SHOTS FROM THE BEACH
est. "You 're looking very well. Pretty scenery about here, is n't it?"
"If you come any nearer I 'll shoot the lot of you," snarled the fat man. There was nothing urbane about his manner. The mask was off now.
"You 're not feeling very well, Mr. Flagg," said Tempest. "Perhaps you had a bad night's rest. I'm afraid you 've had a long journey and you must be tired."
"This island is private property," snapped Flagg. "It's mine, see? And I don't allow any trespassing. Keep off, or there 'll be a quick funeral."
"You 've bought it in a mighty hurry," replied Tempest. "You don't happen to have the title-deeds about you, do you? Now, don't try to be funny," he added sharply. "We 're a long way from civilization, but even in the middle of the Pacific you can't kill people with impunity. There's a law against it, you know, Mr. Flagg."
"Dead men don't tell tales," Flagg snapped,
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