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our stations from you--Mauri and Kahula. Said he paid you seventeen hundred gold sovereigns, lock, stock and barrel, good will, trade-goods, credit, and copra." Griffithss eyes narrowed and glinted. The action was involuntary, and Grief noted it with a lazy sweep of his eyes. "And Parsons, your trader at Hickimavi, told me that the Fulcrum Company had bought that station from you. Now what did he want to lie for?" Griffiths, overwrought by sun and sickness, exploded. All his bitterness of spirit rose up in his face and twisted his mouth into a snarl. "Look here, Grief, whats the good of playing with me that way? You know, and I know you know. Let it go at that. I have sold out, and I am getting away. And what are you going to do about it?" Grief shrugged his shoulders, and no hint of resolve shadowed itself in his own face. His expression was as of one in a quandary. "Theres no law here," Griffiths pressed home his advantage. "Tulagi is a hundred and fifty miles away. Ive got my clearance papers, and Im on my own boat. Theres nothing to stop me from sailing. Youve got no right to stop me just because I owe you a little money. And by God! you cant stop me. Put that in your pipe." The look of pained surprise on Griefs face deepened. "You mean youre going to cheat me out of that twelve hundred, Griffiths?" "Thats just about the size of it, old man. And calling hard names wont help any. Theres the wind coming. Youd better get overside before I pull out, or Ill tow your canoe under." "Really, Griffiths, you sound almost right. I cant stop you." Grief fumbled in the pouch that hung on his revolver-belt and pulled out a crumpled official-looking paper. "But maybe this will stop you. And its something for your pipe. Smoke up." "What is it?" "An admiralty warrant. Running to the New Hebrides wont save you. It can be served anywhere." Griffiths hesitated and swallowed, when he had finished glancing at the document. With knit brows he pondered this new phase of the situation. Then, abruptly, as he looked up, his face relaxed into all frankness. "You were cleverer than I thought, old man," he said. "Youve got me hip and thigh. I ought to have known better than to try and beat you. Jacobsen told me I couldnt, and I wouldnt listen to him. But he was right, and so are you. Ive got the money below. Come on down and well settle." He started to go down, then stepped aside to let his visitor precede him, at the same time glancing seaward to where the dark flaw of wind was quickening the water. "Heave short," he told the mate. "Get up sail and stand ready to break out." As Grief sat down on the edge of the mates bunk, close against and facing the tiny table, he noticed the butt of a revolver just projecting from under the pillow. On the table, which hung on hinges from the forard bulkhead, were pen and ink, also a battered log-book. "Oh, I dont mind being caught in a dirty trick," Griffiths was saying defiantly. "Ive been in the tropics too long. Im a sick man, a damn sick man. And the whiskey, and the sun, and the fever have made me sick in morals, too. Nothings too mean and low for me now, and I can understand why the niggers eat each other, and take heads, and such things. I could do it myself. So I call trying to do you out of that small account a pretty mild trick. Wisht I could offer you a drink." Grief made no reply, and the other busied himself in attempting to unlock a large and much-dented cash-box. From on deck came falsetto cries and the creak and rattle of blocks as the black crew swung up mainsail and driver. Grief watched a large cockroach crawling over the greasy paintwork. Griffiths, with an oath of irritation, carried the cash-box to the companion-steps for better light. Here, on his feet, and bending over the box, his back to his visitor, his hands shot out to the rifle that stood beside the steps, and at the same moment he whirled about. "Now dont you move a muscle," he commanded. Grief smiled, elevated his eyebrows quizzically, and obeyed. His left hand rested on the bunk beside him; his right hand lay on the table. His revolver hung on his right hip in plain sight. But in his mind was recollection of the other revolver under the pillow. "Huh!" Griffiths sneered. "Youve got everybody in the Solomons hypnotized, but let me tell you you aint got me. Now Im going to throw you off my vessel, along with your admiralty warrant, but first youve got to do something. Lift up that log-book." The other glanced curiously at the log-book, but did not move. "I tell you Im a sick man, Grief; and Id as soon shoot you as smash a cockroach. Lift up that log-book, I say." Sick he did look, his lean face working nervously with the rage that possessed him. Grief lifted the book and set it aside. Beneath lay a written sheet of tablet paper. "Read it," Griffiths commanded. "Read it aloud." Grief obeyed; but while he read, the fingers of his left hand began an infinitely slow and patient crawl toward t