contemptuously. "That's surely a survival of
ages when the old curfew rang, and a lot of other stupid notions
filled folks' minds. I--I just love to fight."

Her smile was so frankly infectious that Fyles found himself
responding. He heaved a sigh.

"It's no good," he said almost hopelessly. "You must stick to your
belief, and I to mine. All I hope, Miss Kate, is that when I've done
with this matter the pain I've inflicted on you will not be
unforgivable."

The woman's eyes were turned away. They had become very soft as she
gazed over at the distant view of Charlie's house.

"I don't think it will be," she said gently. Then with a quick return
to her earlier manner: "You see, you will never get the chance of
hurting Charlie." A moment later she inquired naively: "When is the
cargo coming in?"

But Fyles's exasperation was complete.

"When?" he cried. "Why, when this scamp is ready for it. It's--it's no
use, Miss Kate. I can't stop, or--or I'll be forgetting you are a
woman, and say 'Damn!' I admit you have bested me, but--young Bryant
hasn't. I----" he broke off, laughing in spite of his annoyance, and
Kate cordially joined in.

"But he will," she cried, as Peter began to move away. "Good-bye, Mr.
Fyles," she added, in her ironical fashion as she picked up her
sewing. "I can get on with these important matters--now."

The man's farewell was no less cordial, and his better sense told him
that in accepting his defeat at her hands he had won a good deal in
another direction where he hoped to finally achieve her capitulation.

* * * * *

While the skirmish between Stanley Fyles and Kate Seton was going on,
the object of it was discussing the doings of the police and the
prospect of the coming struggle with Big Brother Bill on the veranda
of his house.

He was leaning against one of its posts while Bill reposed on the hard
seat of a Windsor chair, seeking what comfort he could find in the
tremendous heat by abandoning all superfluous outer garments.

Charlie's face was darkly troubled. His air was peevishly irritable.

"Bill," he said, with a deep thrill of earnestness in his voice, as he
thrust his brown, delicate hands into the tops of his trousers. "All
the trouble in the world's just about to start, if I'm a judge of the
signs of things. There's a whole crowd of the police in the valley
now. They're camped higher up. They think we don't know, but we
do--all of us. I wonder