The Pirate of Panama: A Tale of the Fight for Buried Treasure. William MacLeod Raine

Francisco, United States of America. I am neither Tommy Atkins nor a Russian serf. Therefore, I again decline."

      Coals of fire lay in his eyes.

      "I—want—that—map!"

      "So I gather, and as a child you often wanted the moon. But did you get it?" I inquired pleasantly.

      "The map—the map!" He had not raised his voice a note, but I give you my word his eyes were devilish. He was a dangerous man in an ugly frame of mind.

      "Certainly you are a man of one idea, captain. Show proof of ownership and I shall be glad to comply with your request."

      "But certainly."

      So quick was his motion that the revolver seemed to have leaped to his hand of its own accord.

      "I give you my word, Mr. John Sedgwick of San Francisco, United States of America, that in the event you do not at once hand me that map I shall blow the top of your head off!"

      In a measure I was prepared for this. I told myself that we were in the heart of a great city, in daylight, with the twentieth century setting of a fifteen-story office building. Were I to put my head out of the window a thousand hurrying people on Market Street would hear my call.

      Yet I knew that I might as well be alone with him on a desert island for all the help that could reach me. I knew, too, that he was not bluffing. What he said he would do, that he would do.

      My face can on occasion be wooden.

      "Interesting, if true," I retorted coolly.

      "And absolutely true. Make no mistake about that, Mr. Sedgwick."

      His hand rested on the back of the chair for a support. My eyes looked straight into the blue barrel of his weapon. It was a ticklish moment. I congratulate myself that my nerves were in good condition. My fingers played a tattoo upon a sheet of paper on my desk. Beneath that page of office stationery lay the map he wanted.

      "One moment, captain. This is not Russia. Have you considered that the freedom of my country carries with it disadvantages? You would probably be hanged by the neck till you were dead."

      His mood had changed, but I knew he was not a whit less dangerous because the veneer of suave mockery masked the savagery of the Slav.

      "Not at all. The unwritten law, my friend. I find you insulting my cousin and the hot blood in me boils. I avenge her. Regrettable, of course. Too hasty, perhaps. But—oh well, let bygones be bygones."

      In one breath he had tried and acquitted himself.

      "And do you think that I would agree to your accursed lies?" his cousin asked, white as new-fallen snow.

      "Let us hope so. Otherwise I should have to base my action upon a construction less creditable to you. The point is that I shall not hesitate to carry out my promise. We can arrange the details later, my dear. Come, Mr. Sedgwick! Choose!"

      "You coward!" flashed his cousin in a blaze of scorn.

      "Not at all, dear Evie. All point of view, I assure you. Mr. Sedgwick has told you that I take a sporting chance of being scragged. I haven't the slightest ill feeling, but—I want what I want. Have you decided, sir?"

      He was scarcely two yards from me, but neither his keen gaze nor the point of the automatic revolver wandered for a fraction of a second from me. There was not a single chance to close with him. I was considering ignominious surrender when Miss Wallace saved my face.

      "Can he give you what he hasn't got?" she cried out, her natural courage and her contempt struggling with her fear for me.

      "So he hasn't it, eh?" There was a silence before he went on: "But it is in this room somewhere. You have it or he has it. Now, I wonder which?" He spoke softly, as if to himself, without the least trace of nervousness or passion. "Yes, that's the riddle. Which of you?"

      His eyes released me long enough to shoot a questioning glance at her, for from my face he could read nothing.

      "If you have it, Evie, my cousin, you will perhaps desire to turn it over to me for safe keeping. It will be better, I think."

      "For you or for me?"

      He laughed noiselessly, with the manner peculiar to him of having some private source of amusement within.

      "Would you shoot me if I didn't agree with you?" she continued.

      "My dear cousin," he reproved. From his air one might have judged him a pained and loving father.

      "Then what will you do?"

      "Yes, I really think it will be better," he murmured with his strange smile.

      "And I ask again, better for whom?"

      "For Mr. Sedgwick, my dear," he cut back.

      She was plainly taken aback.

      "But—since he hasn't the paper——"

      "We'll assume he has it. At least he knows where it is."

      His manner dismissed her definitely from the business in hand. "I must apologize for my brusqueness, Mr. Sedgwick, but I'm sure you'll understand that with a busy man time is money. Believe me, it is with great regret I am forced to cut short so promising a career. You're a man after my own heart. I see quite unusual qualities in you that I would have found pleasure in cultivating. But I mustn't let my selfish regret interfere with what is for the good of the greatest number. At best it's an unsatisfactory world. You're well rid of it. Any last messages, by the way?"

      He purred out his atrocious mockery as a great cat gifted with speech might have done while playing with the mouse it meant to destroy.

      "I'd like to make it clear to you what a villain you are—but I despair of finding words to do justice to the subject. As for your threat, it is absurd. You'd hang, to a certainty, on the testimony of Miss Wallace."

      He shrugged his broad shoulders.

      "Life is full of risks. We all have to take them, and for my part it lends a zest. Unfortunately, if you take this risk you will not be in a position later to realize that your judgment was at fault. That, however, is your business and not mine," he concluded cheerfully, lifting his weapon slightly and taking aim.

      "For the last time—— Do you give me the map, or do I give you a pass to kingdom come?"

      The girl moved forward so that she stood directly between me and the weapon. She was taking a paper from her hand-bag, but she did not lower her eyes to direct her hands in their search.

      "I reckon I couldn't make you understand how I despise you—and hate you! I'd rather be kin to the poorest beggar who sweeps the streets down there than to you," she flamed, flinging before him a paper.

      Warily he picked it up and glanced at it, still covering me carefully.

      "This is the map, is it?"

      "You may see for yourself," she blazed.

      "It is really very good of you to ask me to keep it for you, Evie. I'll take good care of it—not a doubt of that. It's far better in my hands than yours, for of course you might be robbed."

      His impudent smile derided her contempt. For me—I wouldn't have faced that look of hers for twenty maps.

      "We're not through with you yet," I told him.

      In gay reproof he shook a finger at me.

      "Ah! There speaks the lawyer. You'll bring an action, will you?"

      It annoyed me to be playing so poor a part before Miss Wallace.

      "You're an infernal scoundrel!"

      "I could argue you out of that uncharitable opinion if I had time, Mr. Sedgwick. But I'm devilishly de trop—the superfluous third, you know. My dear cousin frowns at me. 'Pon my word, I don't blame her. But you'll excuse me for intruding, won't you? I plead