CHICK REPORTS PROGRESS.
For five minutes after the departure of the infuriated Don Solado, the
detective remained in his seat, smoking and pondering.
He might have got to the door before Solado if he had tried, and for a
fleeting moment he had some such idea. Then he decided that it would
have been premature, and might have interfered with a plan he had been
forming during the latter part of the interview.
“If they go after Marcos at once, they may catch him,” he thought. “It
isn’t likely but they might. Let them stew over it a while.”
Nick Carter knew that Marcos would have plenty of money for his
traveling expenses, and that Claudia Solado would help him in every
possible way.
“Whether that young lady is in love with Marcos, or whether it is merely
cousinly regard she feels for him, is of no consequence,” he murmured.
“The point is that she seems to be entirely devoted to the young man. I
hope they won’t be so foolish as to stop long at Crownledge. That is not
a safe place for him just now.”
He decided in his own mind that Claudia was too sensible to let her
cousin get into a trap again in a hurry.
“She may take him to her own home, on the other side of the river,” he
reflected. “Of course Don Solado knows where she lives, but, unless he
suspects his niece of helping Marcos, he never would think of looking
for him there.”
It was characteristic of the famous detective that he was troubled only
about Marcos, and thought little of his own predicament.
One thing was that he knew he was on the Hudson River, in a neighborhood
where there was plenty of traffic, both afloat and ashore, especially in
daylight. If the worst came, he would be able to attract the attention
of somebody on passing craft and get released that way.
There was a good-sized window to his stateroom, overlooking the deck and
the water. It was secured by iron bars, so that he could not escape that
way, although no doubt the bars had been built in to keep marauders out,
instead of the occupant in.
Occasionally he had seen one of the crew pass by. But no one looked in
his direction. They had had their orders, no doubt.
It was late now, and for the last ten minutes that he had been sitting
by the open window, letting the smoke from his cigar go through, he had
not seen anybody.
Neither had there been any sounds in the saloon or the other staterooms.
It was clear to Nick that Solado and Miguel had both gone to bed,
satisfied that nothing could be done to-night to catch Marcos--if they
had any such intention.
“I am glad it is so,” thought Nick Carter. “By the morning I shall have
my plans ready to work. I don’t want to be disturbed any more now.”
He switched off the two electric lights in his cabin, and resumed his
seat by the window in the dark. He was not ready to go to bed yet.
It was getting to the still hour for the morning when everything seems
dead, preparatory to bursting into life a little later by another day of
activity.
A few lights twinkled here and there on the water or along the shores.
But, aside from them, there was nothing to suggest that many thousands
of people were within sound of his voice if he should shout aloud, while
a few miles down the river a metropolis of four or five millions lay
slumbering.
He got up and went to the door to examine the lock.
“Easy!” he murmured. “I know the locks on boats of this kind. They are
supposed to be so safe that they are more vulnerable than those which
have not such a reputation. I’ll get out of this room when the time
comes. But that is not just yet.”
He went back to the window and again looked out.
It was more than an hour later when he fixed his gaze on something that
looked like the shadow of a wave a little way off.
“A boat, and hanging about, looking at what there is here,” was his
inward comment. “If I hadn’t good eyes, I doubt whether I could have
seen that. It’s coming nearer to the yacht. I wonder---- There will be
no harm in trying. I don’t suppose any one will notice it. If they do,
what matters?”
He put his face close to the window and whistled part of the refrain of
the popular melody, “It’s a Long Way to Tipperary!”
The whistle was like that of a man who is not thinking much of what he
is doing, but it had a penetrating quality which is not often heard in
that sort of music.
Members of Nick Carter’s household all declared that they would know his
whistle whenever they heard it, no matter what tune it might give
forth--or even no tune at all.
The detective was testing the truth of this assertion at this moment.
There was short pause as he finished the line of “Tipperary,” and then,
in answer, came another part of the melody, taking it up where he had
left off.
The person whistling in response was somebody that Nick Carter could
swear to. He smiled gently in the darkness.
“Chick, by all that’s lucky!” he muttered. “He’s in that boat, and he
knows I’m here. Well, that means I must get out of this stateroom
without loss of time.”
He whistled again, but shut off in the middle of a measure. This was a
code signal between them, meaning “Wait!”
Quite well assured that Chick would wait till he heard again from his
chief, and that he would contrive to keep out of sight of any watchers
who might be on the yacht, Nick went to the door, a small wire in his
fingers.
It was with this wire that he intended to open the door, and in a few
minutes he had proved that he could carry out his intention. The lock
shot back with a faint click, and there was nothing to prevent his
opening the door when ready.
He stood just inside and listened intently for at least two minutes.
Then he turned the handle softly and looked out into the corridor.
It was empty.
One electric light cast a dim light from end to end. It showed Nick the
way to the outer door.
There was a short flight of brass-bound steps and a heavy door. Beyond
was the deck.
What would he meet when he opened that door? That was the question he
asked himself, as he took his automatic pistol from its waterproof case,
and made sure it was charged with cartridges, ready for action.
The mocking smile which had been on his face during the interview with
Don Solado, and which had not quite faded as he sat in the darkness, was
gone entirely now. Stern business was the expression--that and nothing
else.
On the deck he met nobody. He was overlooking the taffrail. In the
shadows beyond he made out the boat in which sat his assistant.
Nick whistled another line of “Tipperary,” and at the same time sent a
short flash of light from his pocket electric lamp in the direction of
the small boat.
There was immediate response in the shooting forward of the boat until
it was directly below where Nick stood leaning on the rail, looking down
at the water.
The detective had not been idle during the approach of Chick’s boat. He
had found a coil of light rope and fastened one end to the rail. The
other dropped to the water.
“Chick?” he whispered.
“That’s who it is, chief!” was the prompt reply. “What shall I do? Come
up?”
“Yes. But first make sure your boat won’t get away. Make it fast to a
rudder chain.”
It took Chick only a fraction of a minute to do this. Then he seized the
line and gave it a tug to test its strength.
“It will hold you all right,” whispered Nick. “Come on!”
Chick could climb like a monkey, and in a remarkably short space of time
he was by the side of his chief.
The two shook hands with the silent earnestness of men who had often
been in peril together, and who knew that each could depend on the
other.
“Well?” asked Nick. “How are things at Crownledge?”
“Marcos is there.”
“Is he? I’m sorry to hear that,” returned Nick. “That’s where these
fellows are liable to look for him. I didn’t think he’d venture there.”
“That’s all right,” was Chick’s confident rejoinder. “He’s got enough
people there to hold off any kind of gang. Besides, he isn’t going to
stay. He’ll be gone before daylight. Probably he is away now.”
“I hope he is. It has been a narrow tug for all of us. How did you get
up here so quickly, and who told you I was here?”
“That peach, Miss Solado. She was with Marcos, and she told me in a few
minutes all that had happened up here.”
“Well?”
“I borrowed the launch from her, and, believe me, I made that gas barge
hustle up the river. I got everything out of her that was in her
engine.”
“I didn’t hear it. How was that?” asked Nick, in a slightly mystified
tone.
“That was easy,” grinned Chick. “I had a skiff trailing behind, and when
I got pretty close to the yacht, but still too far away for the launch
to be heard plainly, I tied up and came on with the oars. They’re
muffled, so you did not hear even them.”
“We can get to the launch without trouble, I suppose?”
“Unless the bottom of the skiff falls out,” returned Chick, with a
laugh. “Now, what have we to do?”
“Just this, Chick,” answered Nick Carter sternly: “I am going to take
those two rascals off the yacht and hold them till I know Marcos is out
of the country. You and I have to do it now.”
The difficulty of this enterprise seemed not to strike Chick. He merely
answered “All right!” and looked at his chief for further instructions.