Martin Wall smiled broadly.
"Not bad for an amateur kidnaper," he said. "Will I turn George over to you? Will a duck swim? A good idea."
"For God's sake, hurry!" cried Minot. "Look!"
He pointed to the largest of San Marco's piers. The moon was lost under clouds now, but the electric lights on the water-front revealed a swarming shouting crowd of people. Martin Wall stepped to the door of the main cabin.
"Lord Harrowby!" he cried. He turned to Minot and Paddock. "I call him that to cheer him in captivity," he explained. The tall weary Englishman strode out upon the deck.
"Lord Harrowby," said Wall, "these two gentlemen have come to take you for a boat ride. Will you be kind enough to step into that launch?"
Poor old George pulled himself together.
"If you'll pardon my language, I'll be damned if I do," he said. "I take it Mr. Trimmer is on his way here. Well, gentlemen, the first to grasp his hand when he boards the boat will be the chap who now addresses you."
They stood gazing doubtfully at George in revolt. Then Minot turned, and saw a rowboat putting off from the pier.
"Come on," he cried, and leaped on the shoulders of the aspirant to the title. Paddock and Wall followed. Despite his discouraged appearance, George put up a lively fight. For a time the four men struggled back and forth across the deck, now in moonlight, now in shadow. Once George slipped and fell, his three captors on top of him, and at that moment Mr. Minot felt a terrific tugging at his coat. But the odds were three to one against George Harrowby, and finally he was dragged and pushed into the launch. Again Paddock started the engine, and that odd boat load drew away from the Lileth.