GRANTLEY TAKES A SWIM.
The strain had already proved a little too much for Siebold, who was not
made of such stern stuff as Grantley. When the detectives dropped down
behind the rail of the police craft the younger surgeon looked about him
wildly for a hiding place.
He was close to the little companionway which led down a few steps into
the barge’s stuffy cabin, and in his unreasoning terror he forgot that
he would be bottled up effectually there, even if he should be able to
reach that retreat with a whole skin.
With a cry of fear, he threw himself headforemost toward the sunken
doorway of the cabin, but a bullet from Chick’s automatic caught him in
the shoulder before he disappeared.
A howl of pain followed, and Siebold crumpled up in the doorway, just
out of sight of his enemies, who promptly counted him out of their
calculations.
Not so with Doctor Grantley, however.
That sturdy rascal had seen as quickly as Siebold had that their
position was untenable. The detectives were under cover, while he was
exposed. The sides of the canal boat rose only a few inches above the
deck, so that there was no shelter corresponding to that of which the
detectives had taken advantage so promptly.
In spite of his exposure, however, the murderous surgeon kept his head,
and retreated slowly, firing as he went. His shots did no more than to
drive a big splinter of wood into Jack Wise’s cheek as they struck the
rail of the police boat, but, on the other hand, he seemed to bear a
charmed life.
The trouble was that the detectives were trying to wound him slightly in
the hands or arms, for the purpose of ending his resistance--or, at
least, of rendering him incapable of using his weapon.
Such shots are difficult ones, and that was especially true just then,
for a strong wind had sprung up, and was causing the police boat to rock
to one tune, and the ponderous barges to another and entirely different
one.
Besides, the description of the affray had occupied much more time than
the affair itself.
Grantley began to move as soon as Siebold did, but he deliberately took
his time about it, being bent, presumably, upon showing his contempt for
his enemies’ aim.
Nevertheless, it required only a few backward steps to bring him to the
farther corner of the low cabin, beyond which he crouched, unscathed.
He had been wise enough to retreat in that direction, instead of
trapping himself in the cabin. He was now shielded in much the same way
as his opponents were, and there was only a narrow, open passageway
between him and the water.
He could, therefore, fire over the top of the cabin when the detectives
approached to dislodge him, and, whenever things got too hot for
comfort, he could always plunge into the river and swim for it.
Nick had no intention of wasting more ammunition under those
circumstances. He had a plan ready the instant Grantley subsided behind
the barge’s cabin.
“O’Brien, you and Gillespie stay on board here,” he said, addressing the
two policemen in plain clothes, “and direct the pilot to drop back and
then come alongside again beyond the canal boat. Meanwhile, my
assistants and I will skip across the barges and smoke that fellow out.
See the point? I want you to be between him and the Jersey shore, on the
chance that he’ll escape us and dive overboard.”
“That’s the stuff!” was O’Brien’s enthusiastic answer.
He appreciated the quality of the detective’s strategy, and it is
probable that, at the same time, he was willing enough to have Nick and
his assistants bear the brunt of the danger. That was only natural.
No time was lost in carrying out Nick’s plan. The utmost haste was
necessary, inasmuch as, for all they knew, Grantley might already have
slipped into the water.
At a word from Nick, Jack and Chick jumped up and followed him on a run,
after vaulting over to the deck of the nearest canal boat.
At the same instant the police boat began to back.
Grantley opened fire as soon as he had a target, and the detectives
answered him, shot for shot; but no damage was done on either side. Only
the upper part of the surgeon’s head showed above the barge’s cabin,
and, on the other hand, those who were running over the pitching barges
presented difficult marks.
Nick and his companions crossed the first canal boat in a few bounds
and jumped to the deck of the middle one of the three which lay side by
side.
At that, Grantley ceased firing and his head disappeared. A moment later
they heard a splash. The criminal had taken to the water, as Nick had
anticipated.
Fortunately, it was broad daylight, and there seemed no likelihood that
he could escape them, no matter how good a swimmer he might be, with the
shore far away.
As it stood, the detectives were practically out of the race. They could
have plunged in after Grantley, to be sure, but there did not appear to
be any need of that, unless he should attempt to drown himself.
The police boat would have to take care of him now, and it was quite
capable of doing so, to all appearance, although it might be two or
three minutes before it could come up with him.
Nick and his assistants had forced the issue so suddenly and dauntlessly
that the official craft was still backing past the long line of canal
boats when Grantley took to the water. It would have to keep on until it
was clear of them and had room enough to swing around and steam behind
them.
After one glance at the head of the swimmer and another at the
maneuvering police tug, Chick turned his attention to the game he had
already brought down.
He did not believe that Siebold was plucky enough to try to shoot any of
them in the back, but it was well to put him out of temptation.
As he had expected, the wounded man was too much occupied with his own
suffering and to what was going to happen to him to give any thought to
revenge.
Chick disarmed and handcuffed him in short order, leaving him where he
was.
By that time, a group of excited and curious boatmen had gathered about
the detectives, drawn from the several canal boats when they decided
that the danger was past.
Nick and his assistants answered their numerous questions briefly, but
kept their eyes all the time on the fugitive, who was swimming strongly.
The police boat had been obliged to go astern for some distance
downstream in order to get room enough to make the double turn around
the string of canal boats, preparatory to straightening out in pursuit
of Grantley.
Its bow was now pointed toward the New Jersey shore as it crossed behind
the barges. It was about to swerve again and come up along the other
side of the drifting tow when the surgeon suddenly and unexpectedly
changed his course.
He had been swimming with lusty strokes straight for the western bank of
the river, but now he swerved and started at an angle against the
current.
His object was apparent at once, and the realization gave the onlookers
a thrill.
A racing power boat of the Express type, the sole occupant of which was
a pretty girl in oilskins and sou’wester, had been skimming up the river
at reduced speed when the unusual encounter began.
The girl had passed the barges and was about opposite the tug which was
towing them when the shooting began. She had ducked out of harm’s way,
but had slowed down. She was obviously determined to see all there was
to see. Accordingly, when Grantley had jumped overboard she had waited
only long enough to see that he did not strike out toward her; then she
had shut off her power and turned her whole attention toward the novel
sight.
When Grantley changed his course he headed directly for her boat.