A Night Expedition.
Darkness was just becoming a settled fact when Nick Carter, accompanied by Chick, reached that part of Brooklyn which is popularly known as Gowanus.
Both were disguised, and they looked like a couple of city toughs who were bent on mischief.
The detective knew that the part of the river front which they were visiting was that most frequented by the real article of river pirate, and as they were bent upon that identical business they would be much more apt to fall in with the gang for which they were searching.
The tip had been given to the police, and Superintendent Campbell, of Brooklyn, had issued orders in accordance with Nick's plans, which were as unique as they ultimately proved effective.
There was a private yacht in the bay which had not as yet been visited by the wharf rats, and Nick conceived the idea of being detected in the act of looting it himself.
Chance favored him in a way he had not imagined.
His original scheme was to be arrested in the act of robbing the yacht, to make his escape, and to have the papers filled with the story of his exploit.
He knew if there was a regularly-organized gang of river thieves that hearing of his daring they would make an effort to recruit him among them.
But luck, which never deserted Nick Carter, stood him in hand that night, and effectually shortened the time that would have been necessary to carry out his first scheme.
The two detectives found a boat underneath a pier of which they did not hesitate to avail themselves.
“This is a wharf rat's outfit,” muttered Chick, who was examining the contents of the craft.
“All the better,” was Nick's reply. “Shove her off.”
Young Hercules, as Chick was sometimes called, was about to comply when a voice arrested him.
Nobody was visible, and yet the voice seemed to come from quite near.
“Who's there?” it demanded, in a gruff tone.
“What's that to you?” was the detective's uncompromising reply to the question.
“What are you doing with that boat?” demanded the voice again.
“That's my business, sonny.”
“Oh, is it? Well, I reckon it's mine, too.” Bah!” said Nick. “Shove off, Rattler,” he continued to Chick.
“Say, Johnnie Fresh!” shouted the owner of the strange voice.
“Well, what?” replied Nick. “I've got you covered, see?”
“See? No, kin you?”
“Ef you go out with that boat I'll bore you. Understand that?”
“Rats!”
“Eh? What's that?”
“I said rats.”
“What did you say that for?”
“F'r instance. You make me tired, an' jest fur fun I'll show you up, see?”
As the detective spoke he touched the spring of his little bull's eye lantern, and directed the rays straight at the spot from whence came the sound of the voice.
There was a smothered oath from the owner of the voice as the light fell full upon him, blinding him completely for the moment.
“Hands up!” ordered Nick, sternly, “or I'll bore you, see?”
They were all underneath the pier, Nick and Chick being in the boat, and the stranger, with half his body showing above a timber, upon which he was leaning; with a revolver gripped in either hand.
“Now speak 'r down you go,” continued Nick. “I mean business, I do, see? I don't want no croakers nur fly cops 'round me to-night.”
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.