In spite of the situation the stranger laughed outright.
“That's a good one,” he said.
“What is?”
“Callin' me a cop.”
“Well, mebby you're one, an' ag'in mebby you ain't. It's best to be safest. Who are you ? Answer, 'cos I've got the drop now.”
“I'm—say, did you ever hear of Red Rob, hey?”
“No; who's he?”
“I'm Red Rob.”
“Well, that don't tell me nothing.”
“You're a stranger, ain't ye?”
“Yes.”
“Thought so, and a crook?”
“W'at of it?”
“Where are you from?”
“Say, Mister Red Rob, it strikes me that you're askin' a lot of questions. Rattler, jest git up in the boat an' take away them barkers o' hisn. Ef he moves I'll down him.”
Chick arose obediently, and took away the fellow's weapons.
“Now, climb down,” ordered Nick. The fellow obeyed. He knew that it would be extremely dangerous to refuse.
“Now,” said Nick, when Red Rob was seated in the boat between him and Chick, “who are you?”
“Red Rob.”
“Who's Red Rob?”
“If you'll tell me who you are I'll tell you who I am.”
“I'm Sneaker, and my friend's Rattler. We're from Philadelphia, and we're away on a trip for our health, see?”
“Work the rivers?”
“That's about the size of it.”
“And you never heard of Red Rob.”
“Can't say I did.”
“I'm called the wharf-rat king.”
“Rats!”
“You said that afore, and it means something to me. Did anybody tell you to say it?”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“A friend of mine in Quakertown.”
“What's your lay to-night?”
“Business.”
“My pards an' me hev got some biz on hand to-night, too, that's why I didn't want you to take the boat.”
“Oh!”
“A yacht in the harbor.”
“I see.”
“Full o' good things; belongs to a nabob. I've heerd there was some cash aboard of her, too.”
“Look here, Rob!” exclaimed Nick, with an admirable mixture of frankness and caution, “be you on the square?”
“You bet!”
“Got a gang back of ye?”
“Sure.”
“Prove it, an' we'll jine hands in this trip.”
“Prove it how?”
“By interdoocing me to ther crowd.”
“Can't.”
“Why?”
“Boss is too particular.”
“I thought you were the boss.”
“Not much!”
“You said ye war king, didn't ye?”
“That's right, too, I be. But not when Gentleman George is around.”
“Who's Gentleman George?”
“The boss.”
Nick was silent for a moment, and then he said, slowly:
“Look a-here, Rob. I kinder cotton to you. You look square, an' ye talk square. All the same I ain't going ter be bamboozled outer my racket for to-night. Do you know what I'm a-goin' ter do?”
“No.”
“I'm going ter tie ye up an' take ye along with us, see? You kin stay in ther boat while Rattler an' me do the biz. Tie him Rattler.”
Chick obeyed, silently binding stout cords around the river thief's wrists and ankles, while Nick menaced him with the revolver.
A gag was thrust into the prisoner's mouth, notwithstanding the resistance he offered, and then, utterly helpless, he was thrust into the bottom of the boat.
“Shove off!” again ordered Nick. This time there was no interruption, and the boat was quickly in the river.
They headed straight for the open bay. “Curse this place, anyhow!” growled Nick, when they had been running nearly a half hour, and speaking for the benefit of the man who was bound. “If this was the Schuylkill I'd know where I was.”
“We'll find it,” replied Chick. “Maybe we will, an' agin, maybe we won't!”
“Close by the statue, ain't it?”
“Yes.”
“Queer place fur a yacht to anchor.”
They rowed on in silence for some time. Suddenly Nick uttered a low exclamation. “There it is!” he cried.
“What?”
“The statue! See it?”
“Yes.”
The Statue of Liberty on Bedloe's Island loomed up before them.
For some reason the torch in Liberty 's grasp had not been lighted, but at that instant, as though in response to Nick's exclamation, the light blazed forth and fully illuminated the scene.
The inky waters of the bay, the pelting rain, the crest of each wave, and the statue itself all reflected back the rays of the brilliant electric light, which also revealed the outlines of a beautiful yacht, lying not far distant from the little island.
That yacht was their prey.
It would have been a daring scheme for real river thieves to have ventured to rob that yacht, beneath the brilliant light, but, as the sequel will show, Nick had laid his plans with great care.
CHAPTER V.
The Flight On The River.
The boat, by Nick's direction was hastily rowed away from the most conspicuous locality and then brought near the yacht by a roundabout way, in which the supposed river thieves ran less chance of being seen.
It was yet early in the evening, perhaps ten o'clock, but that part of the bay was deserted.
They approached the yacht from the side farthest from the statue, and finally ran up under her stern, where the painter was made fast to the rudder chains.
Then, for many moments, they kept perfectly quiet.
Not a sound disturbed them, and when seemingly satisfied that their approach had been unobserved, Nick leaned over and whispered in Red Rob's ear.
“We're here, pardy,” he said. “I wish I was sure of you, but I ain't, see? Three could do this work better than two; but as it is, you'll have ter stay in the boat, jest as ye are, see? Ef ye croak, er make a sound, I'll knife ye, as sure as my name is Sneaker. Ef ye keep mum, I'll talk to ye later, see?”
Nick turned at once to Chick.
“Rattler,” he whispered.
“Yes.”
“You stay here till I come back.”
“Keyrect!”
“Ef ye hear me shoot, cast off the painter, an' keep ther boat right where it is, see?”
“Yes.”
“Grab the oars an' be ready, cos I'll vey ter spring fur it.”
Nick seized the chain in his grasp, and in another instant disappeared aboard the yacht.
Nick was gone a very long time. Chick pretended to grow very uneasy, although he knew perfectly well what was keeping the detective.
He knew that Nick was at that moment in the cabin of the yacht engaged in conversation with the men who had been sent there by Superintendent Campbell of the Brooklyn police.
The encounter with Red Rob had rendered a change in their original plans imperative, and the young assistant knew that his chief was at that moment engaged in giving the instructions for the necessary alterations.
Ten, fifteen, twenty minutes passed, when suddenly the loud report of a pistol rang out on the night.
Chick, with an exclamation of dismay, cast the painter loose, and waited.
The next instant a dark form bounded through the air from the stern of the yacht, and the figure of the detective landed in the boat.
“Quick!” he whispered. “Pull, Rattler! Pull for your life! The yacht is loaded with cops! Pull!”
Chick was quick to obey.
The boat was pushed away from the yacht, and the young detective bent to the oars with all his strength.
A dozen dark forms appeared upon the stern of the yacht and a dozen revolvers blazed forth at them.
But either the officers were poor marksmen or else they did not make a great effort to hit the fugitives, for not a bullet took effect.
Still they continued to fire.
Nick, with a second pair of oars, aided Chick in the effort to escape.
“They're lowering a boat!” suddenly exclaimed Chick, who was pulling the stroke oar.
“Curse 'em!” said Nick, keeping up the character he was playing. “If they chase us too fast I'll' let 'em know how a Philadelphian can shoot.”