The Master was ghastly to look at, now. Jamison held him gently enough, considering everything, but The Master looked at that fountain pen as one might look at Paradise. "I--I swear," he gasped. "I--swear I will give you the formula!" "You might lie," said Jamison grimly. "I swear it!" panted The Master in agony. "It--If the formula is known it--can be duplicated! It--the excretion can be hastened! It can all be forced from the body! Simply! So simply! If only you know! I will tell you how it is done! The medicine is the cacodylate of--" Bell was leaning forward, now, like a runner breasting the tape at the end of a long and exhausting race. "I'll trade," he said softly. "Half the contents of the pen for the formula. The other half we'll need for analysis. Half the stuff in the pen for the formula for freeing your slaves!" The Master sobbed. "A--a pencil!" he gasped. "I swear--" Jamison gave him a pencil and a notebook. He wrote, his hands shaking. Jamison read inscrutably. "It doesn't mean anything to me," he said soberly, "but you can read it. It's legible." Bell smiled faintly. With steady finger he took his own fountain pen from his pocket. He emptied it of ink, and put a scrupulous half of a milky liquid from The Master's pen into it. He passed it over. "Your medicine," said Bell quietly, "may taste somewhat of ink, but it will not be poisonous. Now, what do we do with you? I give you your choice. If we take you with us, you will be held very secretly as a prisoner until the truth of the information you have given us can be proven. And if your slaves have all been freed, then I suppose you will be tried...." * * * * * The Master was drawn and haggard. He looked very, very old and beaten. "I--I would prefer," he said dully, "that you did not tell where I am, and that you go away and leave me here. I--I may have some subjects who will search for me, and--they may discover me here.... But I am beaten, Senor. You know that you have won." Bell swung up on the wing of the plane. He explored about in the cabin. He came back. "There are emergency supplies," he said coldly. "We will leave them with you, with such things as may be useful to allow you to hope as long as possible. I do not think you will ever be found here." "I--prefer it, Senor," said The Master dully. "I--I will catch fish...." Jamison helped put the packages ashore. The Master shivered. Bell stripped off his coat and put it on top of the heap of packages. The Master did not stir. Bell laid a revolver on top of his coat. He went out to the plane and started the motors. The Master watched apathetically as the big seaplane pulled clumsily out of the little cove. The rumble of the engines became a mighty roar. It started forward with a rush, skimmed the water for two hundred yards or so, and suddenly lifted clear to go floating away through the air toward the north. * * * * *