Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. The detective reckoned that his quarry would be up in ten days more. Marina had retired to bed, drinking wine slowly, sleeping when she was not drinking. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Don't strip me quite. Knowledge was sacred in Athens, knowledge and his twin, Art. The door of cabin 2 was open. He loaded the launch with a thousand pounds—all she could carry—and started home immediately after sundown; but even then he lost from a hundred to a hundred and fifty pounds before he had the stuff cached in McClintock's bamboo-covered sawdust pit.
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