Patsy heard him and recognized his voice. It was like sweet music, too, in Patsy’s ears. He felt, then, that he could have held up a regiment.
Margate had a considerable start on the detective, and he already had cast off the launch and was cranking the motor wheel when Chick approached the bank.
By a stroke of sheer good luck he got the ignition with the first turn of the wheel, and a swirl of bubbling black water surged out from under the boat’s low stern. She made way instantly, and Margate dropped flat near the wheel, out of range of a bullet.
Chick then was dashing down the bank at top speed.
He saw the launch start, then veer into the stream, moving faster, and he saw that her stern was swinging for a moment nearer the bank.
It was a moment when some men would have hesitated, most men, in fact—but not Chick Carter.
He dropped his revolver into his side pocket, then caught his breath for a flying leap.
He missed the moving stern with his feet, but caught the low aft rail as he fell, fiercely clinging to it and dragging astern in the wild swirl of water from the propeller, till his arm felt as if it was being pulled from his body.
Margate had seen him leap and heard him swashing astern. Seizing a boat hook, the rascal rushed aft, with murder in his evil eyes.
Chick was expecting this, and he had convinced to draw his revolver from his pocket. He saw Margate coming, saw him loom up against the blue of the sky, saw the uplifted boat hook aimed at his head, and Chick’s hand rose above the swirl and spume around him.