It was empty.
One electric light cast a dim light from end to end. It showed Nick the way to the outer door.
There was a short flight of brass-bound steps and a heavy door. Beyond was the deck.
What would he meet when he opened that door? That was the question he asked himself, as he took his automatic pistol from its waterproof case, and made sure it was charged with cartridges, ready for action.
The mocking smile which had been on his face during the interview with Don Solado, and which had not quite faded as he sat in the darkness, was gone entirely now. Stern business was the expression—that and nothing else.
On the deck he met nobody. He was overlooking the taffrail. In the shadows beyond he made out the boat in which sat his assistant.
Nick whistled another line of “Tipperary,” and at the same time sent a short flash of light from his pocket electric lamp in the direction of the small boat.
There was immediate response in the shooting forward of the boat until it was directly below where Nick stood leaning on the rail, looking down at the water.
The detective had not been idle during the approach of Chick’s boat. He had found a coil of light rope and fastened one end to the rail. The other dropped to the water.
“Chick?” he whispered.