"Did those pirates capture you, too, as well as my yacht, Uncle Ezra?" asked Dick.
"No—I—I captured your yacht, Nephew Richard," gasped Mr. Larabee, slowly. "But it's a long story, and I'm too weak to tell it now. I—I fell overboard, trying to look and see how near you were to us! Oh, I thought I'd drown, but you saved me! I—I—thank you!" The words seemed to come unwillingly.
"You—captured—my—yacht?" asked Dick, slowly, wondering if he had heard aright.
"That's what I did—but it was for your own good, Nephew Richard. I'm too weak to talk more now. Please get me some medicine. I know I'll catch rheumatism from getting wet, and then I'll have a doctor's bill to pay."
"Take him below—to my stateroom," ordered the young millionaire. "I'll see him later. Now to try and get my yacht. The idea of Uncle Ezra having taken her! I never dreamed of it! I can't understand it."
Dick hastened to the bridge again. It was getting dusk, and he feared the chase would be useless. He was met by Widdy.
"She's stopped! She's laid to, Mr. Dick!" cried the old salt.
"Who has?"
"Your yacht! She's waiting for us—she's coming to meet us! I guess they're giving up!"
Dick, scarcely able to believe his eyes, peered off in the direction of the Albatross. True enough, she was swinging about and approaching the Golconda. Dick could not understand what it meant.