As they came on, the oarsmen stopped rowing. Then, as the boat’s head shifted a little, they headed straight for the beach where Nick Carter and the porter were watching. The muffled oars made no sound as they came up on the beach, and the easy way in which the bow grounded on the soft sand proved that the craft was under the command of a finished mariner. No sooner was the boat pulled so well up on the shore that it did not need securing in any other way, than the five men all tumbled out and pulled her a little farther. This done, they stood silently in a group while their commander looked about him. Now, if he had chosen, Nick Carter could have captured the whole party at the point of the pistol, shooting them down if they resisted. But his natural love of “playing the game” forbade anything of that kind. He contented himself with keeping them covered--with Corrigan’s pistol, as well as his own--and watching in silence. Had Nick known who the Baroness Latour really was, he would have brought half a dozen men with him, instead of one. And with good reason. He would have been aware that the caliber of the five men in the boat was of a kind not easily put down, and that any one of them would have gone to his death cheerfully for his beautiful leader. There were several minutes of inactivity, during which the five men stood watching the silent, insensible figure in the boat, while seemingly on the watch for somebody else to come. “I ought, perhaps, to jump in here and rescue that man in the boat at any cost,” thought Nick. “But it wouldn’t do. I should have only half my work done, even if Mike and I can knock out these five--as I believe we can. I’ve made up my mind to take Drago back to the hotel, and I’m going to do it.” It was five minutes afterward when a soft whistle arose from the woods behind him. Kennedy replied with a similar signal. “Get ready, Corrigan!” whispered Nick Carter. “I am ready,” was the prompt response. There was the sound of branches moving with a swish, and three men came out of the wood together. One, whose stiff gait indicated that his hands were tied behind him, so that he was afraid to step freely, was between the other two, each of whom held him by an elbow. As they came clear of the shadows, Nick saw that, not only were the hands of the man in the middle bound, but a handkerchief was fastened tightly over his mouth. “Drago!” muttered the detective. “It’s just what I expected. They’ve got some one else from the hotel, and stopped on their way to pick up this one from the wood.” As the newcomers came up to the other five men, Nick heard somebody say softly: “That you, Mr. Kennedy?” “Yes,” came the reply. “Kennedy!” muttered Nick. “Well, it is a common name. This may not be the Kennedy I know. But, taking it with everything else I’ve found out, it looks as if it might be.”