NICK DEALS WITH ODDS.
Throughout the performance of Kennedy and Groton climbing the rope to
the window of the baroness, the detective lay there, with his night
glass turned upon them, and when he saw the form of a man coming down on
the rope, he knew he was on the right track.
“Shall we go back to the hotel and break in her door?” asked Corrigan.
“No. We couldn’t get there, for one thing. Everything would be over
before we could interfere. Besides, that would not help much. I want to
prove that the kidnaping has been done from the hotel. But, also, I want
to catch them in the act.”
“That’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?”
“I am, in a way,” answered the detective. “But it would be only my word
against theirs, and you may be sure that people who can carry out a
scheme like this successfully are not bad as liars.”
“They’re going back to the yacht now,” remarked Corrigan.
“I see they are leaving the hotel. Whether they are going directly to
the yacht remains to be seen. I am inclined to think they are not.”
“Why?”
“Mr. Drago is undoubtedly somewhere in this wood, and it is time they
took him away. They would be sure to do these two jobs under one, I
think. It is the methodical manner in which the leading spirit of the
enterprise has everything done.”
“The boss of this thing must be the husband of that young baroness, I
should think,” said Corrigan. “Or perhaps her brother.”
“Why don’t you think she may be doing it herself?” asked the detective,
smiling.
“A pretty girl like that wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t,” was the porter’s
positive reply. “But she might be drawn into it by some of her menfolks.
Things like that happen sometimes. You see it in the newspapers,
anyhow.”
It was not long before it was shown that Nick Carter had been correct in
his belief that the boat would put in to get Drago from his hiding place
in the wood, wherever it might be.
The boat stopped in the middle of the bay, and Carter, from his place
behind the bush, could see one of the men who appeared to be in
command--in fact, it was Kennedy, the first mate of the yacht--looking
around him with a night glass.
He scanned the shore as far as he could see it, and also looked steadily
at the hotel.
Nick Carter smiled as he thought he saw the glass trained in the
direction of his own window in the hotel, room number forty-four. He
could not be sure, in the darkness, but he believed he was right.
“My charming dinner companion must have told him whereabouts my room is
situated,” he said to himself. “Even if he cannot be sure which is my
window, I am conceited enough to think he is trying to assure himself
that I am not watching him from one of them. Much good it will do him!”
As they came on, the oarsmen stopped rowing. Then, as the boat’s head
shifted a little, they headed straight for the beach where Nick Carter
and the porter were watching.
The muffled oars made no sound as they came up on the beach, and the
easy way in which the bow grounded on the soft sand proved that the
craft was under the command of a finished mariner.
No sooner was the boat pulled so well up on the shore that it did not
need securing in any other way, than the five men all tumbled out and
pulled her a little farther. This done, they stood silently in a group
while their commander looked about him.
Now, if he had chosen, Nick Carter could have captured the whole party
at the point of the pistol, shooting them down if they resisted.
But his natural love of “playing the game” forbade anything of that
kind. He contented himself with keeping them covered--with Corrigan’s
pistol, as well as his own--and watching in silence.
Had Nick known who the Baroness Latour really was, he would have brought
half a dozen men with him, instead of one. And with good reason. He
would have been aware that the caliber of the five men in the boat was
of a kind not easily put down, and that any one of them would have gone
to his death cheerfully for his beautiful leader.
There were several minutes of inactivity, during which the five men
stood watching the silent, insensible figure in the boat, while
seemingly on the watch for somebody else to come.
“I ought, perhaps, to jump in here and rescue that man in the boat at
any cost,” thought Nick. “But it wouldn’t do. I should have only half my
work done, even if Mike and I can knock out these five--as I believe we
can. I’ve made up my mind to take Drago back to the hotel, and I’m going
to do it.”
It was five minutes afterward when a soft whistle arose from the woods
behind him. Kennedy replied with a similar signal.
“Get ready, Corrigan!” whispered Nick Carter.
“I am ready,” was the prompt response.
There was the sound of branches moving with a swish, and three men came
out of the wood together.
One, whose stiff gait indicated that his hands were tied behind him, so
that he was afraid to step freely, was between the other two, each of
whom held him by an elbow.
As they came clear of the shadows, Nick saw that, not only were the
hands of the man in the middle bound, but a handkerchief was fastened
tightly over his mouth.
“Drago!” muttered the detective. “It’s just what I expected. They’ve got
some one else from the hotel, and stopped on their way to pick up this
one from the wood.”
As the newcomers came up to the other five men, Nick heard somebody say
softly:
“That you, Mr. Kennedy?”
“Yes,” came the reply.
“Kennedy!” muttered Nick. “Well, it is a common name. This may not be
the Kennedy I know. But, taking it with everything else I’ve found out,
it looks as if it might be.”
There was a low conversation, of which the detective did not catch
much--not enough to know what it was all about, indeed--until he heard
the man who had first spoken respond to a remark that did not reach his
ears:
“No, sir. We haven’t heard a sound or seen anybody since we came into
the woods.”
Nick tried to decide what this meant, and to whom they were referring.
He did not suppose it was himself, or that the baroness had noticed him
leaving the hotel after taking dinner with her. But then, Nick Carter
did not know just what means the beautiful young woman had at her
disposal for finding out things that might interest her.
“Well, get him aboard,” ordered Kennedy. “We’ll hustle them both over to
the yacht, and then get a little sleep. This thing doesn’t have to keep
us all up on a double watch, if we don’t waste time.”
The men walked along the beach with their captive, and the detective
might have got his hands on them without much trouble by taking them by
surprise, when Mike Corrigan “spilled the beans” by an unforeseen and
peculiar accident.
In his eagerness to hear what was said, he had leaned forward in the
shrubbery as far as he dared. Unfortunately, he had nothing firm to give
him a hand hold, so he was standing in a teetering attitude, when
anything might have knocked him over.
There was more trouble, too. A small twig, impossible for him to see in
the gloom, was immediately under his face, and as he bent lower, it
suddenly popped into his nose, tickling that organ beyond the point of
bearableness.
There could be only one result, and it came quickly.
Mike Corrigan was a determined man, and he fought nobly against the
irritation by holding his nose above the bridge and rubbing it all over.
He had heard somewhere that this treatment would stop the most insistent
sneeze.
It did not work in this instance, however. The sneeze would not be
denied. There were several choking gasps--not to say snorts. Then,
bursting all bonds, a terrific blast turned itself loose, and Nick
Carter knew it was all off.
Even at ordinary times the husky head porter was noted for the
resounding force of his sneeze. But, coming as it did, after this
frantic struggle to hold it back, Corrigan achieved an effect in
advanced sternutation which awoke the echoes both on sea and land, and
made the very trees quiver.
The group of men paused in consternation just as they were about to
enter the boat, and, hearing Nick Carter jump to his feet at the same
moment, they realized that strangers--probably enemies--were close
behind them.
“See who it is, men!” ordered Kennedy.
The sailors seemed all to be armed, for several revolver barrels shone
in what little light there was as they came breaking their way through
the shrubbery.
“There is no use trying to hide our presence now,” was all Nick said to
the porter, as he prepared for battle. “This means fight.”
“That suits me,” responded Mike. “I supposed it was what we came out for
to-night.”
The philosophy of the porter made Nick forget a little of his chagrin at
the way his plans had been upset. He felt that, though the odds were so
much against them, he had a man by his side who would help him to leave
a mark on their adversaries, no matter how the fracas came out, and
that was the main thing under the circumstances.
Nick pushed the shrubbery apart, and, with Mike close on his heels and
his automatic pistol gripped in his steady fingers, he stepped out to
the open sandy beach.
Keeping the oncoming sailors at bay by raising his left hand
authoritatively--although the leveled automatic in his right may have
had something to do with it--he looked straight into the face of the
first mate of the yacht, as a fugitive gleam of moonlight fell across
it.
“So!” ejaculated Nick Carter. “It is you, Kennedy?”
“That’s what I’m called,” was the defiant response.
“I heard your name spoken just now, but I did not know that it was you,”
went on Nick. “It is some time since we met. I might have known that
only the brilliant and complex mind of Mademoiselle Valeria could have
devised and carried out this strange series of kidnapings at the Hotel
Amsterdam. Then, of course, that yacht out there is the _Idaline_.”
“You can guess anything you like,” returned Kennedy gruffly. “No matter
who is behind this affair, you can bet it is going through without your
interference, Mr. Nicholas Carter. I have my orders regarding you, and I
am going to carry them out.”
“From the Baroness Latour, of course,” said Nick Carter, dropping the
name from his lips with mocking emphasis. “Do you mind telling me what
your orders are about me?”
“I’m instructed to capture you if I catch you prowling around. So you’d
better surrender and save trouble. We are a crowd, and there is only you
two. You can’t do anything.”
“Oh, we can’t do anything, eh? You are too many for us? Well, you have
the odds, I’ll admit. But I think I can play a card that will stop you
from taking the pot right away.”
“You can play any card you like, and it won’t make any difference,” was
Kennedy’s contemptuous rejoinder.
“We shall see,” said Nick. “Now, I realize that it would be impossible
for us to shoot down the whole seven of you, so we won’t try to do it.”
“You have that much sense, anyhow,” rejoined Kennedy.
“Let me finish,” continued Carter. “Out of the seven of you, I have my
eye on two men. You don’t know which two, but I do. Remember, two men,
Kennedy!”
“Well, what of it?”
“Just this: As surely as one of you--any one of the whole seven--makes a
move toward us, so surely I will shoot those two! And I generally get
what I aim at. You know that, Kennedy. While I am shooting down two of
your number, this man at my side will also shoot down two. By that time,
unless we have gone under, the odds between us will be more nearly
equal. You will be only three to two, and I am not afraid of those
odds.”