Jamison arrived with another drum of gas before the first was emptied, and Bell was there with a third while the second still gurgled. They heaped the full drums in place, and Jamison suddenly abandoned his truck to swear wrathfully and tear off his spectacles and fling them against the wall. The bushy eyebrows and beard peeled off. His coat went down. He began to rush loads of foodstuffs, arms, and other objects to a point from which they could be loaded on the plane. Ortiz pointed out the things he pantingly demanded. In minutes, it seemed, he was demanding: "How much can we take? Any more than that?" "No more," said Bell. "All the weight we can spare goes for fuel. See if you can find another hose and funnel and get to work on the other tank. I'm going to rustle oil." He came staggering back with heavy drums of it. A thought struck him. "How do we get out? What works the harbor door?" * * * * * Ortiz pointed, smiling. "A button, Senor, and a motor does the rest." He looked at his watch. "I had better see if my fellow subjects have come." He vanished, smiling his same queer smile. Bell worked frantically. He saw Ortiz coming back, pausing to light a cigarette, and taking up a hatchet, with which he attacked a packing case. "They are outside, Senor," he called. "They have found the signs of the car entering, and now are discussing." He plucked something carefully from the packing box and went leisurely back toward the door. Bell began to load the food and stores into the cabin, with sweat streaming down his face. There was the sound of a terrific explosion, and Bell jumped savagely to solid ground. "Keep loading! I'll hold them back!" he snapped to Jamison. But when he went pounding to the back of the warehouse he found Ortiz laughing. "A hand grenade, Senor," he said in wholly unnatural levity. "Among the subjects of The Master. I believe that I am going mad, to take such pleasure in destruction. But since I am to die so shortly, why not go mad, if it gives me pleasure?" * * * * * He peered out a tiny hole and aimed his automatic carefully. It spurted out all the seven shots that were left. "The man who poisoned me," he said pleasantly. "I think he is dead. Go back and make ready to leave, Senor Bell, because they will probably try to storm this place soon, and then the police will come, and then.... It is amusing that I am the one man to whom those enslaved among the city authorities would look for The Master's orders."