“All right. I’ll take a leetle nap. When yew git there, yew jest give this here letter over the side and say that it is to be delivered to the—now, who in blazes did he say to give the letter to? Blest ef I ain’t clean forgot.”
“Maybe it was the officer of the deck.”
“That’s it. The officer of the deck is the feller. I wasn’t told whether he was the right bower, ’r left bower, ’r only a king ’r a queen, ’r a common no account jack. Haw! haw! haw! That’s a joke, capting, an’ here’s a good cigar to pay yew for listenin’ to it so patiently. When you give that letter to the officer of the deck, yew kin jest call me from my beauty sleep ef yew don’t mind.”
The detective was sleepy as a matter of fact. He had just come down from the pure and bracing air of New Brunswick, and he had traveled all day in the cars, so that slumber was not long in coming to him, and he knew nothing more until the rough hands of the captain fell upon his shoulders.
Presently the letter was sent over the side, and then, after a wait of several moments, an officer appeared at the rail and called to the captain of the tugboat:
“Let the gentleman come aboard,” he said; whereupon the tugboat captain remarked, in an undertone to himself:
“Well, I’m——”
The last word could not be heard distinctly, but it was evidently intended to express surprise that such an out-and-out hayseed as his passenger should be received at all on board the great ship, and, particularly, that he should be referred to with so much respect. He could not know, of course, that the letter addressed to the captain was signed by Nick Carter, and was couched in such terms that the captain did not delay an instant in sending for the great detective.
“Here is where I get in one deal ahead of the conspirators,” said Nick to himself, as he mounted over the side of the ship.