A swift, horrified spring carried Nick into the gap between the boats, and realizing that there was not a moment to spare, he flung himself at Stone. It was a straight-arm blow that the detective gave, with the swift, trained precision of an experienced athlete. The great detective’s bunched fist landed full on the hard, dogged face of James Stone with resistless force. A strangled oath broke from the miner’s lips, and he staggered back against the bow of the swinging boat, releasing Crawford as he did so.
Nick saw the unfortunate man’s body sway over the rail, and with a headlong leap the detective hurled himself forward, gripping at the toppling man. He was only just in the nick of time. His fingers caught the ends of Crawford’s evening coat, and for a long tense moment he hung over the rail, clutching in that way the otherwise unsupported body of the miner. It was well for Crawford that the muscles of those two arms were of a man much beyond the average strength. Carter felt as though his arms were being pulled out of their sockets, but presently he gathered himself for an extra effort, and slowly and carefully pulled the swaying man upward until Crawford was able to grasp the rail in his hands. A moment later, Nick had shifted his grasp until his palms were under the man’s shoulders, and then with a tug Crawford was lifted over the rail and deposited safely on the deck.
The perspiration was pouring from the detective’s face, and his breath was coming and going in great, choking pants, for Crawford was a heavy man and the bodily effort had been a tremendous one. The miner clung to the rail for a few moments, steadying himself there. Through the gloom Nick could see the bearded face and the blue eyes fixed on his own. At that instant, a quick, shuffling footfall came to the detective’s ears, and he turned quickly around in time to see the figure of Stone gliding like a black shadow along the pale, canvas-covered side of the suspended boat.
“Oh, no, you don’t, you confounded rascal!” Nick broke out, as he started to follow the man.
But before he could do so, Crawford reeled, stepped toward him, and clutched him by the arm.
“It’s—it’s you, Carter?” the miner breathed.
“Yes. Let me go, though. I don’t want that scoundrel to get away.”
Crawford’s fingers tightened their hold on his sleeve.
“Don’t follow him! Let him go—for my sake!” he pleaded.