The professor staggered weakly to his feet, while Tom supported him as best he was able.
"Oh, those ruffians will pay dearly for this, if ever I can make them," breathed Tom. "Poor Jack and Sandy, they're in their power now."
Suddenly came voices, several of them. It was the party of police, accompanied by Jeff, and enlarged by several dock loungers and workmen.
"Here's Tom Dacre, now," exclaimed Jeff joyfully, hastening forward as he spied the lad. "Thank goodness, those scoundrels didn't get you. But—but what's happened?" he asked, gazing from the professor to Tom and from Tom to the professor.
Tom explained quickly. Then he said: "Somebody get a doctor, quick, for Professor Podsnap."
"There's one has an office right close," volunteered one of the crowd, "accidents often happen on the docks."
"Officer Dugan, be off and get him," ordered the sergeant of police, who looked very crestfallen. "Young man," he said to Tom, "I owe you an apology for doubting your story."
"You owe me more than that," said Tom, with a bitterness he could not help. "Here, Jeff, help me get the professor on board the Sea Ranger. Be as quick as you can, we must set off in pursuit of Walstein and Dampier."
At these words the police exchanged glances and looked foolish, while Jeff burst out angrily:
"They've slipped through our fingers, Master Tom."