“Sanders,” said Charlie’s father, “got one thing wrong. I wasn’t transporting that gold to Europe in the Merrymaid. It was bound for two banks in New Orleans—ten million dollars of it. The reason I didn’t call in the police was not because I feared Federal censure, but because I was afraid if Sanders was frightened, he would drop depth bombs on the place and scatter the gold so that no one could find it. I knew it had been sunk by von Hiemskirk and his pirates somewhere off Twin Heads, but had no idea it was in the harbor. Now we’ll get it easily enough. And that reminds me, Deborah telephoned half an hour ago. Osceola found Sanders’ headquarters this afternoon. He had an armed camp in the woods across the harbor from Turner’s. The chief got the State’s police on the job and tonight they captured the place and every man-jack of them except Sanders, who you say is aboard his yacht down here—”
“Wait a minute,” interrupted Bill. He listened while Kelly called to him from the open doorway. “The policeman with us,” he continued, “says the Katrina has been taken. He can see the prisoners being moved aboard the patrol boat. He also tells me he will run us up town in his flivver. Goodbye for the present. I’ll have Charlie with you just as soon as we can get there.”
Five minutes later, while they were being driven toward the heart of Stamford in the police car, Charlie turned to his friend.
“Gee whizz, Bill, I clean forgot to thank you for getting me away from that gang!”
Bill laughed. “Don’t mention it, kid. You’d do the same for me any day, I know.”
Charlie smiled complacently. “I sure would, Bill,” he declared, “but take it from me, if you’re going to get kidnapped, bring a pair of pajamas along—these nightshirts make a monkey out of a man!”
Those who have enjoyed this book and Bill’s previous adventures, Bill Bolton—Flying Midshipman, and Bill Bolton and The Flying Fish, will be sure to find even more to interest them in the next book of this series,—Bill Bolton and The Winged Cartwheels.
THE END