“I wish we had that man with us,� observed Kennedy musingly, as he gazed down at Nick. “He’s a great fighter! Wouldn’t he have been in his element as skipper of a windjammer in the old days, when the captain was expected to straighten out every row that came up in the fo’c’s’le. However, there is no time to lose. Let’s see how these boys of ours are.�
Three out of the seven were in bad shape. Two had been shot through the arm by Nick—for he had been careful not to plant his bullets where they would be fatal—and the third had been knocked out by the detective’s fist on the point of the chin.
A strong dose of whisky from Kennedy’s flask administered to each, together with some vigorous rubbing of the forehead of the man who had been laid low by the[Pg 36] knock-out punch, brought them all around, and the first mate turned to Mike Corrigan.
Hastily bandaging his wounded leg, Kennedy told him to stay where he was for a while, and then to crawl out into the open, where some of the people going to the golf links would be sure to see him.
The three men who had been hurt managed to stagger into the boat. But it was evident that they would not be any particular use.
The two who had remained uninjured, besides one who had been left in charge of the boat and prisoners, and had not taken part in the fight, would have to row and steer, leaving Kennedy to take general charge.
“Now, boys,� directed Kennedy, when everything else had been arranged, “pick up this man who has given us all the trouble. We’ll take him along.�
Mademoiselle Valeria—to call her by her real name—smiled approvingly as two of the sailors stooped and picked up the seemingly helpless detective and lifted him into the boat.
“Shall we bend a rope around him?� asked Groton.
“Not necessary!� said Kennedy. “He can’t do any harm now. Let’s hurry back to the Idaline.�