When his friends entered the hotel, a little later, they found a summons from him awaiting them, explaining briefly the affair on hand, which was to come off within an hour, and asking them to meet him on the beach, at the place and time indicated. “Whew!” exclaimed Ballou, with a long, low whistle. “What will Dinsmore be getting into next? Knowing him as well as I do, I realize that it is useless to attempt to talk him out of this affair of honor, as he calls it. Heaven grant that he may not fall a victim of his opponent’s superior marksmanship. Of course I don’t know what the deadly quarrel between them is about, but----” His friend, Gaines, cut him short by announcing that they had no time to speculate as to the cause of the contemplated duel, as they had barely time to reach the place described--a sort of cove shut in by high, shelving rocks, fully a mile from the hotel. “John has given us no time to see him first, and attempt to mediate between him and his antagonist,” said Gaines, seizing his hat, which he had but just removed. “Can nothing be done to prevent the affair from being carried out?” queried Ballou, turning his white, worried, anxious face toward his friend. “It seems not,” returned Gaines, in a voice equally as troubled. The two friends spoke no other word until they came within sight of the place. Then Ballou whispered: “Both principals are on the ground, also his opponent’s seconds; they are evidently awaiting us.” This proved to be the case. The antagonists were already facing each other, weapons in hand. Although John Dinsmore had determined that it should not be his lips which should speak proclaiming his rival’s suspected guilt of a former crime, he supposed, when his friends came to his aid, their sharp eyes would soon discern the ring. His thoughts carried him no farther than that. In the excitement attending the meeting of his opponent upon the beach, he failed to notice that Raymond Challoner had removed the ring. Both friends knew, as they rapidly approached, that it was too late to interfere; the two combatants stood facing each other, fifteen paces apart, weapons in hand. Challoner’s second conferred with Ballou for a moment, then they announced that all was in readiness. A deathlike silence ensued, broken only by the sobbing of the wind and the dash of the waves, beating a solemn requiem upon the shore. Slowly the command was given: “One--two--three--fire!” Simultaneously the report of the two pistol shots rang out upon the midnight air, followed instantly by the sound of a body falling heavily upon the sands. John Dinsmore had fallen upon his face, the lifeblood from a wound in his breast coloring the white beach crimson about him.