The man who had claimed to be a diamond salesman was standing in the doorway, a machine gun in his hands. Behind him was a man with a scar, whom Bob recognized from the descriptions obtained in Jacksonville must have been the abductor of his uncle. To the rear of these two was a slender chap, little older than Bob and with a thin face. He was in a flyer’s outfit and in his hands carried a soft leather case. “Get their guns, Rap,” barked Hamsa, and the man with the scar came forward, his hands patting the sheriff for weapons. The gun was taken from the shoulder holster and the rifle was tossed across the room. The man known as Rap then turned to Bob and his hands found the empty holster. “Gun’s gone,” said Rap flatly and without expression. “Where?” demanded Hamsa. “Lost in the brush,” fibbed Bob. The answer seemed to satisfy them and Rap took the rifle from Bob’s hands. “Take this gun and keep those fellows covered while Curt and I check over the stuff he brought in,” ordered Hamsa, handing his weapon to Rap while the fellow, whom he had called Curt, strode into the room and placed his black leather case on the rough table. Bob gasped as the velvet lined case was opened and scores of gleaming diamonds were revealed. A king’s fortune was spread on the table in front of them and Hamsa, an ugly light in his eyes, looked at his captives. “So you federal men thought you were smart enough for Joe Hamsa?” he chortled. “Well, this is your last assignment. You’ve seen me and you’ve seen how we bring in the stuff. This is my last job. I’ll make a cool million on it. Think it over.” He turned back to the pile of gems and ran them through his stubby fingers, gloating at the wealth that was on the table. “What are we going to do now?” asked Curt. “Sink your plane and the gray boat. We’ll use the black one for a getaway and we’ll burn this place before we leave.” “How about the federal men?” The flyer gestured toward Bob and the others. “Maybe we’ll sink them, too,” said Hamsa and there was deadly mirth in his words. The man known as Rap started to laugh, but a sharp explosion back of Bob turned the laugh into a sob and Rap, gasping for breath, sank to the floor. Chapter XXXV REVERSING THE TABLES ★ Hamsa whirled toward the officers, a gun in his right hand. Before he could use it, there was another explosion and Hamsa reeled back against the wall, his right arm hanging limp and useless, the gun which it had held falling to the floor. “Don’t move!” The command was low and husky, but there was authority in the words and Bob, out of the corner of one eye, saw his uncle step out of the small room to the rear. From this position of advantage he had disabled Rap, the machine gunner, and wounded Hamsa. Curt, the flyer, had his hands in the air.