tion of a warehouse a short pistol-shot away.

"What kept you, Joe?" asked Stuyvesant, as the light boat danced away on
the tide.

"Feller want me take him outside Miowera," was the answer, "him behind
warehouse."

"The deuce you say!" exclaimed Stuyvesant, turning about in the
stern-sheets and gazing back to shore. "Are there landing-stairs at the
warehouse, and is he waiting for you there?"

"Huh," nodded Joe.

"Then here," said Stuyvesant, glancing moon-ward and noting with
satisfaction that the luminary was behind a thick bank of clouds. "Turn
back and row to the warehouse steps. I want to look at that fellow." So
saying, he quickly threw off his uniform coat with its gleaming
shoulder-straps and collar device, stowed his forage-cap under the seat,
and sat bareheaded and in his shirt-sleeves.

Obedient to Joe's powerful strokes, the little boat was speedily gliding
in among the shadows of the sailing-ships moored along the quay, and
presently her stern was swung round to a flight of stone steps, and
Stuyvesant bounded ashore. Over at the boat-landing the electric lights
were gleaming and the sound of many voices chaffering over boat-fares
was heard. Here among the sheds and warehouses all was silence and
darkness, but Stuyvesant unhesitatingly strode straight to the corner of
the big building and into the blackness of the westward side, peering
right and left in search of the skulker who dared not come to the open
dock, yet sought means of reaching the Australian steamer.

For a moment he could distinguish no living object, then paused to
listen, and within ten seconds was rewarded. Somewhere close at hand
between him and a low shed to his left there was the sound of sudden
collision and a muttered oath. Some invisible body had bumped against
some invisible box, and, turning sharply, Stuyvesant made a spring, and
the next instant had grappled with some burly, powerful form, and was
dragging it, despite furious resistance, towards the light.

He was conscious of the sickening odor of sour whiskey, of a volley of
mad threats and imprecations, of a stinging blow in the face that only
served to make him cling the tighter to his prisoner. Then, as they
swayed and struggled to and fro, he felt that he was not gaining ground,
and that this unseen ruffian might after all escape him. He lifted up
his voice in a mighty shout:

"Police! Police! This way!"

Then he heard a savage oath, a sputtering, savage "Let go,