"Prady!" he gasped; "Prady, or I vas a geezer!"
[CHAPTER III.]
OVERBOARD.
Carl's yell drew the attention of all those on the boat. Brady leaned over the top of the cabin and laughed huskily. Merrick dropped his mask and joined triumphantly in Brady's laugh. The Norwegian and the Swede stared blankly for a minute, and then went stolidly on about their work.
"Brady!" muttered Ferral, squaring around on the cabin so as to get a good look at the man in the cockpit. "Is he the swab that carried Matt off in the air ship, Carl?"
"Sure he iss der feller!" averred Carl. "I vould know him any blace. Ach, himmelblitzen, I toldt you I hat some hunches, Verral!"
"I've made a monkey's fist out of this," growled Ferral, "and I'm a Fiji if I can understand the thing yet. The way this Brady falls afoul of us don't look like a happenchance, and yet I can't make anything else out of it. Ahoy, there, Merrick! Stow that grinning and give me the lay of this business."
"Merrick's real name is Brady," explained the outlaw in the cockpit—and outlaw he was, having been a fugitive from justice ever since Matt had navigated the Hawk away from the swamp and into South Chicago. "He's my son, Hector, Jr., and I'm proud of the way he worked this deal," Brady continued, still laughing as though the affair was a huge joke.