Closer and closer the pirate craft approached, until not more than a hundred feet separated the two vessels; and then her engines slowed down until the two were running along side by side, and so near together that conversation might easily be carried on from one deck to the other. It was then that Maxwell Kane slowly and deliberately raised the revolver he held in his hand, and was taking careful aim at the pirate chief, when the quiet voice of Bessie Harlan murmured in his ear:
“Don’t shoot, Max. Wait.” she said.
But instead of desisting, Kane pulled the trigger.
The explosion followed and the bullet was sped on its way; but if those on the deck of the yacht had expected to see the pirate pitch forward to his own deck, shot through the heart, they were disappointed. He did not move from the position he had occupied ever since he made his appearance, save that he removed his plumed hat mockingly from his head and made a sweeping gesture with it toward the man who had fired. And then he called out to him.
“Don’t do that again,” he commanded coolly, “unless you wish me to riddle you with bullets, regardless of those who are standing beside you. Put down your weapon, Mr. Kane, and command all others there to do the same. Then order your engines stopped. If you do not, I will disable you.”
“You had better obey him,” said the skipper, in a low tone. “He means what he says. This is no child’s play, Mr. Kane.”
“I am beginning to realize that fact,” replied Kane.
“Shall I give the order to stop her, sir?”
“Yes; there is no use in risking the lives of everybody aboard. The fellow is a pirate, all right.”
“And he is also the Count of Cadillac,” murmured Bessie. “I remember his voice.”