"I'll kill you first," said Burgh setting his teeth, and, exhausted as he was, he struggled with preternatural strength. The two men swung and swayed on the edge of the wharf, till Burgh tripped up his opponent and both fell into the water. Rupert still held his grip, and felt the body of Burgh grow heavy. He rose to the surface, dragging at the buccaneer, and, as the two had fallen into shallow water, Rupert staggered on to the evil-smelling mud. He was obliged to let go Burgh, who, apparently, had been playing possum, for he rose to his feet and made a feeble attempt to climb the bank. Seeing this, Rupert, who was almost exhausted himself with the long pursuit and the cold doûche, struck out, and Burgh, with a cry of rage fell flat into the mud. The next moment Rupert was kneeling on his chest. "The papers, you scoundrel," he said between his teeth. "Haven't got them. Tung-yu----" "You lie. Give me those papers, or I'll tear your clothes off to find them." Burgh tried to utter a taunting laugh, but the effort was too much for his strength. He stopped suddenly, and with a sob closed his eyes. The body became inert, and as Rupert could see no wound, he concluded that the buccaneer had fainted. At once he removed his knee, and began his search. He went deliberately through the pockets of the insensible man, and finally came across a packet bound in red brocade. It was in Burgh's breast, next to the skin. Rupert, with this in his hand, rose with a gasp of relief. He had the papers after all, and now, could hope to get the money from the Mandarin. He slipped the important packet into his pocket, and then producing a flask of brandy, he forced a few drops between the clenched teeth of his antagonist. He did not wish the man to die, and moreover, he was desirous of questioning him. In a few moments Burgh opened his eyes. "You," he said, as soon as he recovered his scattered senses, and he made an effort to rise. "No you don't," said Rupert pushing him back, "you'll try and reach for your revolver." "Go slow," muttered Burgh, lying on his back in the mud. "I give in, Ainsleigh. You've won." "I've got the papers, if that's what you mean. They shall be given to Lo-Keong." "And you'll get the five thousand." "I'll get one hundred thousand," said Rupert, keeping a watchful eye on his late opponent. "Huh," said Burgh with a groan, "what luck. And all I have got, is a ducking. Let me up and give me some more brandy. Remember, I saved your life from Forge, Ainsleigh." "Quite so, and you tried to kill me just now," said Rupert dryly. "I think we are quits. However, here's the brandy, and you can sit up. No treachery mind, or I'll shoot you," and Rupert pulled out his Derringer. The buccaneer gave a grunt and sat up with an effort. "I'm not up to a row," he gasped. "There's no fight left in me. Great Scott, to think I was so near success. I'll be poor for the rest of my life, I guess." "You'll be hanged for the murder of Miss Wharf, you mean."