The net result of the maneuver was that the two scoundrels were handcuffed to each other, face to face, and about as helpless as a horse in a balloon.
“Lend me that extra pair of yours, Patsy!” called out Nick.
Patsy gave him the other handcuffs, and they were snapped around Pet Carlin’s wrists with disconcerting celerity, while Nick drew the young gunman’s second pistol from an outside pocket and placed it in his own.
“Better draw those cuffs tight, chief!” warned Patsy. “Pet has mighty pretty hands. If he was a girl, he’d be wearing a finger ring for a bracelet.”
This advice was not called for, however. Nick Carter had taken cognizance of the extreme slimness of Pet Carlin’s hand and wrist, and had drawn the steel cuffs so small that they were quite safe.
Hardly had the detective done all this than he made a leap for his own boat again and pulled up to the door.
Solado and Miguel were about to beat a retreat in their private skiff.
“Stop!” shouted Nick Carter.
He accentuated his demand by pointing his own pistol and Pet Carlin’s at the heads of the two conspirators.
They stopped.