will do for all of us," commented a bitter voice.

"That's what they call development--and be hanged to it!" muttered
another.

Never was Heyst talked about so much in the tropical belt before.

"Isn't he a Swedish baron or something?"

"He, a baron? Get along with you!"

For my part I haven't the slightest doubt that he was. While he was
still drifting amongst the islands, enigmatical and disregarded like an
insignificant ghost, he told me so himself on a certain occasion. It
was a long time before he materialized in this alarming way into the
destroyer of our little industry--Heyst the Enemy.

It became the fashion with a good many to speak of Heyst as the Enemy.
He was very concrete, very visible now. He was rushing all over the
Archipelago, jumping in and out of local mail-packets as if they had
been tram-cars, here, there, and everywhere--organizing with all his
might. This was no mooning about. This was business. And this sudden
display of purposeful energy shook the incredulity of the most
sceptical more than any scientific demonstration of the value of these
coal-outcrops could have done. It was impressive. Schomberg was the
only one who resisted the infection. Big, manly in a portly style,
and profusely bearded, with a glass of beer in his thick paw, he would
approach some table where the topic of the hour was being discussed,
would listen for a moment, and then come out with his invariable
declaration: