low and that the letter is taken from him. At any cost I
must have turned over to me any written report that Ensign Darrin
tries to send to his commanding officer. Nor am I through with Darrin
himself!"

CHAPTER XIII

ORDERS CHANGE IN A MINUTE

"Hullo! What does that fellow want?"

Able seaman Runkle was within a block of the mole where the "Hudson's"
launch was due to cast off at half-past ten o'clock, but he halted in
his tracks.

From a doorway, a little nearer to the mole, a head was thrust out
slightly as its owner surveyed the sailorman.

Then the man stepped out of the doorway to the sidewalk. He was a big
fellow, with something of the slouch and swagger that are to be
observed in the tough the world over.

Now this stranger stood quite still, sharply regarding the pausing
sailorman.

"If there are less than six of that breed ahead of me," muttered
Runkle, staring ahead once more, "then it doesn't make any real
difference."

Two more men slipped out of dark recesses further on, while, an
instant later, Runkle became aware that two men, who had not been
visible a few moments before, were now closing up behind him.

"I wonder what these chaps think they're going to do," mused Runkle,
his sailor heart quaking not at all, though he scented fight in the
air. "Hullo!"

Now a sixth man stepped out from a doorway just at his side. With a
lusty push this sixth man sent Runkle out into the street.

"Where are your manners, my man?" demanded Seaman Runkle, returning to
the sidewalk. "And what do you mean by that?"

Suddenly the muzzle of a revolver gleamed in Runkle's face, but the
sailor did not betray any sign of fright.

"Put that down!" ordered Runkle sharply, at the same time making a
gesture to indicate his command.

A reply was volubly given in Italian, of which Runkle understood not a
word.

In the few seconds that this was happening the five other swarthy men
began to close in on the sailor. Runkle lost no time in discovering
that fact.

A gesture from the man with the pistol showed that he expected Runkle
to hold up his hands.

"You'd rather see my mitts aloft, eh?" asked the sailor, in a mocking
voice. "All right, then!"

Up went the sailor's hands, as high as he could raise them. A gleam of
satisfaction shone in the eyes behind the revolver, but that look
instantly changed to one of pain.

For Runkle, while holding his hands high, also raised one of his feet.
That foot went