e is familiar! It is! It is!
Where have I seen that face before? Ah! I know now! I had a fight
with you once."

"More than once," corrected Peter Moore, grinning. "The last time was
in Panama. Remember? I tripped you up, after you knocked the wind out
of me, and you fell, clothes and all, into the Washington Hotel's
swimming tank."

"Peter Moore!" gasped Bobbie MacLaurin, and Peter Moore was smothered
in log-like arms and the fumes of considerable alcohol.

Extricating himself at length from this monstrous embrace, Peter
permitted himself to be held off at arm's length and be warmly and
loquaciously admired.

"My old side-kick of the damn old _San Felipe_!" announced Bobbie
MacLaurin to the small group of somewhat embarrassed sailors. "The
best radio man that God ever let live! He can hear a radio signal
before it's been sent. Can't you, Peter? Boys, take a long look at
the only livin' man who can fight his weight in sea serpents; the only
livin' man who ever knocked me cold, and got away with it! Boys, take
a long, lastin' look, for the pack o' you're goin' out o' that door
inside of ten counts! God bless 'um! Just look at that there Jap
get-up! Sure as God made big fish to eat the little fellows, Peter
Moore's up to some newfangled deviltry, or I'm a lobster!"

"Sh!" warned Peter Moore, conscious that in China the walls, doors,
floors, ceilings, windows, even the bartenders, have ears.

"Out with the lot of you!" barked MacLaurin. "There's big business
afoot to-night. We must be alone. Eh, Peter?"

And Peter was convinced that business could not be talked over
to-night. Of one thing only did he wish to be certain.

"You're taking the _Hankow_ up-river to-morrow?"

"That I am, Peter!"

"Then we'll take the express for Nanking to-morrow morning."

"Aye--aye! Sir!"

"We'll turn in now. Otherwise you'll look like a wreck when Miss Vost
sees you."

"Miss Vost!" exploded MacLaurin. "When did you see Miss Vost?"

"A little while ago, Bob. Shall we turn in now?"

"Miss Vost is why I'm drunk, Peter," said Bobbie MacLaurin sadly.

"So she admitted. To-morrow we'll talk her over, and other important
matters."

"As you say, Peter. I'm the brawn, but you're the brains of this
team--as always! The bunks are the order."

When Bobbie MacLaurin's not unmusical snore proceeded from the vast
bulk disposed beneath the white bedclothes, Peter Moore again descended
to the lobby, let hims