“Dick! Larry! Where are you?”
“It’s Bob,” said Lucy with a gasp.
Larry ran to the front door and threw it open. Bob, dressed for flying, came in breathless, staring around him in amazement. Then, “Lucy! You here?” he said.
“Oh, Bob, I didn’t tell you on purpose,” Lucy cried, glancing at Bob’s leg, his safety more to her now than the track of the conspirators. “I hoped you wouldn’t know!”
Larry grinned in spite of himself. “Better not try to fool each other again,” he said. “But the shots, Bob, what were they?”
“I fired them, to scare von Eckhardt back to shore. I’ve got him safe enough. Your steersman is guarding him. He came in a motor-boat.”
“Here’s the pilot,” said Larry, pointing to Karl.
“What, Karl!” Bob made no effort to conceal his disgust and annoyance. “So you had to turn up again!” Turning from the German, who was regarding him with a funny mixture of terror and would-be friendly humility, Bob said to Larry, “Von Eckhardt must have had other errands along the river while Karl was busy here. He has another fellow running his boat—an idiot who couldn’t reverse his engines fast enough to get away from me.”
“Ludwig, that is,” explained Karl ingratiatingly. “He is a real donkey, Mr. Bob.”