The Pagan Madonna

Cunningham did not answer immediately. From Flint his glance went roving

from man to man, as if trying to read what they expected of him.

"Flint, you were recommended to me for your knowledge of the Sulu lingo.

We'll need a crew of divers, and we'll have to pick them up secretly.

That's your job. It's your only job outside doing your watch with the

shovel below. Somehow you've got the wrong idea. You think this is a

junket of the oil-lamp period. All wrong! You don't know me, and that's a

pity; because if you did know something about me you'd walk carefully.

When we're off this yacht, I don't say. If you want what old-timers used

to call their pannikin of rum, you'll be welcome to it. But on board the

Wanderer, nothing doing. Get your duffel out. I'll have a look at it."

"Get it yourself," said Flint.

Cunningham appeared small and boyish beside the ex-beachcomber.

"I'm speaking to you decently, Flint, when I ought to bash in your head."

The tone was gentle and level.

"Why don't you try it?"

The expectant men thereupon witnessed a feat that was not only deadly in

its precision but oddly grotesque. Cunningham's right hand flew out with

the sinister quickness of a cobra's strike, and he had Flint's brawny

wrist in grip. He danced about, twisted and lurched until he came to an

abrupt stop behind Flint's back. Flint's mouth began to bend at the

corners--a grimace.

"You'll break it yourself, Flint, if you move another inch," said

Cunningham, nonchalantly. "This is the gentlest trick I have in the bag.

Cut out the booze until we're off this yacht. Be a good sport and play the

game according to contract. I don't like these side shows. But you wanted

me to show you. Want to call it off?"

Sweat began to bead Flint's forehead. He was straining every muscle in his

body to minimize that inexorable turning of his elbow and shoulder.

"The stuff is in Number Two bunker," he said, with a ghastly grin. "I'll

chuck it over."

"There, now!" Cunningham stepped back. "I might have made it your neck.

But I'm patient, because I want this part of the game to go through

according to schedule. When I turn back this yacht I want nothing missing

but the meals I've had."

Flint rubbed his arm, scowling, and walked over to his bunk.

"Boys," said Cunningham, "so far you've been bricks. Shortly we'll be

heading southeast on our own. Wherever I am known, men will tell you that

I never break my word. I promised you that we'd come through with clean

heels. Something has happened which we could not forestall. There is a

woman on board. It is not necessary to say that she is under my

protection."