“March aft!”
It was Flynn’s command, and Wallace dared not disobey. He marched to the stern of the boat, and the man followed, holding the revolver ready.
“Get over into that boat!” snarled Flynn, savagely. “Be lively, or I’ll sink some lead in you and then throw you over!”
“What do you mean to do?” gasped Wallace, now thoroughly frightened and cowering.
“Get over!” yelled Flynn, furiously. “I am going to shoot!”
The Belfast lad started to obey.
“Please don’t make me get into the boat!” he whimpered, beginning to cry. “I didn’t mean anything! I’ll never tell a word as long as I live—I swear I won’t!”
“If you are not in that boat when I count three, I will shoot you! One!”
Wallace caught hold of the line and drew the boat containing Merriwell nearer to the yacht. Now he was weeping outright, shaking with fear.
“Oh, you can’t mean it, Mr. Flynn——”