Chapter XI: What They All Say

“The crew are all forward,” explained Nick, in low tones, as the two kept well in the shadow of the cabin, where they could look along the deck. “It won’t be difficult if we are careful. I know the layout of this yacht very well. It belongs to Judge Millings, and it has been leased to these people for two months.”

“I didn’t know that,” admitted Chick.

“You could have found it out if you had made inquiries, as I did,” answered Nick quietly. “We can get to the cabins of these two men and open them very easily, without disturbing anybody else. We’ll have to gag and bind them. But we can tackle each one separately, so it won’t be hard to do.”

“That sounds all right. Are we to begin the job now?”

“Yes. There is nothing to wait for. We’ll get Solado first, because his stateroom is nearest to the companion-way.”

Nick led the way to a corridor on the other side of the boat from the one that communicated with the cabin he had occupied, and which he had locked when he came out, in case there should be any one prying about.

“Here’s the door, Chick. I’ll open it.”

Softly and skillfully, Nick Carter introduced his wire and turned the lock.

He stepped inside, closely followed by Chick, both walking on their tiptoes, and without the least noise.

It was quite dark. But the detective knew where the bed was, and he moved over to it without hesitation. Then he uttered a low exclamation of surprise.

The bed was empty!

“Hurry, Chick! Let’s get out of this! There’s something going to happen. They’ve found out that I have got away!”

“Where’s the other cabin?”

“Farther along! Let me see!”

Nick rushed forward. He was not astonished when he found that the other cabin was not only unoccupied, but that the door was unlocked and partly open.

“Let’s get out, Chick! I guess the whole yacht is on the qui vive! The rascals have laid a trap for us.”

“Do you think they know I am aboard?”

“I hope not! That will give us an advantage if we can surprise them by being two, instead of one. Come on!”

Nick led the way to the short flight of steps leading to the big door that gave upon the deck.

As he had expected, the door was fastened. The only bolt was inside. But there was a lock that could be operated either without or within.

“The lock is nothing, Chick! We can burst that!” whispered Nick. “Now! Together!”

The two hurled all their weight against the door. The lock broke away, and Nick Carter found himself in the arms of Prince Miguel, the bigger of the two ruffians.

There was a desperate struggle for a few minutes, and then Jean, the valet who had been attending Nick when he came aboard--showing him his dry clothing and explaining to him that his bath was ready--tried to help his master.

It happened that Nick was held in such a way that his left arm was free. He sent a swing at the valet that knocked him spinning down the deck, where he lay without movement.

The sailors at the other end of the yacht had not been told of what was to take place.

As Nick had said, the yacht was hired for two months from the multimillionaire, Judge Millings, and all the crew went with the vessel. It was not likely the sailors belonging to the yacht would take a hand in anything that looked too bad.

“Don’t you suppose they knew Marcos was a prisoner?” Chick had asked.

“Not likely. Marcos was allowed to go about the yacht as he chose. We have proof of that in the fact that he attacked Miguel when he was sitting on the deck, smoking. They relied on there being no boats handy, and on the watchfulness of that scoundrelly valet, Jean, who was really his guard, I should judge.”

Now that there was a quiet, but strenuous battle on, the crew were in blissful ignorance. Miguel and Solado had thought they were quite capable of holding Nick Carter until they should be ready to take him to some place ashore.

They were finding their mistake, for, as Nick sent the valet flying to the deck, senseless, Chick flew at Solado just when that worthy was going to help Miguel.

“You may be a big man in your own country,” observed Chick, as he twisted Don Solado’s arms behind him until he gasped with pain. “But in America we have better men than you in jail.”

He forced Solado to his back on the deck, and then slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

This had been swift work with Chick. But Nick Carter had been equally as speedy.

Miguel had been taken very much aback when he saw Jean going to the deck, and the detective had taken instant advantage of this fact to jam him against the taffrail and put on him the light, but powerful, nickel-plated handcuffs referred to in a previous chapter.

“Now, are you going to come quietly, or shall we have to wake up the crew and tell them you are a couple of rascals the police are after?” asked Nick Carter sternly.

“You shall pay for this!” hissed Solado.

“We shan’t pay as much as you will,” was the detective’s rejoinder.

“Keep quiet, Solado!” warned Miguel.

“Are you going to let them do what they want?” growled Solado.

“Yes.”

There was something in the way this word “Yes” was uttered that put Nick Carter on his guard.

He made no comment, however. Instead, he directed Chick to open the gangway where the ladder led down to the water, and then to go down by the rope to the skiff and bring it around.

“I will take care of the prisoners while you do it,” added Nick.

“Prisoners?” echoed Miguel indignantly. “Do you know who we are?”

“I know you have tried to kidnap the Prince of Joyalita, and that I got him away from you.”

“Well, what have you to do with the affairs of Joyalita?”

“Nothing. But I have something to do with sustaining the laws of the United States,” was Nick Carter’s swift rejoinder. “You can’t kidnap people here without being compelled to suffer for it.”

“But how is it any business of yours? You are not a policeman.”

“I am a detective,” answered Nick briefly, as he looked over the rail to see that Chick was bringing the boat around. “That is a policeman, I believe.”

“A detective, eh?” put in Don Solado sneeringly. “I don’t believe it. What is your name?”

“My name is Nicholas Carter.”

The two scoundrels stiffened as they heard that dreaded name. It was evident that they never had suspected that they were dealing with a man who had once brought two criminals from the very borders of Joyalita back to New York to answer to a charge of piracy they had committed near Sandy Hook.

Don Solado struggled to regain his composure.

“Even if you are Nicholas Carter, that gives you no right to treat us in this way,” he barked. “Who gave you authority to put handcuffs on us?”

“I took that on myself,” replied Nick. “Here’s the boat at the foot of the ladder. Come on! I’ll explain to the crew in the morning where you are.”

“I’ll not go!” roared Solado. “This is an outrage. It is not as if either of us had committed a crime. You can’t prove that we kidnaped any one.”

“Can’t I?” cried Nick Carter. “I believe I can. Anyhow, there is something else you will be called on to explain, that may get you into an American jail, in spite of the titles you wear in your own country.”

“What is that? What are you talking about now?”

“I am talking about a very valuable jeweled watch that you took from Prince Marcos without his knowledge, and that you lost at the ball at the Hotel Supremacy.”

The two rascals glanced at each other in the dim light of the dawn that now showed itself, and the detective saw that they were trembling.

“What do you know about such a watch?” demanded Miguel.

“I know that you had it, and lost it. I also know that Don Solado went to see Mrs. van Raikes, the hostess at that ball, and confessed to her that the watch was lost.”

“Well, where is the crime, even if what you say is true?” blustered Don Solado.

“It consists in the fact that you stole it from Prince Marcos----”

“What rubbish!” interrupted Miguel. “Is it likely I would condescend to such a contemptible crime as picking a pocket?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” returned Nick. “But I do know you took the watch. Moreover, I know where it is now. It will be brought up in evidence against you if necessary.”

“Where is the watch?” asked Solado.

“In the possession of Prince Marcos.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“Quite.”

“Then there is nothing in that to warrant your making us prisoners,” retorted Solado triumphantly.

“We’ll see about that later,” answered Nick. “The charge of abduction will do for the present. Ready, Chick?”

“All ready!” replied Chick, from below.

“Come on, gentlemen!” said Nick, leading his two prisoners to the gangway.

They looked around, as if to seek some avenue of escape. Then, giving it up, they went down the ladder and seated themselves in the stern of the skiff, as Chick directed.

“Throw your gun on them, Chick!” called out Nick Carter. “I want to speak to one of the gentlemen of the crew before I go. Shoot, if either of those men gets too obstreperous.”

In the absence of the captain and first mate, the second mate had been left in charge of the yacht.

The second mate had been in his stateroom, and so little noise had been made by Nick Carter and Chick in making the two temporary owners prisoner that he had not been disturbed till the door was broken open.

Even then he had not got up at once.

He was an honest, heavy-headed sort of man, who was a good-enough sailor, but afflicted with an abnormal love of sleep when once he got to his bed.

The fact that he could keep on deck forty-eight hours at a stretch if required--as he had done on one occasion when fighting a tearing gale in an old-fashioned windjammer in the China trade--did not interfere with his ability to sleep almost as long when there was no demand upon him.

“These gentlemen are going with me, Mr. Jarvis,” said Nick politely. “I am Nicholas Carter. You know me, I think, for I recognize you.”

“Of course I know you, Mr. Carter. You sailed with me to the South once for more than a week. I don’t forget any one I’ve once known. What is all this about? I’ll have to tell the captain, you know.”

“Say they went away with me,” answered Nick. “I’ll see the captain when he comes to New York next week. I know where he always puts up in town. Good night, Mr. Jarvis.”

“Good night, Mr. Carter! Good luck!” returned the worthy second mate.

He watched the skiff row away, with Chick at the oars, and then, with a yawn, returned to his bunk.

“It’s a funny thing, those two gentlemen going away like this,” he muttered.

A moment later he noticed the valet lying along the deck, and in a scandalized tone he ordered one of his men to “wake up that souse there.”

They found Jean was not much hurt. When he had been doused with water outwardly, and warmed up within with a serving of grog, he was as good as new, according to the seafaring men who fixed him up.

“I’ll go ashore later,” decided Jean.

Then he went to bed, regardless, in his still-dazed condition, of what had become of his employer.

“Are you going to take these fellows to the Tombs, chief?” asked Chick, as they transferred to the launch and went rushing down the river toward the city, with Nick Carter at the wheel. “Or is it a police station we want?”

“Police headquarters,” was Nick’s reply. “I think a little third degree will help matters materially.”

“You shall pay for this, Mr. Nicholas Carter!” hissed Don Solado.

“That’s what they all say,” returned the detective, with a shrug.

THE END.

“The Seal of Gijon; or, Nick Carter’s Ice-house Fight,” will be found in the next issue of the NICK CARTER STORIES, No. 137, out April 24th. The further adventures of the great detective with the potentates of Joyalita are given in the forthcoming number.

* * * * *

Dared for Los Angeles.

By ROLAND ASHFORD PHILLIPS.

(This interesting story was commenced in No. 134 of NICK CARTER
STORIES. Back numbers can always be obtained from your news dealer
or the publishers.)