It was Patsy Garvan’s voice, almost at his ear.
“Patsy!” he cried.
“Chief! Where are you?”
“In the cellar. Get in, quickly!”
“Hold on a moment!” came back the answer. “This is all fast water out here. I’m in the boat. Wait till I find the window.”
Nick Carter understood now that the front of the building was in the water and high grass, while at the back it looked upon a rushing stream.
He made a short survey of his quarters.
“I see some boards that look as if they are nailed on at one place on the wall. I can’t reach them, but I dare say you can kick them open. Try, at all events,” he directed.
“All right! Gee! This is a stunt for an orphan boy. It has me going, I’m telling you. Holy mackerel! If this boat would only behave a little. It’s swinging around like a skidding auto. I wish I’d put the chains on! Wow! There she goes!”
Patsy Garvan was uttering all these ejaculations in low tones, but they were none the less earnest on that account.