It was not an easy task to get down without being seen, for the noise of the scuffle had attracted three men who slept forward, and were part of the deck crew of the vessel.
But Nick reached his skiff, and, as he heard a gasping cry for help some distance out in the river, he rowed rapidly in that direction.
He was only just in time. In the faint moonlight he made out a ghastly white face—it was Prince Marcos’. Nick saw that he was swimming on his back almost unconsciously.
There is little doubt but that, if Marcos had not been a magnificent swimmer, he would have drowned before the detective reached him.
As it was, his arms and legs moved practically of their own volition. They had been used so often in swimming that they went through the motions mechanically so long as he had strength enough to use them at all.
As Nick Carter reached for him, the nearly unconscious man grabbed at the boat, while the water gurgled in his throat and seemed to be choking him.
It was an unfortunate grab. The skiff tipped over, and before the detective could save himself, he was in the water with the man he had come to rescue.
Now began one of those awful struggles that good swimmers dread so much, and yet which may come to any of them at any time.
Nick Carter knew it would be useless to expostulate with the drowning man. He must try to beat him off. It would be the only way to save both their lives.
But Marcos was strong, and in the water he could use his strength to the disadvantage of his would-be rescuer, even though Nick was much the more powerful of the two.