The “pirate” uttered a wordless howl of fright. He lurched, attempted to recover himself and leap at the same instant, and——
Splash! There was another howl of terror as the man slipped over backward, then, head-first, struck the water at the side of the pier.
“Help! I drown!” came in a muffled voice, and a new note of terror sounded on the night.
Now drowning anyone was as far from Tom Halstead’s mind as could be. With an upward bound he sprinted out onto the pier, bending under the rail close to where the frightened one was making huge rings on the water in his struggle to keep up.
In his efforts the fellow reached one of the piles of the pier, hanging to it in mortal terror.
“Help, help, kind sir!” he pleaded hoarsely. “Not a stroke do I swim. Pull me out before I drown.”
Throwing himself upon the pier, Tom bent down with both hands.
“Here, catch hold,” he hailed. “You’re in no danger. I’ll pull you out all right.”
It was some moments before Tom could persuade his “pirate” to let go that frantic clutch at the pile. But at length Halstead drew his dripping suspect up onto the boards of the pier.
“Where is that terrible, that miser-r-rable dog!” panted the swarthy one, glaring about him.