the earth who had been drawn from all its
seafaring corners to this Mecca of trade. He knew that here were swarthy
little Japanese with teas and silks, dusky Kanakas with copra, and
Alaskan liners carrying gold and returning miners. There would be
brigs from Buenos Ayres and schooners that had nosed into Robert Louis
Stevenson's magic South Sea islands. Puffy London steamers, Nome and
Skagway liners condemned long since on the Atlantic Coast, queer rigged
hybrids from Rio and other South American ports, were gorging themselves
with lumber or wheat or provisions according to their needs. Here truly
lay before him the romance of the nations.

The sound of a stealthy footfall warned him of impending danger.
He whirled, and faced three men who were advancing on him. A vague
suspicion that had oppressed him more than once in the past week leaped
to definite conviction in his brain. He was the victim of a plot to
waylay--perhaps to murder him. One of these men was a huge Swede,
another a swarthy Italian with rings in his ears. He had seen them
before, lurking in the shadows of an alley outside the _World_ building.
Last night he had come out from the office with Jenkins, which no doubt
had saved him for the time. This morning he had played into the hands
of these men, had obligingly wandered down to the waterfront where they
could so easily conceal murder in a tide running out fast.

Strangely enough he felt no fear; rather a fierce exultant drumming of
the blood that braced him for the struggle. His eyes swept the wharf for
a weapon and found none.

"What do you want?" he demanded sharply.

The man in command ignored his question. "Stand by and down him."

The Italian crouched and leaped. Jeff's fist caught him fairly between
the eyes. He went down like a log, rolled over once and lay still. The
others closed instantly with Farnum and the three swayed in a fierce
silent struggle.

Both of his attackers were more powerful than Jeff, but he was far more
active. The darkness, too, aided him and hampered them. The Swede he
could have managed, for the fellow was awkward as a bear. But the leader
stuck to him like a burr. They went down together over a cleat in the
flooring, rolling over and over each other as they fought.

Somehow Jeff emerged out of the tangle. He dragged himself to his knees
and hammered with his fist at an upturned face beside him. Battered,
bleeding, and winded, he got to his feet and shook off the han