Gordon sat in the blind alone, and for so keen a sportsman the poor shooting seemed to trouble him but little. On the contrary, his thoughts, which were of the pleasantest, had strayed far away from ducks and duck-shooting. He had played a difficult and a dangerous game, and had played it boldly and well. Rose and Mrs. Holton had acted their parts to perfection, and Palmer had behaved exactly as they had hoped he would. Gordon permitted himself a quiet smile of self-satisfaction. That was true enjoyment, after all. The ability to handle one's fellow-men; to humor them, to learn their weaknesses, and then to turn these weaknesses to one's own account; in that there was true satisfaction, in that there was the feeling of getting something really worth while from the game of life. So much for the past, and now for the future a hundred questions lay waiting to be solved. The problem as to whether a partner would be desirable, the best and quickest way of finding the right mine, the advertising campaign, the gaining of the public confidence, surely there were many things to be thought of yet, before the victory should be won. At last, as the sun sank lower still, the folly of waiting any longer for the wildfowl to fly became apparent, and Gordon, rousing himself, was already beginning to gather up the decoys, when he caught sight of one of the little rowing skiffs putting out from the mainland. An instant feeling of uneasiness crept over him. "That's queer," he muttered to himself. "Vanulm isn't due till to-morrow, and he wouldn't be rowing at that rate, anyway. I wonder who it can be." The boat was certainly approaching at high speed, the long furrowed wake stretching away behind, and a little curl of white foam showing under her bow. As she passed out of sight around the easterly point of the island, Gordon gave a sudden start of surprise. "By God," he muttered, "it looks like Palmer. I wonder what's gone wrong now." He had not long to wait for his answer. Five minutes passed, and then down the path, walking rapidly, came striding a man now easily recognizable as Palmer. Straight on he came, and Gordon, as he watched him, felt his heart suddenly begin to beat loud and fast. Palmer's face was flushed to a dull, angry red, his eyes were glaring, his upper lip was drawn upwards from his teeth, and his whole face was working convulsively. He was still some distance away when he began to speak, his voice pitched high in an ecstasy of rage. "Damn you, Gordon!" he shouted, shaking his clenched fist. "You dirty blackguard! You blackmailer! You canting hypocrite! I've got you to rights now, you skulking hound!" He laughed a strained, unnatural laugh as he paused a few feet away, fairly trembling with excitement. Then he went on: "You smooth, dirty villain. You pretty nearly did for me, didn't you? But, by heavens, I've got you where I want you now. I've blocked your pretty little game. It's state's prison for you, you and your precious gang."