e to meet you--to bring you
something----"

"Ah--he comes across. Good. Where is it?"

"In my pocket," said Peter coolly, "but he told me to tell you first not
to forget the blood on the knife, Hawk Kennedy."

The man recoiled a step.

"The blood on the knife," he muttered. And then, "McGuire asked you to
say that?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"No. That's all."

Another silence and then he demand in a rough tone,

"Well, give me the money!"

Impolite beggar! What was there about this shadow that suggested to
Peter the thought that this whole incident had happened before? That
this man belonged to another life that Peter had lived? Peter shrugged
off the illusion, fumbled in his pocket and produced the envelope
containing the bills.

"You'd better count it," said Peter, as the envelope changed hands.

"It's not 'phoney'----?" asked Hawk's voice suspiciously.

"Phoney?"

"Fake money----?"

"No. I got it in New York myself yesterday."

"Oh----." There was a silence in which the shade stood uncertainly
fingering the package, peering into the bushes around him and listening
intently. And then, abruptly,

"I want to see the color of it. Switch on your light."

Peter obeyed. "You'd better," he said.

In the glow of lamp Hawk Kennedy bent forward, his face hidden by his
cap brim, fingering the bills, and Peter saw for the first time that his
left hand held an automatic which covered Peter now, as it had covered
him from the first moment of the interview.

"Five hundreds--eh," growled Kennedy. "They're real enough, all right.
One--two--three--four----"

A roar from the darkness and a bullet crashed into the tree behind
them.... Another shot! Peter's startled finger relaxed on the button of
the torch and they were in darkness. A flash from the trees to the
right, the bullet missing Peter by inches.

"A trick! By ----!" said Hawk's voice in a fury, "but I'll get _you_ for
this."

Peter was too quick for him. In the darkness he jumped aside, striking
Kennedy with his torch, and then closed with the man, whose shot went
wild. They struggled for a moment, each fighting for the possession of
the weapon, McGuire's money ground under their feet, but Peter was the
younger and the stronger and when he twisted Hawk's wrist the man
suddenly relaxed and fell, Peter on his chest.

The reason for this collapse was apparent when Peter's hand touched the
moisture on Kennedy's shoulder.

"Damn you!" Hawk was mut