Argosy, Vol. 85, No. 3 — page 57: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AMERICANS ruptly. His hands smiled bitterly. ‘Jones always seems to have some- thing ready, doesn’t he? His coal’s giving out, too, and he’s slowing down. Look at that!” “Yes, and since he’s so handy with the ultimatum stuff, I'l] have a try at it my- self!” Hemmett stormed. ‘‘ We'll be alongside in another five minutes, and I’m going to warn him that—” He broke off and sped after the radio man. He found that person sitting before his instruments, telephones already ad- justed, and smiling interestedly. The operator held up a restraining hand. ‘“A moment, senor!” he cried softly. ‘““ More is coming now.” His pencil scratched ahead, and Hem- mett, scowling over his shoulder, watched the words and damned his own earlier lack of persistence in matters telegraphic. His mind would have been easier could he have but read those clicks and buzzes, audible even with the telephones on the man’s head. | “We are coming to anchor,” grew swiftly to: ‘“ You will drop anchor at least five hundred yards astern. Should you fail to do this, or should you choose in any way to attack El Fuego, the women will be shot in cold blood before you can possibly reach us.” This time the signature of ‘ William Jones ” was added; and, having scrawled it, the operator looked up. “They have signed off, senor,” he reported. ‘‘ That is the end of the mes- sage.” Without a comment, Mr. Hemmett snatched it from the table and left the little cabin. A moment only he hesitated as, at the door of the wheel-house, he gazed across the black water; El Fuego was gliding to a full stop, and they were coming very, very near to her now. The distance between. was surely less than half a mile, and should Jones happen to estimate it as less— Mr. Hemmett barked an order at Polito which set the engine-room telegraph going sud- dropped and he -eyes went back to El Fuego. AFTER ALL. 399 denly, and hurried to his friend, still in the bow, still gazing at El Fuego. ‘“‘ They’ve stopped,” Girton said super- fluously. ‘‘ What’s the matter with this tub? Engines busted?” “We're stopping, too,’ Mr. Hemmett snarled. ‘“‘ Here, read it!” Glasses were not needed now to watch El Fuego. The moon had disappeared again, and the search-light showed the motionless destroyer against a_ back- ground of solid, impenetrable black—and showed as well the bustling about toward the stern, where hung the gasoline tender. Whatever their purpose, they- were making ready to lower away the little boat. Men were scrambling in, to the number of half a dozen, Guanaman sailors all by their uniforms; then, dis- tant and tiny, the figure of Jones advanced and climbed into the tender, and after him a man in civilian togs whom they had not seen before. The tender slid to the black water, and they caught the faint hum of the engines. “T've read it,’ Girton muttered as his “ He’s coming aboard here!”’ ‘Yes, and the other boats are swung out from El Fuego, and she’s settling, too!” said Hemmett. “ Settling?” “Look at her. She hasn’t taken on any cargo since we started, Steve—but she’s half a foot lower in the water.” Silently they studied the new phenom- enon for a little, while the tender hummed through the night toward them. It had covered half the distance before Girton, coming to the end of a new train of thought, spoke softly: ‘“ Alvarez!”’ “Yes, senor?” and the younger man came closer. ‘“‘ Have them drop that long boat on the port side, and have it done quick! Then pick me a dozen of your men who can scrap! See?” “TI understand, senor. And then?” “You’ve dealt them out the pistols from the arsenal below?” MICLOOOK C©