The men were busy now over the canvas cover and mooring ropes of a fast-looking pleasure cruiser tied alongside the big jetty, with its bow to the open sea. There were hundreds like it on these waters and it would attract little attention. The short man was directing operations from the dock and his speech was perfect, colloquial American, from somewhere in the Northern United States or Canada. "This one is probably the leader," I thought. "With an accent like that he could cross the border and never be noticed as he moved about the whole Pacific Northwest." The fog seemed to be lifting in spots. It was getting lighter and a moon halo could be seen through the drifting clouds of mist. The three men were in a hurry. They didn't notice me until I was opposite their boat. "I'd like to talk to you," I said to yellow-hair, who was bending over a bollard. He started and straightened up quickly. I saw his head lift a little more as he got a good look at me. "I'm busy; what do you want?" he grunted. "I want something done about the damage to my boat," I said loudly. The other two had stopped to watch me. At a nod from the leader, the second man went on getting the boat ready. The tall man stepped from the bow on to the main dock so he now stood a little behind yellow-hair and off towards the middle of the dock. I still had a clear line of retreat, but I didn't care for the setup; it isn't good tactics to be out-flanked. "I don't know what you are talking about." He had made the obvious answer. "You know damn well," I said hotly. "You were on that Jap fishing boat that ran me down in the Straits of Georgia." "You are mistaken. I know nothing about it." He turned away from me to get back to the mooring rope. I grabbed at his left arm. I think he was expecting it. He spun around with my pull, his right hand coming up and over, fast, for my head. I let go his arm and swayed to the right, hoping he wouldn't be too quick with a left hook. As his fist went by my neck I stepped across in front of him with my right foot, swung my backside hard into him and whipped downwards, using his right coat sleeve as a lever. His forward rush lifted him and he went over my back, high and fast, in the Judo version of the flying mare. I heard the gasp and the thud as his breath was driven out of him by the fall. Still crouching, I spun around, and, as I had hoped, the Russian bean pole was coming for me, hands out to shove me over the edge. It was simple. As he came in I fell back, gripping his arms, while my feet found his belly. He rocked over like a seesaw and I shoved up strongly with my legs to flip him. The Japs had clobbered me with that trick so often in the Judo classes that I had it down pat. This fellow really sailed. I heard his feet hit the water, but the splash was drowned out by the harsh aa ... h of his scream when the small of his back smashed down on the edge of the dock. * * * * *