“Have you!” muttered Nick, quickening his stroke. “I’m not so sure of that, my friend!”
He saw that the launch was about the same distance from him on one side as the skiff was on the other.
Allowing for the difference in speed—for the launch was coming much faster than the rowboat, even without the full pressure of her engine—Claudia ought to get to him a minute or so sooner than the skiff.
Once he could get Marcos on board the launch, the detective was not afraid of anything that might happen to himself.
He did not believe the men on the yacht would know that he had been their assailant at the ball, and he was satisfied that when they knew who he was, the power of his name, as that of a detective who had been heard of even in Joyalita, would be his protection.
“If that is not enough protection,” he told himself grimly, “then I have a pair of active fists that have never failed me yet.”
He increased his efforts, but was swimming now straight for the launch, rather than for the shore, although in a general way he was going shoreward, too.
“Stop!” bellowed the gruff voice.
Nick Carter did not answer, but the girl, trying to increase the speed of the launch, somehow got her hand on the valve that governed the whistle, and a mocking scream was the consequence.
The detective grinned. It was a good answer to the skiff, he thought, although he was rather surprised that the girl had hit on it so opportunely.