He watched as his friend slowly raised himself by the boat’s starboard gunnel until his head was even with the porthole. Noiselessly, Li dropped back into the water and took two strokes toward the stern. Now he peered into the second porthole. He repeated the process at the third porthole and moved on to the fourth. The fourth must be the one, Biff figured, that was in the small compartment where the yawl’s auxiliary engine was located.

Li took a longer time at this porthole. Biff watched him intently through the growing darkness. A slight movement on the boat caused him to raise his eyes. He gasped.

Directly over Li stood a man with a small nail keg raised over his head. He was ready to smash it down on Li’s head.

“Li! Look out! Duck!”

The Hawaiian boy submerged just as the keg struck the water at the exact spot where his head had been.

“Jeepers,” Biff thought, “I hope Li got far enough under.”

The keg hurler was running along the deck toward the boat’s bow. Here he could leap on the dock and make his getaway.

Biff went into action. He jumped from behind the crates, reached the boat in six fast strides, and leaped aboard just as the prowler reached the bow.

Biff grabbed at the man. His arms encircled him, and Biff in turn felt the man’s arms squeeze him in a bearlike hug. Biff exerted every ounce of his strength, trying to force the man over backward, trying to free himself of the man’s crushing grip.

He heard a noise from directly behind the man. Looking over his shoulder, Biff saw the dripping figure of Li scramble aboard. Li didn’t hesitate. He threw himself at the man, striking him just at the knees from the rear. “Clipping,” flashed through Biff’s mind. Unfair in football, but in a fight like this there’d be no fifteen-yard penalty.

The impact of Li’s body forced the man to release his grip. As he did, Biff stepped backward. His feet became entangled in a coil of rope. He lost his balance, toppling backward. His feet hit the raised gunnel, and the next moment he was flying through the air. He felt himself falling, a sickening feeling, as if he were falling from a great height. He wasn’t, though. He was falling from the bow, six feet to the water. But he was falling backward and had no time sense of the distance.

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