“Pick the fellow up, somebody,” cried Frank, as the launch ran alongside the White Wings.
In vain they looked for Parker Flynn. It seemed that he sank as soon as he struck the water, and his body was not recovered.
The other man made no resistance as they came on board the yacht.
“I kept the critter from doin’ any more shootin’,” he said. “I’ve had enough of his style of business. I s’pose I’ll have to go to the jug for havin’ anything at all ter do with him, but I’ll take my med’cine.”
At sunset that very day the White Wings sailed into Belfast harbor and reached her old anchorage. Browning had been on the watch, and, with Hans, he put off in a boat before the yacht was abreast the steamboat wharf.
“I don’t think you need any shore detectives, Merriwell,” he said. “You have robbed me of the fun of taking part in the chase, and I’ll have to lay that up against you.”
“Yaw,” cried Hans, “he vill haf to laid dot up against you, Vrankie. You vos glat I got pack, ain’d id? Der Pelfast girls vos afrait they vould nefer seen you some more.”
Dustan had allowed the yacht to precede him into the harbor, but now he came running in with Wallace and Steve, the sailor, on board. When he reached the wharf the latter made a break for liberty, and he succeeded in getting away. It is possible that Merriwell did not push the pursuit as closely as he might. He had other plans afoot, anyway, for he intended to go on a fishing trip to Lake Sebasticook, and the preparations for this took up all his time.