“A detective, eh?” put in Don Solado sneeringly. “I don’t believe it. What is your name?”
“My name is Nicholas Carter.”
The two scoundrels stiffened as they heard that dreaded name. It was evident that they never had suspected that they were dealing with a man who had once brought two criminals from the very borders of Joyalita back to New York to answer to a charge of piracy they had committed near Sandy Hook.
Don Solado struggled to regain his composure.
“Even if you are Nicholas Carter, that gives you no right to treat us in this way,” he barked. “Who gave you authority to put handcuffs on us?”
“I took that on myself,” replied Nick. “Here’s the boat at the foot of the ladder. Come on! I’ll explain to the crew in the morning where you are.”
“I’ll not go!” roared Solado. “This is an outrage. It is not as if either of us had committed a crime. You can’t prove that we kidnaped any one.”
“Can’t I?” cried Nick Carter. “I believe I can. Anyhow, there is something else you will be called on to explain, that may get you into an American jail, in spite of the titles you wear in your own country.”
“What is that? What are you talking about now?”
“I am talking about a very valuable jeweled watch that you took from Prince Marcos without his knowledge, and that you lost at the ball at the Hotel Supremacy.”