Jeff raged in vain. The work of clearing the propeller could not be hastened for all his bellowing, and the precious minutes slipped by while the diver worked. Each time that he came up for rest and air he reported a little more progress, but each time, too, as he grew tired, his period of rest was lengthened, while his time below the water was cut shorter.
And then, when he had reported that two more trips would mend the trouble, there was a sudden bumping of boats against the yacht, on the shoreward side, which had been left without watchers, it seemed, and there was a rush of feet overhead. Bessie cried out in joy, and the next instant a dozen men tumbled down the steps and overpowered Larry.
“Are you Bessie King?” asked their leader. “I’ve got a search warrant empowering me to search this yacht for you and one Zara Doe and take you ashore.”
“We’re the ones! Take us!” pleaded Bessie.
And, sobbing with joy, she went up the steps to the deck. There Jeff, furious but powerless in the grip of two men, watched her go over the side and into a small boat in which sat Eleanor, who threw her arms joyously about the recovered captives. Dolly was there, too, and she kissed and hugged Bessie as soon as Eleanor was done.
“The men got here in time from Bay City,” said Eleanor. “Thank Heaven! A few minutes more, and they would have been too late. I telephoned as soon as I could, and I knew the district attorney there was a friend of Charlie Jamieson. He came at once with his men.”
“The propeller was fouled. That’s why they couldn’t get away,” said Bessie. “Wasn’t that lucky?”
Dolly snorted.
“Luck nothing!” she said, perkily. “I swam out with a rope, and they never saw me! I was there, diving up and down, for half an hour. I thought they’d have a lovely time getting it clear when the knots I made had swollen up!”
“Yes, it was Dolly who saved the day,” said Eleanor.