"Dios!" he exclaimed in agony. "This is indeed the end."
CHAPTER IX
--THE ESCAPADE OF ENRICO JAURES
"What are those blighters doing?" soliloquised Kenyon for the twentieth time. "Are they buying the place, or are they poodle-faking? They ought to have been back hours ago."
It was well after sunset. The "Golden Hind" had taken in stores and provisions, and had replenished her fuel and oil tanks. An anchor watch had been set, and having "gone the rounds" in order to satisfy himself that everything was in order Kenneth Kenyon had gone to his cabin to write letters that would be sent ashore when the picket-boat brought off the skipper and Bramsdean.
A shrill blast of the voice-tube whistle made Kenyon hasten across the long narrow cabin. There was something insistent about the summons. It
