It was already fifty minutes past the appointed hour, and the detective began to feel uneasy. Why was Fandor so late? Something must surely have happened to him! And then what a queer idea to choose such a meeting place! Suddenly, Juve started. He recalled his talk that afternoon with Michel; the reference made to the affair of the docks in which the Beard and the Cooper were implicated. What if he had been drawn into a trap! The detective's reflections were suddenly cut short by unusual and alarming sounds. He fancied he heard the shrill blast of a whistle, followed by the rush of footsteps and a collision of empty barrels. Juve held his breath and crouched down under the shed in which he stood; he thought he saw the outline of a shadow passing slowly in the distance. Juve was stealthily following in its tracks when he caught a significant click. "Two can play at that," he growled between his teeth, as he cocked his revolver. The shadow disappeared, but the footsteps went on. Disguising his voice he called out: "Who goes there?" A sharp summons answered him, "Halt!" Juve was about to call upon his mysterious neighbour to do likewise, when a report rang out, at once followed by another. Juve saw where the shots came from. His assailant was scarcely fifteen paces from him, but luckily the shots had gone wide. "Use up your cartridges, my friend," muttered Juve; "when your get to number six, it will be my turn." The sixth shot rang out. This was the signal for Juve to spring forward. Leaping over the barrels, he made for the shadow which he espied at intervals. All at once he gave a cry of triumph. He was face to face with a man. His cry, however, changed into amazement. "You, Fandor?" "Juve!" "You've begun shooting at me, now, have you?" For answer, the journalist held out his revolver, which was fully loaded. "But what are you doing here, Juve?" he asked. "You wired to me to come." "That I never did." Juve drew the telegram from his pocket and held it out to Fandor, but as the two men drew close together, they were startled by a lightning flash, and a report. A bullet whistled past their ears. Instinctively they lay flat between two barrels, holding their breaths. Juve whispered instructions: "When I give the signal, fire at anything you see or toward the direction of the next report." The two men slowly and noiselessly raised their heads. "Ah," cried Juve. And he fired at the rapidly fleeing figure. "Did you see?" whispered Fandor, clutching Juve's arm. "It's Chaleck." Juve was about to leap up and start in pursuit when a series of dull thuds, the overturning of barrels, stifled oaths and cracking planks smote his ear. These noises were followed by the measured footfall of a body of men drawing near, words of command and shrill whistles. "What's all that now?" questioned Fandor.