"What do you mean?" demanded the stranger with the bandaged head.
"He won't let you go out alone. How does he know that you will bring the boat back?"
"Nonsense. I want to go by myself."
"He wants to take her out himself," called the assistant to Uncle Jimmy, who stood near the end of the float talking with another tarry old salt.
"He can't, and that settles it," said Uncle Jimmy.
"Shall I go with him?" asked the assistant, who held the Clio's painter.
"No; let Dick, here, go."
Dick, thus delegated to the duty of skipper, rolled down the float with the gait of an old sailor, and got aboard the Clio.
The stranger with the sore head grumbled, but he could not help himself. He insisted, however, on taking the helm as the Clio moved out from the float.
She was scarcely a hundred yards away when a young man, panting with haste, rushed down the stairs from the boat-house. The reader would have known Patsy by his activity, despite his disguise.
"I want a boat," he cried out.
"Quite a run o' business for so early in the morning," said Uncle Jimmy, calmly. "What sort o' boat do you want?"
"I want one that can overhaul the one that just left the float."
"I ain't got it," said Uncle Jimmy. "The Curlew is about even with her, but they ain't one o' them that can outsail her."
"Then give me the Curlew, and do it in a hurry," cried Patsy.
"By whose orders, I'd like to know?"
Patsy was in no mood for trifling. He showed Uncle Jimmy in less than two seconds that obedience would pay well.
The Curlew also was hauled in to the float, and Patsy was aboard of her and clear of his moorings before anybody could stop him, or even get in with him.
A brisk southerly wind was blowing in from the sea.
By the course which the Clio was taking Patsy guessed that it was the intention of her occupants to "beat" down the river against the wind.
Meanwhile, in the Clio, the man with the bandaged head was in a fever of excitement. He crowded the boat for all she could stand, but he seemed, on the whole, to be a clever boatman.
The old salt watched him critically for a few minutes, and then seemed to be satisfied.
Presently he began to notice the anxious glances which the man at the helm cast over his shoulder at the pursuing boat.
"You seem to be anxious to outrun that feller," he said at last.
Patrick Deever, for it was he, nodded his head and set his teeth. The old sailor looked long and earnestly at their pursuer.
"Wall, ye ain't doin' of it," he said, at last.
"Is she gaining?" asked Deever, nervously.
"She be," said the tar, calmly.
"I thought this was the fastest of Redwood's boats."
"So she be," was the answer; "but the Curlew's overhauling her this time."
"What's the matter?"
"The other feller's the best sailor, that's what's the matter. I don't know who he is, but he's a skipper from away back."
For some minutes Deever kept silent. From time to time he glanced astern.
There was no doubt about it; the Curlew was gaining.
"Can you get any more speed out of her?" he said at last, in desperation.
"Reckon I kin," said the tar. "Shall I take her?"
"Yes, and if you outrun them I'll give you a hundred dollars."
"All right."
The grizzled seaman took the helm. In ten minutes it began to look blue for Patsy and his chief. The Clio had reasserted her superiority. She was slowly dropping the Curlew astern.
When they tacked on the other side of the river the Clio had doubled her lead. In an hour the Curlew was half a mile behind.
"Where are ye bound?" asked the old tar.
"There's a vessel anchored in the harbor. I'll show you where. You're to put me aboard and keep still about it. The hundred is yours, and as much more to go with it."
They were nearly abreast the Battery, when suddenly the police-boat was seen heading toward them.
"That's the 'Patrol,'" said Deever. "Give her a wide berth."
Instead of complying, the boatman put his helm over, and stood straight toward the tug.
"Here!" cried Deever; "what does this mean?"
"It means," said the boatman, "that you're my prisoner, Patrick Deever.
I am Nick Carter."
Ten minutes later they were both aboard the police-boat, and in another hour Nick had redeemed his pledge to produce Patrick Deever alive before the superintendent.
"I'd have had him, anyway," said Patsy, afterward. "He turned on me in the woods up there in Nyack and knocked me down, and tied me.
"He thought I was done, but I wasn't. I was just going for a tug when you ran him aboard the police-boat.