Angel Island

Julia, a little in front, stood at defiance. Her wings, as though

animated by a gentle voltage of electricity, kept lifting with a low

purring whirr. Half-way they struck the ceiling and dropped dead. The

tiny silvery-white feathers near her shoulders rose like fur on a cat's

back. One hand was clenched; the other grasped a chair. Her face was not

terrified; neither was it white. It glowed with rage, as if a fire had

been built in an alabaster vase.

All about on the floor, on chairs, over shelves lay the gauds that had

lured them to their capture. Of them all, Julia alone showed no change.

Below the scarlet draperies swathing Chiquita's voluptuous outlines

appeared the gold stockings and the high-heeled gold slippers which she

had tried on her beautiful Andalusian feet. Necklaces swung from her

throat; bracelets covered her arms; rings crowded her fingers. Lulu had

thrown about her leafy costume an evening cape of brilliant blue brocade

trimmed with ermine. On her head glittered a boudoir-cap of web lace

studded with iridescent mock jewels. Over her mail of seaweed, Clara

wore a mandarin's coat - yellow, with a decoration of tiny mirrors. Her

hair was studded with jeweled hairpins, combs; a jeweled band, a jeweled

aigrette. Peachy had put on a pink chiffon evening gown hobbled in the

skirt, one shoulder-length, shining black glove, a long chain of

fire-opals. Out of this emerged with an astonishing effect of contrast

her gleaming pearly shoulders and her, lustrous blue wings.

An instant the two armies stood staring at each other - at close terms

for the first time. Then, with one tremendous sweep of her arm, Julia

threw something over their heads out the open door. It flashed through

the sunlight like a rainbow rocket, tore the surface of the sea in a

dazzle of sparks and colors.

"There goes five hundred thousand dollars," said Honey as the Wilmington

"Blue" found its last resting-place. "Shut the door, Pete."

With another tremendous sweep of her magnificent arm, Julia lifted the

chair, swung it about her head as if it were a whip, rushed - not

running or flying, but with a movement that was both - upon the five

men. Her companions seized anything that was near. Lulu wrenched a shelf

from its fastenings.

The men closed in upon them.

Twenty minutes later, silence had fallen on the Clubhouse, a silence

that was broken only by panted breathing. The five men stood resting.

The five girls stood, tied to the walls, their hands pinioned in front

of them. At intervals, one or the other of them would call in an

agonized tone to Julia. And always she answered with words that

reassured and calmed.