They were past the thick of the mob now and they dodged rapidly among the cottages until the clamor of police fell away to a murmur behind them, and they swung out onto the narrow, dark street which led back toward the heart of Honolulu.

For ten minutes they strode along without a word.

Under the light of a street lamp they stopped of one accord.
"I'm McTee." "I'm Harrigan." The gripping of the hands was more than fellowship; it was like a test of strength which left each uncertain of the other's resources.

They were exactly opposite types.

McTee was long of face, with an arched, cruel nose, gleaming eyes, heavy, straight brows which pointed up and gave a touch of the Mephistophelian to his expression, a narrow, jutting chin, and lips habitually compressed to a thin line.