But in his heart Dick was beginning to fear that neither Nadia nor Bunol would be found on the yacht. Budthorne was greatly wrought up, and he urged the others to come on. The Turk spoke to his companion, who stepped aside and disappeared. A moment later lights flashed up all over the yacht. The Turk stood smiling in the light of an electric lantern, his manner indicating his confidence in the result of the impending search. The lights showed two men forward, where they had been standing in the shadow of the pilot house. They were the pilot and engineer. One was a Greek and the other an Armenian. “Are these all of your crew?” demanded John Coddington. “Yes, sir.” Now that the lights were on, Professor Gunn came crawling cautiously over the rail onto the deck of the yacht, to which the steamer had been made fast. “Hum! ha!” he coughed. “I must see that nothing is neglected. Proceed with the search, gentlemen.” Medjid Bey, the owner of the yacht, lighted a Turkish cigarette and puffed away with indifference as the boarders began searching the yacht. It did not take long to search the small, but elegant craft from one end to the other, and not a trace of Nadia or Bunol was found. Budthorne was infuriated. He seemed almost deranged. “What have they done with her?” he cried. “What have they done with my sister?” Brad and Dick held a consultation in low tones. “We’re tricked, pard,” said the Texan. “The Spanish snake and the dirty Turk have fooled us. What can we do? They’ve carried Nadia off. I’m for taking that Mohammedan varmint by the throat and squeezing the truth out of him.” “I’m afraid we can’t get at the truth that way,” said Dick. “It is a bad piece of business.” “Bad! Pard, if that Spaniard harms a hair of Nadia’s head I’ll skin him alive! You hear me warble! I’ll kill him by inches!” Dick walked toward the stern of the yacht, which had swung quite close to the shore. Indeed, not more than twelve or fourteen feet of water lay between that end of the yacht and the bank, showing that the water was very deep there. Merriwell stood looking into the shadows of the palm grove, feeling desperate and baffled. Suddenly in the gloom of the grove there was a red spout of fire. The report of a pistol startled the peaceful night. Dick Merriwell dropped on the deck of the yacht. A roar of fury burst from the lips of Brad Buckhart. With two great leaps he reached the rail of the yacht and perched on it. Then he uprose and flung himself forward in a spring for the bank. He cleared the space and landed on the shore. Recklessly he charged into the palm grove, a pistol in his hand. The Texan believed his comrade had been shot down in a dastardly manner, and his heart was filled with a mad longing for vengeance. He ran toward the spot where the flash of the weapon had been seen. Through a dim bit of moonlight ahead of him a figure seemed to flit. That glimpse was enough for the Texan. He flung up his hand and his pistol barked twice.