Chapter VIII: 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.”