“So that the rescuer became the rescued, eh? That was funny. Still, you have always been a good swimmer, and I never knew the time when you could not hold your own in athletic sports generally. It is a pity you are so obstinate with it all.”
Nick Carter did not reply. They were by the side of the yacht now, for the distance back had been much less than that covered in rowing from it, when a large curve had been described in the river.
Several men were on deck, and there were half a dozen lights flitting about.
Down one side of the yacht to the water was a short ladder—brass mounted and finely finished, like everything else about the vessel.
“Hello! You got him, then?”
A man in ordinary clothing stood at the gangway looking down at the boat.
“Yes, Solado!” returned Miguel. “We have him!”
“Glad he wasn’t drowned.”
Nick Carter was sure he could make out, in the way this was said, that the speaker’s sentiments were just the opposite to those he expressed.
“Well, he was nearly drowned,” replied Miguel. “Some stranger went after him with a small boat, and it tipped over. After that the two of them were nearly gone.”