“When you have finished your work—seen the chief of police, and made any inquiries you can, come to the Ionic Hotel. I’ll go there when I get through on the ship. Now hustle, boys!”
“All right!” grinned Patsy. “We’ll round up this citizen we’re after before he knows whether he’s afloat or ashore. Eh, Chick?”
“We’ll do our best,” was Chick’s earnest response.
The two assistants went down the ladder, and Nick Carter leaned over the side of the steamer, watching them make good time to the shore.
Even when the motor boat had almost covered the expanse of water between the Cherokee and the wharf, the detective remained in the same position. He was reflecting. He had the faculty of being able to do that anywhere, even with all kinds of confusion around him.
The new complication of the theft of the Stephen Reed jewelry just when it seemed as if the troubles of Paul Clayton might be over, was bad enough. But the added fact that the Apache was posing as a detective, and might even get the police to help him, unwittingly, to get away, made it worse.
Nick had gone ashore originally to look for Rayne, but had not been able to hear anything about a man answering the description of the cunning rascal. Then he had decided that he could do more effective work in behalf of Paul Clayton by dropping his disguise of Joe Sykes and cutting off all connection with the Cherokee as a member of its crew.
There would be nothing gained by continuing on board as a boatswain, with Captain Lawton and Van Cross giving him orders. Neither was it desirable that Chick and Patsy should be sailors, either.
Having come to this decision, it had not been difficult for all three to get rid of their make-ups, and so well did they accomplish this that Captain Lawton had not the slightest suspicion they ever had been on his ship before.
“Do you want to see the prisoner, Mr. Carter?” asked the captain, in a tone of respect that was rather amusing, considering how surly and insolent he had been at first.