Setting his teeth the pursuer made a last great burst of speed, and went racing out upon the pier.
The cab stopped, and a young, red-faced man flung open the door and sprang out. Then he reached back and pulled the girl out after him.
A short distance from the pier a handsome white yacht lay at anchor. At the foot of the stone steps that ran down to a small floating landing lay a rowboat. In the boat was a sailor in yachting costume, while another sailor stood on the pier, as if he had been waiting for the appearance of some one.
“Here, Bush!” cried the man who had pulled the girl from the cab; “take her—hold her! I must have it out with this blooming young idiot who is coming.”
“Drop that girl!” cried Merriwell, with one hand outflung, as he came straight on.
Inza’s father was slowly getting from the cab, shaking with excitement, his face being very pale.
Lord Stanford tried to hand the girl over to the sailor, but at this juncture Inza showed her spirit:
“Don’t touch me—don’t you dare!” she cried to the sailor, her eyes flashing at him in a manner that made him hesitate.
Then she broke from all detaining hands and ran toward Frank, who met her and placed an arm about her shoulders.
“Oh, Frank!” she panted; “is it you—can it be?”