"Doesn't Rock have to put up a bond, too?" Gregory asked. "He's trying his best to damage me. Haven't I any come-back?"
"Don't bank on Rock's bond," Hawkins answered. "He has to put one up, but it's pretty liable to be 'straw.' Fellows like him generally have a strangle-hold on a little place like this and they are pretty sure of their ground before they shoot. The chances are Rock's in the clear with a 'dummy' or else his property is all under cover. I'm going to make it my business to look the old fellow up and see how he's fixed. Men like him don't do anything without a motive. I'm going to try to find out what Rock is up to."
At the municipal docks Gregory and Hawkins debarked hastily and ran down the main street of the town. Contrary to the newspaperman's fears they were successful in finding a young notary in his office. Stimulated by the promise of an extra fee, the man made out the papers in record time.
"Where can we find the local judge?" Gregory asked quickly.
The notary shook his head.
"Hard telling," he answered. "He went out a while ago with Mr. Rock and one of the real estate men in this office to look at a piece of property. Haven't seen Joe back since so I suppose they're still out."
When Gregory arrived at the cannery it lacked ten minutes of being four o'clock. Hurrying to the office the party from the Richard encountered McCoy talking with a well-dressed stranger.
"Here's Mr. Gregory now," exclaimed the house-manager running over to meet his employer. "What luck?" he whispered.
A glance at Gregory's face, however, was all McCoy needed to answer his question. The boss had failed to stay the attachment. The plant would be shut down and all the fish from Diablo would rot on the docks.