When I returned, I found Kennedy writing a hasty note.

“I couldn’t follow him, Craig,” I confessed.

“Too bad,” frowned Craig evidently greatly worried by what had happened, as he folded the note.  “Walter,” he added seriously, “I want you to go find the fellow.”  He handed me the note.  “And if anything separates us to-day—­give this note to Elaine.”

I did not pay much attention to the tone he assumed, but often afterward I pondered over it and the serious and troubled look on his face.  I was too chagrined at losing my man to think much of it then.  I took the note and hurried out again after him.

Meanwhile, as nearly as I can now make out, Kennedy searched the dead man again.  There was certainly no clue to his identity on him, nor had he the torpedo model.  Craig looked about.  Suddenly, he fell flat on his stomach.

There was Wu Fang himself, coming to the wharf, carrying the model of the torpedo which had been stolen in Washington and brought up to him by his emissary.

Kennedy, crouching down and taking advantage of every object that sheltered him, crawled cautiously into an angle.  Unsuspecting, Wu came to the land-end of the wharf.

There he saw his lieutenant, dead—­and the smoke signal still beside him, unlighted.  He bent over in amazement and examined the man.

From his hiding-place Kennedy crept stealthily.  He had scarcely got within reach of Wu when the alert Chinaman seemed to sense his presence.  He rose quickly and swung around.

The two arch enemies gazed at each other a moment silently.  Each knew it was the final, fatal encounter.

Slowly Wu drew a long knife and leaped at Kennedy who grappled with him.  They struggled mercilessly.

In the struggle, Craig managed to tear the torpedo out of Wu’s hands, just as they rolled over.  It fell on a rock.  Instantly an explosion tore a hole in the sand, scattering the gravel all about.

Relentlessly the combat raged.  Out on the wharf itself they went, right up to the edge.

Then both went over into the water, locked in each other’s vice-like grip.

Even in the water, they struggled, frantically.

. . . . . . .

My search for the escaped crook was unsuccessful.

Somehow, however, it led me across country to a road.  As I approached, I heard a car and looked up.  There were the Secret Service men.  I called them and stepped out of the bushes.  They stopped and jumped out of the car and I ran to them.

“Come back with me,” I urged.  “We found two of them.  One is dead.  Craig sent me to trace the other.  I’ve lost the trail.  Perhaps you can find it for me.”

We crashed through the brush quickly.  Suddenly I heard something that caused me to start.  It sounded like an explosion.

“There’s the place—­over there,” I pointed, pausing and indicating the direction of the wharf whence had come the explosion.