to look at his watch but could not see the hands; by his side Wallion continued fast asleep.

Two days and nights of enforced idleness had begun to tell on Tom. He did not like his unshaven chin; he was not accustomed—like his friend—to such small sacrifices on the altar of his profession; his muscles were stiff and his hunger astounding. If Wallion had been so successful in procuring food, why should not he?

The "Ariadne" sped through the darkness with no lights showing. Now and again Captain Hawkins might be seen walking to and fro on the bridge with long and resolute strides.

The pantry was only a little way off, and Tom supposed he might get there under cover. He determined to make the attempt.

The next time the Captain's steps turned to starboard, Tom leapt down on the deck and stole to the stairs; below, everything was dark and quiet. Automatically he counted the steps, of which there were eighteen, to the bottom, where the edge of a red carpet was visible. After some hesitation he stealthily walked down one step at a time, until he found himself standing on a red carpet. A corridor opened in front of him, and on either side were three closed doors; behind him, on the right of the stairs, was the saloon, and on the left a kind of store-room. He could see distinctly to the end of the corridor, thanks to a little electric lamp on the ceiling, and he noticed a door which he supposed would lead to the fore-part of the ship. With noiseless steps he made for it, but when he was about half-way along the corridor he had to put out his hands to save himself from falling. He had caught his foot in a piece of string which he could not shake off, and an electric bell close by was ringing, not loudly but continuously. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He made another desperate effort to free his foot, and broke the string.

The bell ceased to ring, but at the same moment three lamps in the ceiling flashed on. A door opened, and Doctor Corman stepped out, clad only in his pyjamas. He looked at Tom, and said with great deliberation:

"I see I was right; I suspected you were on board, and thought of proposing a search to-morrow. You are very welcome, Mr. Murner; there's a special cabin waiting for you."

Tom took a step forward, but a pair of strong arms gripped him from behind and held him as in an iron vice; it was Toroni. The owner of the yacht appeared at the same time, half-dressed, revolver in hand.

"What's up now?" said Dixon angrily. "Your alarm arrangement, Toroni, is the very ... Hallo!" he exclaimed as he caught sight of Tom, changing the pungent expletive he was going to use. He burst into a loud guffaw of satisfaction and surprise. "Well, who'd have thought it? You here? It's more than forty-eight hours since the 'Ariadne' weighed anchor, and you have lain low until now ... Why so bashful? I trust you will not deprive us again of your pleasant company."

"It takes two for that," was Tom's infuriated answer.

He hurled himself with great violence upon Toroni, who missed his footing, uttered a vile oath, and losing hold of Tom, allowed him to slip between Corman and Dixon, who knocked the revolver out of Dixon's hand in his mad rush for the stairs. Where he should go next he had not the least notion, but he thought his first and most important duty was to divert attention from Wallion and their place of concealment in the larboard boat. But his adversaries were too quick for him. On the lowest step he was stopped and seized by three pairs of hands. He struggled for a few minutes, but gave in when he found the muzzle of a pistol pointing at him.

"That's right, take things easy," said Dixon, in a tone bordering on friendliness. "We shall come to terms before long."

Tom breathed hard, but submitted to his fate in silence. Dixon looked up, listening intently. Tom feared that Wallion had betrayed himself by some impetuous movement in the boat, but Dixon was not looking in its direction. The wireless installation stood out against the bright, blue sky, and an intermittent crackling sound made itself plainly heard from above. Dixon ran up the stairs.

"What the devil are you doing, Moreland?" he shouted. "Are you mad?"

"Moreland is not here," answered the captain from the bridge. "He went to bed about eleven, Mr. Dixon."

The wireless had stopped short, Dixon looked up at the cables in anger and consternation.

"Who is sending a message?" he asked.

"Don't know," said the captain. "Weston says that two messages were sent during the night, we thought it might be Mr. Ferail."

"Confound it all," roared Dixon, white with fury. "Call out the crew, there is a spy on board."

A whistle sounded and the captain rushed up to the wireless room. Dixon pushed Tom back into the corridor, gave him a look which boded no good, and asked: "Who was with you?"

"I shan't tell you," Tom answered. He strongly suspected that Wallion had been in the wireless room, and he was fully determined not to admit anything.

"Was it McTuft?"

"No."

With a side glance at Toroni, Dixon said:

"Has a miracle happened? Was it Wallion?"

Tom moved impatiently.

"What's the use of asking me?" he said. "Do you believe I should be likely to give you any answer?"

Dixon, by this time more calm and sober, surveyed him attentively; his face wore an expression of cool determination.

"Shut him up in a safe place," he said to Corman and Toroni. Then he went on deck, and Tom heard him shout:

"Are you there, Weston? Take three men with you and search the boat thoroughly. Well, Captain Hawkins?"

"There's no one in the room, Mr. Dixon, but Moreland is there on duty now."

"All right, keep your eyes open, all of you.... A hundred dollars for the man who catches the spy. I shall expect to be face to face with him in half-an-hour...."

The voices sounded farther away. Toroni and the Doctor led Tom down the corridor. They unlocked a door on the starboard side, and signed to Tom to go in. The door was double-locked after him and he found himself shut in a narrow, but luxuriously furnished, cabin lighted by a lamp, with a yellow silk shade, fixed in the wall. He put out the lamp, for daylight already began to filter through the small port-holes, and forgetting his own pitiable plight he listened anxiously for what might be going on outside.

CHAPTER XX

ELAINE TELLS THE TRUTH

Tom heard orders given overhead and footsteps in all parts of the boat, but nothing to indicate that Wallion had been found. He had such unbounded faith in his friend's ingenuity and dexterity that he believed it quite possible that Wallion would succeed in escaping from his pursuers.

For a whole hour the noise continued to increase, then suddenly all was silent. A long way off, Dixon's voice could be heard, raised in anger. The Doctor seemed to be trying to soothe him. The two men were apparently going down the stairs.

Tom felt less anxious now. Clearly, in some unaccountable manner, Wallion had disappeared. He looked round his by no means horrible prison; behind some beaded drapery he discovered a small dressing-room, with hot and cold water laid on. There, too, he found a shaving kit, and managed to make quite a decent and comfortable toilet. Then he helped himself to a Virginia cigarette from a box of beaten copper and sat down with a sigh of resignation.

The "Ariadne" pursued her way, always at top speed; the black smoke cast long shadows on the water and the seething breakers beat against the little window.

About 10 A.M. the door opened, and a steward made an unexpected appearance.

"Mr. Dixon requests Mr. Murner's presence in the saloon," he said.

With mixed feelings Tom obeyed the summons. On entering he found Dixon, Corman and Toroni seated at a large table, and Hawkins standing before them.

"Well, Hawkins," said Dixon. "Here you see one of them, and if we can only catch the other we shall be all right. They are two of the most dangerous members of the 'Black Hand'...."

"That's a lie," broke in Tom angrily. "I am a Swede, and my name is Thomas Murner. Look here, here are my..." He was going to say "papers" but when he put his hand in his pocket he found they had gone; his pocket-book had been taken from him during the struggle in the corridor.

"Your what?" said Dixon derisively. "Your weapon? No, you are harmless for the present, my friend. We found your hiding place in the larboard boat. Detective Ferail, my guest, has reason to be proud of his catch. Now tell us who your companion was, and where he has gone to?"

Tom bit his lip and said nothing. It was not worth while entering into any explanation with Hawkins, who, simple and honest seafaring man man as he was, surveyed him with some curiosity and distrust.

"So you won't answer?" continued Dixon. "You can go now, Captain, and resume the the search until the other fellow is found."

The captain took his leave. When he had gone Dixon burst out laughing. "You do look surprised, Mr. Murner; isn't our little joke to your taste? I am afraid it will have to be carried on a little longer though; but, no doubt, you understand that resistance can only lead to harder conditions, and make matters worse for you, and that, with or without your consent, you must be our guest until the gold is hauled up. You see?" He gave Tom a cold and searching look.

"And then?" inquired Tom as calmly as he could.

"After that our ways will lie apart, you and your bashful, retiring friend will be sent on a little pleasure trip to ... shall we say ... Australia? Naturally, under the supervision of our good Hawkins."

Toroni remarked quietly:

"Much too much talk. I should have settled this business in a much simpler manner..."

"Misleading the police is quite enough," said Corman with evident disgust, and without looking at Toroni. "Our record is already sufficiently long."

One of the two doors Tom had noticed at the farther end of the saloon was thrown open, and Madame Lorraine with a cigarette between her lips walked in. She neither showed the least surprise nor took any notice of Tom, but turned to her brother and asked:

"Whatever is all the commotion on deck about?"

"There's some one on board we should rather like to get hold of," replied the Doctor. "You keep out of the way, it is nothing that concerns you."

Madame emitted a puff of smoke.

"Have you really searched everywhere?" she said with indifference. "Who can he be?"

"Well, we must see. There is no danger, but for safety's sake I just went in to have a look at Elaine. She seemed rather upset. You can comfort her, can't you?"

"Poor little thing," said Madame Lorraine, "I'll look after her..."

She threw the stump of her cigarette on an ash-tray and went out by the other door, closing it after her. Tom inferred that the cabins at the back of the saloon had been reserved for the two ladies.

"I suppose it is useless to put any more questions to you, Mr. Murner?" said Dixon after a pause.

"Perfectly useless."

"You won't even explain how you managed to come on board?"

"Certainly not."

"In that case I have only one piece of advice to give you. Hold your tongue and you won't have any complaint to make about your treatment here so long as you are my guest. Now, may I request you to return to your cabin? The steward will see that you have everything, except ... your liberty."

Tom turned on his heels and went back to his cabin. Ten minutes later the waiter brought in a tray with a liberal breakfast. As he was eating Tom heard a quiet knock at the closed door. He looked at it in surprise. A white card had been pushed under it and lay on the floor. It was one of Wallion's visiting cards, and in the firm handwriting he knew so well, he read:

"Situation promising. Hold yourself in readiness. Our day is coming.—M.W."

Tom ran to the door and shook it, but there was no sound. He gently whispered Wallion's name; there was no response, but in a second or two the steward came up and asked from the outside:

"Did you require anything more, sir?"

"No, thank you, nothing," answered Tom. He flung himself down on the bed. Those few words on the card had been like refreshing wine to him. The blood mounted to his head, and his nerves tingled, but he was at a loss—turn or twist the words as he might—to account for such a message. Wallion's audacity, too, almost frightened him. How was all this to end?

Certain signs indicated that the "Ariadne" was approaching her journey's end, and Tom began to get fidgety. For safety's sake he tore the card to bits, which he threw out of a porthole. In the east, land could be discerned, and the boat, still at top speed, passed a number of islands, sometimes nearer, sometimes further away, gray and red, with dabs of dark woods.

Lunch was served at two o'clock, but Tom's appetite was gone.

"Shall we soon be there?" he asked.

"In about another hour," replied the steward civilly, but he beat a hasty retreat to avoid any further inquiries.

An hour went by. Tom walked restlessly up and down in his tiny cabin. Then bit by bit a high mountain ridge came in sight about a thousand yards away, and a little later, when the yacht had slackened speed, a steep arid coast in some parts covered with tall firs, and then a wide valley with lighter foliage in the background. The engines stopped, and the yacht anchored about a hundred yards from a dilapidated wooden pier. The "Ariadne" had reached her goal.

So this was Hurricane Island, and over there the "Black Valley"? On the left Tom noticed a jumble of sheds and chimneys.

The wharf mentioned was a very simple affair, there was no work going on, but a score of men came out on the quay, from mere curiosity. At some distance down the valley could be seen a skeleton swing-bridge, leading into a dark hole on the mountain side; this was the deserted copper mine; but, save for this reminder of bygone industry, the surrounding country was desolate.

A large motor boat came out from the quay, and when it got alongside the "Ariadne" Tom noticed at the wheel a man who might have been the foreman of the wharf. He had evidently come to welcome his employers. The boat slipped round to the bow of the yacht and the Captain shouted from the bridge:

"Mr. Dixon is engaged, but lay to and come on board."

There was a high sea and the yacht rocked considerably. Things began to be very lively on deck and Tom wondered what was going on.

The steward came in hurriedly to remove the luncheon tray, and Tom had a shock.

This time the man had left the door unlocked! Tom listened, thinking he might come back. In the direction of the stairs, he heard Dixon's voice in sharp altercation with the Doctor.

"It is impossible," he was saying; "it can't be done now, the sea is too rough. We shall have to wait an hour or two."

"In an hour or two it may be too late," the Doctor replied.

"I don't think so. Besides it takes time to fix upon the exact place...."

"Well, and what about this Swede's friend whom we couldn't catch?"

"Haven't we thoroughly searched every nook and cranny? There wasn't a spot as big as a dollar left for any one to hide in. He isn't here, Corman. The wireless has given out, that is the solution of..." Their voices died away and they went up on deck.

Tom strained every nerve, trying to impress upon his memory the things he had heard; he conquered his desire to rush out, for Wallion's instructions had only been "keep himself in readiness." And Wallion was at liberty, probably with a deep scheme in his mind. Trembling with excitement he muttered, "Let us hope it won't be long ... if only I knew."

The yacht tugged at her cables, and Fir Island presently came in view. It was smaller and more wooded than Hurricane Island, and looked as if the foot of man had never trodden there.

The "Ariadne" lay about midway in the long and broad channel, through which the waters flowed freely, and there was still a high sea running, though the storm had abated; the clouds were heavy and twilight was falling. The motor boat was towing a low, flat-bottomed barge, laden with a variety of mysterious implements, towards some point which Tom was unable to see. Immediately afterwards the yacht again weighed anchor and slowly proceeded in the same direction, stopped after backing a little, and again dropped anchor. Then feeble strokes became audible on the larboard side; the yacht was clearly alongside the barge.

A thought shot through Tom's brain. They were surely lying immediately over the wreck of the "King Solomon." He felt he could no longer remain idle; in some way or another he must be doing. He opened the door and went into the corridor; the road was clear. Without any attempt to conceal his movements he walked straight into the saloon, where the lamps were already lighted, and there, by the table, with her back to the door, stood Elaine. Tom stopped short, but she had already heard him and now turned round. Her large, dark eyes sparkled, and a smile hovered round her trembling lips. She was grave yet excited.

"You?" she cried. "You?"

"Yes," he replied, taking her hands, "and you can't turn me out now," he added, half in jest. "We are still fellow-travelers, as you see, but it seems ages since I last talked to you."

Without withdrawing her soft hands from his she continued: "How dared you come on board the yacht?"

"You were the magnet, Elaine."

She blushed slightly, and her smile vanished; she looked furtively round.

"You ought not to have come..."

"Does my society bore you so much?"

"No, oh no, I am glad; you have done far too much for me already, I can never..."

"I do so want to be near you and be able to help you," he said, "if only you will tell me what I can do."

"No, you can't help me."

"It is true that I am but a sorry knight."

"I don't mean that, but don't you see, can't you understand, that it is too late? ..."

She pointed towards the table on which lay a number of sea-charts and drawings; the two wooden dolls had been carelessly thrown down among them.

"They have done their worst and we are entirely in their hands." Something in her tone made him lean towards her; her eyes burned with excitement and deep despair.

"Elaine," he asked impulsively, "you know all?"

"I do," she replied. "Oh, the scoundrels ... they deceived me, enticed me with lies ... my poor father ... Oh, Tom, it is too late..."

Almost unconsciously she had called him by his Christian name; tears rose to her eyes and she leant her head against his shoulder.

"What an idyllic scene!" said an ironical voice at the door. "I am afraid we are disturbing them, Dixon."

It was Doctor Corman and Dixon; on the threshold they stood still, an expression of scornful triumph on their faces.

"So we enticed you with lying words, Elaine?" said Corman mockingly. "What do you intend to do then, eh?"

"Shut up," said Tom, clenching his fists.

Corman pretended to be greatly surprised.

"So you have been pleased to leave your cabin, Mr. Murner? Oh, well, it is of no consequence."

Elaine had pulled herself together; the sight of the two men seemed to have put new vigor into her.

"Oh, yes, I know all about you, who choose a murderer for your friend and are worse than a thief yourself," she cried, in a loud, clear voice. "I overheard your conversation last night and am glad to be able to tell you the truth at last. Worse, yes, worse than a thief; compared with you a thief is an honest man, you who rob widows and orphans, plunder the dead and commit murder for the sake of gold. I see everything clearly now; I hope the truth will scorch your soul when you think of what you have done—you liar, you devil."

Corman's face twitched, and Dixon turned very white. After Elaine's accusing words there was a dead silence, till with a forced laugh Dixon said, rather hoarsely:

"Well, Miss Robertson, maybe you are right, only you have told us the truth just two months too late, and you can't stop us now..."

He looked around, but not at her. After some hesitation he passed in front of her and gathered up the papers from the table, looking at them with a covert smile.

"You see, my dear young lady, there are things in our miserable lives that you can't understand," he said.

Then he left the saloon in silence, and Corman went with him.

CHAPTER XXI

TEN FATHOMS FROM THE GOAL

The wooden dolls still lay on the table, and as if in a dream, Tom noticed for the first time four other wooden figures on a shelf in the wall. A small marble clock on the same shelf gave forth six shrill, harsh strokes.

Elaine had sunk down on a seat on the larboard of the yacht, trembling nervously after her recent outbreak. Tom took a chair by her side; he wanted to say something to comfort her, but could not think of anything.

"Don't say anything," she whispered with a nervous little smile which ended in a shiver. "I am not going to be hysterical...."

Their attention was diverted by a noise and a light outside the window; they looked out, and saw that the barge had been towed alongside the yacht. Darkness lay over the sea, which had become much less turbulent. The searchlight turned obliquely on the long, low deck of the barge and its milk-white rays shone upon a curious spectacle. Preparations for hauling up 'King Solomon's' golden cargo were in full swing. A grotesque and clumsy gray figure, its feet weighted with lead, was walking along the planks; it was the diver. An assistant held the copper helmet in readiness, the breathing-tube was coiled round his body and a third man was looking after the air-pump. On the deck stood Dixon, Corman, and Toroni—the two former smoking in gloomy silence; the young girl's words must surely have burnt themselves into their consciences and embittered their hour of triumph.

Toroni, on the other hand, was watching the work with apathetic curiosity, self-centered, awaiting the result of the plot he had engineered with violence and cunning twelve months before; the hour when his hands should close on the coveted six millions. Did he really intend his two accomplices to have a share in the booty? Tom noticed the sinister look he cast at the others through his half-closed eyes. Was his subtle brain evolving another piece of villainy? The expression of his face seemed to say, "I am quite aware that you despise me, though you have no objection to share the roast ... but don't be too sure." He walked up to them, pointed to the water, and with a cynical grimace said a few words.

Tom noiselessly opened the ventilator and distinctly heard Corman's answer:

"And then? If they can't find it there, we are lost, that's all about it." He made a weary and deprecating gesture with his hands.

"But it is there," said Toroni, in a low voice. "Sixteen years ago I saw it disappearing in the sea on the very spot upon which we are standing to-day ... Why don't you say something? ... Why don't you laugh?" and once more he pointed to the dark, rolling waves. "Only ten fathoms from the prize," he whispered, "only ten fathoms from 'King Solomon' ... haven't you anything to say?"

Dixon turned his back upon him in order to make an end of the matter, at the same time shouting to the diver:

"Ready there? ... Look sharp about it."

The diver went down the steps and into the water up to his waist; he hitched an electric lamp with brightly polished reflector on to his chest, and the helmet was screwed on over his head. The air-pump began to work with long, absorbent puffs, and the copper helmet gradually disappeared under the water, which bubbled up over it; the assistant paid out the coil and the rope with mechanical precision. Fifteen minutes passed, then the diver came up again on the steps. Toroni bent down to him, and Dixon and Corman also came forward; the diver opened the little glass pane in the helmet.

"The wreck is there all right; it has sunk a little lower, but there are no difficulties. The chests are all right in the saloon."

"The fifteen, all told?" inquired Toroni.

"Yes, all of them, safe and uninjured."

Toroni gave his friends a look, but no word passed between them. A windlass had been rigged up over the side of the barge, and the diver at once went back to the wreck, taking a supple steel wire with him.

The group on the boat stood stiff and motionless in silent expectation; the men looked like coal-black shadows in the steady rays of the searchlight; it was pitch dark all round. Tom, sick with suspense, sought the back of a chair as support. Everything had gone so fast and in such a business-like manner that time after time he was forced to repeat to himself: "The gold is there, it is there."

Again, in despair, he asked: "Where can Wallion be, what can prevent him from coming?"

CHAPTER XXII

MADAME LORRAINE'S SURPRISE

There were suspicious movements in the saloon behind them, and Elaine uttered a cry. It was Madame Lorraine, but a greatly changed Madame Lorraine; her sea-green eyes shone with a peculiar emotion, and she looked at them both with an expression that made Tom hurriedly get up from his chair. She went close up to him and put a revolver into his hand.

"You are stout-hearted," she said in so low a voice that he could scarcely hear her. "Your friend says the time has come; take this, it is loaded ... I have always kept it by me as a last resource."

He hardly understood her.

"What do you mean?" he said.

"Do not speak so loud," she answered. "It was I who slipped the card under your door, I have a surprise in store for you ... and them," she added, in still more subdued tone. Through the ventilator she cast a look of intense hate upon the silent group outside.

Then Tom grasped the fact that Madame Lorraine had deserted her associates and come over to the enemy! He remembered that her conduct throughout had often puzzled both Wallion and himself. Now she had come to a decision, driven thereto by the loathsome presence of Toroni. The cabin occupied by Madame Lorraine had been the only place not subjected to the rigorous search made for the "Problem Solver."

With one bound Tom dashed through the half-open door into Madame Lorraine's cabin ... there, at the table, stood Maurice Wallion, in the act of loading a revolver.

"I am just coming," he said, looking over his shoulder and smiling. "You know, it was rather cute of you to let yourself be caught this morning," he added, coming out into the saloon. "You see, I had sent a few wireless messages to McTuft during the night, but obviously that could not go on much longer; and when that big raid was on I had the good luck to find Madame Lorraine alone here in the saloon, so I persuaded her to come to a noble and reasonable decision" (here he made a polite little bow). "Thanks for your hospitality, Madame, it will never be forgotten," he said. Then he shot a keen glance through the window and frowned.

"The time has come," he said abruptly, "they are much too busily engaged out there to suspect our plans."

"What plans are those?"

"To take possession of the yacht."

Tom was just as eager for action as his friend. "Yes," he said, almost breathless with excitement, "go on, you'll have me near you."

They left the ladies in the saloon and hurriedly went out.

"Where is McTuft?" asked Tom.

"He is chasing us in the 'Albatross,' a patrol-boat; and, acting on my instructions, he will be here soon."

Tom's confidence in Wallion rose many degrees at that piece of information. He had no doubt that they could have surprised the conspirators without assistance, but to deliver them up to the law was a more ticklish affair; for that purpose McTuft and his "boys" would prove very useful.

They looked about them for a few minutes from the top of the gangway. On the larboard side lay the barge, well-lighted up by the rays of the searchlight, whilst all was dark and still on the yacht. The crew stood leaning over the railings, looking on with great interest; on the bridge near the wireless hut were Captain Hawkins and the pilot Weston. Tom accompanied Wallion along the dark deck to the bridge. Scattered lights from the wharf were reflected in the water, but there was no danger to be apprehended from that quarter.

"Moreland is in the wireless room," said Wallion. "When we get there you must go straight up to him and point your revolver at his head. I shall persuade the captain and pilot to go in there too; the rest I will take into my own hands."

They stole up to the bridge like a couple of cats, only stopping occasionally to take breath.

The well-lighted wireless room was just behind the chart-house; and immediately in front, on the other side of the steering-wheel, they saw the unmistakable silhouettes of Hawkins and Weston.

The rhythmic suction of the air-pumps and the sharp creaking of the windlass could be heard far and wide in the stillness of the night.

"Now then, go ahead," said Wallion.

Tom straightened himself and noiselessly entered the hut. Moreland looked up, and turned pale when he saw the revolver pointed at his head.

"Sit still," said Tom, in a commanding tone; "if you move I fire."

The telegraphist sat as motionless as a stone image.

Meanwhile Wallion crept up behind Hawkins and Western.

"Gentlemen," he said, "this is no time for talking; I shall fire without compunction, if necessary. Go to the wireless room at once in front of me."

They obeyed with hands up, and he ordered them to sit down with their hands in front of them. Then he locked the door.

"Now for a little explanation," he said with a smile. "I regret having to act in this cavalier fashion, but I had to make you hear what I have to say, without raising an alarm; you take us for two bandits belonging to the Black Hand gang, don't you?"

"Mr. Dixon said so," retorted the captain sullenly.

"Very well, listen now; Mr. Dixon told a downright damned lie. My name is Maurice Wallion, and I am a detective from Sweden, and this gentleman" (pointing to Tom) "is my friend and assistant, Mr. Murner."

Captain Hawkins stared distrustfully at him. "Anybody might say that," he growled.

"But I can swear that it is so."

"In that case there should be no difficulty in proving your identity."

"My own papers have been lost, and Murner's have been taken away from him."

The captain shook his head. "Excuse me if I don't believe you; besides, what business could you have on board Mr. Dixon's yacht?"

"My business here is to arrest Ricardo Ferail for murder and theft, and Dixon and Corman for aiding and abetting," Wallion said very quietly.

Captain Hawkins stared as if he had heard something perfectly impossible. "You're a good 'un," he said scornfully, "you can tell that tale to the marines."

"Then you don't believe what I say?"

"I don't."

Tom cast a troubled look at Wallion; it seemed to him the situation was becoming critical.

"It will afford me much pleasure to prove every word I have said, Captain Hawkins."

"How are you going to do that? ... It would be rather amusing," was Hawkins' answer.

"It will be very simple: a few nautical miles from here is an American patrol-boat, the 'Albatross,' with Detective McTuft from Seattle on board. He knows me well, and is, like myself, on the track of the same delightful trio."

"Oh," said the captain, with growing interest.

"What could be easier than to make an inquiry by wireless, requesting McTuft to prove our identity?"

The captain rose, but immediately sat down again. "Not impossible," he said at last, "Moreland, call up the 'Albatross,' then we shall hear."

Wallion exchanged a look of triumph with Tom, but their present position was rather hazardous all the same. The operator bent over his apparatus, whilst the others kept silent; he called up the 'Albatross,' and waited for an answer. It came at once:

"Who wants 'Albatross'?"

"Maurice Wallion, on board the 'Ariadne,'" replied Moreland. "Ask McTuft if he will, please, come to the apparatus."

"So far I have told you the truth, you see," remarked Wallion, while they were waiting for the reply. "I presume fire-arms will no longer be needed."

"No," replied the Captain, curtly; "but I mean to get to the bottom of this," he said, adding: "if you have told the truth and anybody down there in the barge heard you, this room may prove a dangerous place for you."

"There is no danger; the air-pump and windlass drown the wireless, and what is more, their attention is entirely taken up with those gold chests."

Moreland made a sudden movement as the reply came: "McTuft is here, go ahead, 'Ariadne.'"

"Will you speak, Captain, or shall I?" said Wallion.

He and Tom laid aside their arms as being no longer required. Captain Hawkins was deeply interested, and said:

"Let me, please, Mr. Wallion." Then he proceeded to dictate his message to Moreland: "Request McTuft to furnish us with a description of Wallion."

Moreland sent it off immediately, and after a scarcely perceptible delay a prompt answer came through space: "Maurice Wallion, detective from Sweden; tall, thin, eyes gray, complexion dark, hair brushed back from forehead; has Thomas Murner with him, do you want HIS description as well?"

Whilst the captain was hesitating about the next inquiry to make, further signs of life arrived from McTuft; he asked: "What's the matter with Wallion? Anything gone wrong?"

"No, nothing," dictated Hawkins, gloomily; "only that he wants to impress upon the 'Ariadne's' company that certain proceedings are unavoidable; send information regarding his business on board the yacht for registration."

The reply, a very emphatic one, came at once; one might have fancied it was in McTuft's own indignant tones: "It is Wallion's business to arrest every single soul on board the 'Ariadne,' if they make a fuss; first and foremost the owner and his party; will that do for you?"

"That's enough," said Hawkins, and laughed; then he added rather seriously: "I am quite convinced now, Mr. Wallion. It is an unsavory, horrible story, and my own plight is most deplorable; but, of course, I must bow to the law. What do you wish me to do?"

"That depends" ... said Wallion. He turned to Moreland and dictated as follows: "It is I, Wallion, speaking. Thanks for information, how long before the 'Albatross' will reach Hurricane Island?"

Out of the darkness came McTuft's reply: "Thanks to you for information given last night; the 'Albatross' will be up in half-an-hour." There the odd conversation ended. Wallion got on to his feet and laughingly remarked to Tom:

"I begin to appreciate McTuft's tenacity. He has no intention of missing the last act of the tragedy. I fancy I see him now on the 'Albatross.'"

He put his head out of the window for a moment. The work on the barge below was being carried on undisturbed; the pumps moaned and the windlass creaked at regular intervals.

"Are the crew to be trusted?" asked Wallion.

"Yes, if I may have the handling of them," answered the captain.

The pilot undertook to call the men in one by one and to explain the circumstances to them.

"Yes, that would perhaps be the best," Wallion agreed; "what is your opinion about the five men on the barge?"

"They belong to the wharf and they will give no trouble," said the captain. "I don't think any of the workmen on the wharf are particularly delighted with their employers."

"First rate. I propose that you will call your men to the chart-room and tell them to be quiet; it is not necessary for them to interfere. Dixon and his two associates are armed, but we shall get the better of them before they have finished their business down there."

All except Moreland left the cabin.

"Tom," said Wallion in a low voice, "in about ten minutes there will be a nice scuffle; you keep an eye on the barge whilst I help the captain to prepare the crew, and come up to the chart-room if any of our three friends make as though they meant to return to the yacht."

Tom leant over the rails on the bridge and looked down into the barge; he felt that never again in all his life would he find himself in such company or such a situation as this. He was calm and resolute, and his gaze was firmly fixed on what lay before him.

CHAPTER XXIII

GO SHARES ... THEN PART

The rays of the searchlight fell upon the deck of the barge, on the rude planks of which a strange scene was being enacted, In the background lay Fir Island, like a dark side-piece, and the water in the channel rose and fell in glittering, heaving billows. On the stage, below where Tom stood, were eight performers all told.

Dixon and Corman, in the center of the barge and still motionless, were smoking, and had lighted their cigarettes without exchanging a word; Toroni sat on the railing as close as possible to the spot where the ever-seething air bubbles in the water indicated the place where the diver was working on the wreck sixty feet below. Two men attended to the air-pumps, one looked after the tube and signal-rope, and two others stood ready by the stake, from which wire ropes hung down into the deep.

But the picture had undergone a marvelous change since Tom had watched it from the loophole in the saloon. A collection of wooden cases of dark and curious appearance had been deposited on planks in a pool of muddy water. These cases were almost square and provided with thick iron bands; the offside of each showed letters carefully incised. Tom thought he could detect the name "Craig Russel" on one of the chests.... They contained gold from the ill-fated "King Solomon," which, after sixteen years, had at last come up from the bottom of the sea.

He counted the chests and had got as far as ten when the man in charge of the signal-rope raised his hand; the two on duty at the stake rushed over the tackling to the edge of the boat, and half a minute later the eleventh chest was hauled up over the railing and placed by the side of the others; then the wire rope slackened.

Toroni bent over this last chest and closely examined it on all sides. Like the others it was sound and uninjured; made of good, stout oak, the chests were in a wonderful state of preservation, though the wood had turned nearly black and the iron bands had been eaten away by rust and came off in bits. Apparently satisfied, Toroni returned to his post of observation in silence; his two companions had not stirred.

The diver down on the wreck seemed working with a will, and ere long the twelfth case made its appearance. There were three more to come up, and Toroni and his accomplices had all but attained their object.

There was something rather ghastly in the grim silence observed by these three, within reach of the coveted six millions they had agreed to share. What was it that so deeply engrossed their thoughts at this moment?

Tom was inclined to believe that he could pretty well guess what was in Dixon's mind; he meant to have the gold conveyed to the big motor-boat from the wharf and to smuggle it over the frontier into Canada, before abandoning the "Ariadne" with Elaine, Tom, and the other intruders on board. There was every prospect of such a plan proving successful, provided nothing occurred to nip it in the bud, but ... did that plan fit in with Toroni's calculations?

Tom narrowly scrutinized that little man's ill-favored countenance with its black beard, shifty eyes and pale brow; he appeared no longer to worry about Dixon or Corman, his eyes swept the water's which concealed "King Solomon."

Chests thirteen and fourteen also were safely transferred to the barge; water flowed over the planks freely, and masses of seaweed were thrown up all around.

Tom looked uneasily at the clock. Wallion had said ten minutes, but already twenty had elapsed. He turned his head; deliberations still seemed to be going on in the hut; he could distinguish the captain's broad back, Wallion's clear-cut profile and the pilot's anxious features; the last of the sailors had left and gone down. Tom turned his eyes to the deck; the crew had disappeared, but inquisitive eyes peered from the forecastle. The men were evidently prepared.

All at once the door of the hut was pushed open, and Wallion came out, followed by Hawkins and Weston, pocketing their fire-arms.

The windlass creaked for the fifteenth time ... the last remnant of "King Solomon's cargo was on its way up. Wallion looked down, his sharp features had assumed a hard, resolute expression.

"Just right," he said. "You, Mr. Weston, had better go down and keep an eye on the men and will you, Captain Hawkins, please remain on the bridge. You and I, Tom, will move a little nearer to our fellow-travelers down there."

Noiselessly they climbed down to the "Ariadne's" lower deck, then made their way along under the bridge which brought them within five yards of Dixon and Corman, who were standing with their backs turned to the yacht, not suspecting anything. Toroni was just getting on his feet again after a minute inspection of the fifteenth and last chest, which stood dripping beside the others. The diver came up and climbed over the side of the barge; his helmet was unscrewed and the air-pump ceased working.

All was quiet. Toroni turned to his two friends.

"None of them have been damaged," he said, in a voice which ended in a hoarse whisper. "Look sharp now, it's all done.... Let's get away with the stuff as fast as we can. Quick."

Dixon sighed as if he were just waking from a bad dream. He threw away the stump of his cigarette, turned his head in the direction of the bridge and shouted: "Captain Hawkins, give the signal for the motor-boat to come here."

The Captain neither moved nor spoke, but Wallion leveled his revolver.

"No signal is required, Dixon," he answered, "everything is arranged."

Dixon and Corman swung round and stared Wallion full in the face.

The Doctor muttered an oath and felt for his pocket. Wallion and Tom looked at him fixedly, and the former said:

"Don't add another to the list of your crimes; that would be foolish."

Dixon's lips had assumed an ashen hue, and he had evidently to make a tremendous effort to stand steady.

"Oho, so it was you, Mr. Wallion," he said with some bitterness in his tone. "Well, I give in, I have got into deep water. Corman, my boy, it wasn't written in the stars that this was the way we were to get rich...." Then, looking at Wallion, he said: "And what do you intend to do with us?"

"You are my prisoner, Dixon, and you too, Corman. Go shares and then dissolve partnership, that was your program, wasn't it? Well, the six millions will be shared, but not with you, and the partnership will be dissolved, though not quite in the way you intended."

Toroni, whom Wallion had kept well under observation, stood as if glued to the spot, his piercing black eyes fixed on the "Problem Solver."

The five bargemen and the diver were huddled together in a frightened heap. Toroni looked round.

"Don't expect you'll get any help," said Wallion sternly. "Come here, Toroni.... What? ... You would? ... Look out, Tom."

Quick as lightning Toroni had taken refuge behind the gold chests, pulled out his revolver and fired; the bullet made a hole in the wall of the hut. Wallion stooped and took aim, but he could not sight his adversary. Tom caught a glimpse of Toroni's right hand as he again raised his weapon between two of the chests and fired at random without any particular aim. A flash and a bang followed; Tom felt something like the sting of a whip on his left temple. He put up his hand; his fingers were wet and smeared with blood. He let fall his Browning and believed he heard himself call out: "I am wounded"; but in reality no sound passed his lips. He took a few steps without knowing where he was going, staggered and fell forward unconscious.

Toroni had dropped on his knees. He was grinning and showing his teeth like a wild beast. Under cover of the gold chests, he shot time after time at Wallion, who promptly returned the fire, and knew he had not missed his mark, but Toroni seemed possessed of an evil spirit.

"Give in," shouted Wallion. "I want to take you alive."

Toroni rose to his full height and threw away his weapon; he had fired his last shot. In his eyes there was the look of an untamed tiger.... Furious anger at the loss of what he thought already safe within his sordid grasp, lust of the millions upon which his thoughts had centered through sixteen years, had obliterated every trait of humanity.

"Never," he said huskily; he took a step forward.... A long, sharp knife gleamed in his hand as he raised it towards Wallion. At the same instant Madame Lorraine's voice was heard:

"You devil! It was you who dragged us down to perdition."

She had come to the railing of the yacht and picked up Tom's revolver. She looked as if she were intent on fulfilling a long neglected duty. She fired.... Toroni dropped the knife and reeled backwards, his failing eyes still sought the gold chests, then he folded his hands upon his breast, turned, staggered against the side of the barge, and blindly stretching out his arms, fell into the water. As his body sank, great bubbles rose to the turbid surface; the thirteenth passenger of the "King Solomon" had returned to where the gold had lain which lured him to his fate. Madame Lorraine silently retired to her cabin.

Dixon and Corman had looked on at the short but unforgettable scene with indifference and apathy. Their parts were played and they had neither the power nor the will to offer any resistance to the law.

Weston and two of the sailors went on board the barge and conveyed the two friends to the upper deck of the "Ariadne." They moved listlessly, like automatons, and Dixon sank wearily into one of the basket-chairs. He buried his head in his hands and, looking up at Wallion's approach, said feebly:

"I suppose jail will be our next destination, Mr. Wallion?"

The latter nodded and said nothing. He rather pitied Dixon, whose gray and crestfallen features had aged in a few days by ten years.

Doctor Corman stood behind him, stoical and resigned, with folded arms. "Ah, well," he muttered. "Toroni came off best after all."

By Wallion's orders Tom had been carried down into the saloon. The young man had only a flesh-wound, and that a slight one, on one of his temples; but the shock had stunned him and he was still unconscious.

As soon as Wallion had satisfied himself that his friend was not in danger, he returned to the upper deck. He had heard distant signals across the water. The lights of a steamer soon became visible in the channel. She was approaching at full speed. It was the "Albatross," with McTuft on board, his red hair blowing round his head like flames of fire.

"Hallo, Wallion," lie cried, "are things all right, or have I come too late?"

"You have come in the nick of time," was Wallion's answer, "to take these fifteen chests, which contain gold, on board the 'Albatross,' and set the police seal on them. There you see Mr. Dixon and Doctor Corman; it is now your duty to arrest them. We shall remain on the 'Ariadne' with Captain Hawkins to take us back to Seattle. That's all, I think...."

"But what about Ferail?"

"Ferail, otherwise No. 13 Toroni, is dead."

McTuft cast a long inquiring look at Wallion.

"If only you were a Scotchman now proud I should be of you," he said.

CHAPTER XXIV

AFTER THE CONFLICT

When Tom regained consciousness it was with the feeling that his body was lying at full length in a swing and that a screw was being driven into his head. He heard the clank of chains and the starting of machinery. His memory came back by slow degrees. A snapshot in black and white representing the deck of the barge, figures moving and smoke curling up in thick clouds floated across his brain. "Yes, of course, I have been wounded," he thought confusedly.

And then something even more strange occurred, and that quite close to his side. Someone was breathing hard and saying in a broken voice:

"Wake up, dearest, look at me, and say that you are not in danger, my dear one, my love." ... Two soft, warm lips were pressed on his, then shyly withdrawn, only to return in a passionate kiss. It was indeed marvelous!

"I expect I am dreaming," he thought as he opened his eyes.

Elaine's tear-stained, lovely face was very near to his, an expression of unspeakable anxiety and distress in her eyes. He raised himself upon his elbow and put a hand up to his head; it was tightly bandaged.

"Won't you say once more what you said just now?" he murmured, rather incoherently.

She bent her head and blushed.

"It is all over now," she said softly; "Dixon and Corman are prisoners, and Toroni is dead; it was he who fired at you, and oh ... I am so glad that the wound is not dangerous."

Tom fell back against the cushions. He had discovered that he was lying on the couch in the saloon and they were alone.

"I don't know," he said, hesitating. "I fancy it might be most dangerous unless I have a kind and loving nurse."

"I shall try to do my best," she replied in a gentle tone.

He sat up with a bound and drew her to him.

"Elaine," he said, "I love you."

She lay still in his arms; he raised her head and kissed her. "I have loved you from the first moment I saw you," he said.

She smiled faintly. "That's an old, old story which you can read in any book."

"Yes, I know that. I only said it as the correct thing and as a matter of form. But really, Elaine, I have loved you from the time when you were recovering from the fever of your wound, and I saw you at the window in my smoking-room. My darling, say once more what you said just now when I opened my eyes."

She bent down, looked into his eyes, and said: "I love you."

"No, say it in Swedish," he said, in a tone of command.

"Jag älskar dig," she repeated obediently.

* * *

A month later Maurice Wallion was sitting in a chair facing the Chief of the Secret Service Division of New York in his private office. They were smoking the cigars the Chief had once mentioned on the telephone, and he was listening with intense interest to Wallion's graphic story.

"Well, and what do you think of McTuft?" he said genially when the story was finished.

"A fine, intelligent fellow, but as obstinate as a mule," replied Wallion, laughing. "I strongly recommend him for promotion."

The Chief sat quiet for a time, turning over in his mind the tale he had just heard.

"It will be a perplexing business to discover all those heirs and share out the gold properly."

"A local Seattle paper is going to take the initiative and form a sort of Managing Committee," said Wallion, "but William Robertson was not anxious that all the world should know about it and, I suppose, the higher powers will also have a word to say in the matter."

"Naturally. By the way, I conclude you will not be present when Dixon and Corman come up for trial?"

"No, I have other business in hand, but I left with the Public Prosecutor a clear and full account of my part in the affair. In a way, I am rather sorry for Dixon: his power and influence were in reality only nominal ... he coveted wealth and position, and was dragged down against his better knowledge. As to Madame Lorraine, she is sure to be acquitted, for she was entirely under her brother's sway. But Doctor Corman deserves and must expect severe punishment; he knew well enough what he was doing."

"Yes," said the Chief Detective, meditatively, "we humans are a queer lot to be called the 'crowning piece' of creation. And the nice little lady ... Elaine Robertson, what promises does the future hold out to her?"

"Elaine Murner, once Robertson, you mean; she is very well, judging from Tom's jubilant telegram despatched immediately after the wedding. Her father is coming over to Sweden to take up his abode with Christian Dreyel. Elaine, of course, will be with her happy—architect husband...."

For a time they continued to smoke without speaking, then the Chief asked:

"Now, as to your own plans, Wallion: the man who saved King Solomon's millions has a right to a good big reward."

But Maurice Wallion interrupted him, and stooping, unlocked a Gladstone bag which lay at his feet. Extracting therefrom twelve brown wooden dolls, he set them in a row on the table, and said with a laugh:

"As a reward I claim these ... as a souvenir of

NO. 13 TORONI."

* * * * * * * *

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Outlook: "Engaging, humorous, and delightfully youthful."

London Observer: At last! Here is not only a novel which will live, but one which has been lived."

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 19 WEST 44TH STREET (VIII '22) NEW YORK

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NOVELS BY ROMAIN ROLLAND

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE DAWN—MORNING—YOUTH—REVOLT

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE IN PARIS THE MARKET PLACE—ANTOINETTE—THE HOUSE

JEAN-CHRISTOPHE: JOURNEY'S END LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP—THE BURNING BUSH—THE NEW DAWN

Each $2.00

"'Hats off, gentlemen—a genius.' ... One may mention 'Jean-Christophe' in the same breath with Balzac's 'Lost Illusions'; it is as big as that.... It is moderate praise to call it with Edmund Gosse 'the noblest work of fiction of the twentieth century.' ... A book as big, as elemental, as original as though the art of fiction began today.... We have nothing comparable in English literature...."—Springfield Republican.

COLAS BREUGNON BURGUNDIAN

OF A GALLANT MAN IN THE DAYS OF MARIE DE MEDICIS.

$1.75

"A book playful and tender, with an engaging philosophic courageous old man for teller and hero ... light-spirited yet penetrating.... He has a noble courage and can jest in the face of death.... Above all, he has all the domestic virtues."—New York Evening Post.

CLERAMBAULT

THE STORY OF A MAN WHO DARED TO STAND AGAINST THE MOB.

$2.00

"The sanest work of art that has come from the great war.... Indubitably Rolland's finest work."—Boston Transcript.

AN IDYL OF LOVE "BORN UNDER THE WING OF DEATH."

$1.50

"This exquisite bit of work.... It is his hatred of war that inspired the book, while it is his greatness as a man that gave it its present form."—Chicago Evening Post.

"He has equalled Victor Hugo's description of the love of Marius."—New York Sun.

A 32-page leaflet on Rolland on request

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY Publishers (VIII '22) New York