“I wish I could see that chap’s face,” reflected Nick. “His general shape is like that of the bigger of the two men I had the argument with at the Supremacy. Still, there are thousands of men in New York of about his build, so that proves nothing.” This did not satisfy Nick Carter, however. Putting two and two together, and considering that this was almost certainly the yacht in which the abductors of Marcos had carried him away from Crownledge, it was quite reasonable to suppose that this big man in the chair on the cabin roof was really Miguel--as Claudia Solado had given his name. Prince Miguel was calmly smoking throughout these surmises of the detective--for it may as well be admitted that the big man really was Miguel--and Nick tried to determine what should be his next move. “I might get up there and tackle him unawares,” he muttered. “Then, if we did not make noise enough to attract the attention of the crew or others on the yacht, I might squeeze a confession out of him. All I want is this Marcos. Then I don’t care what is done.” He turned this over in his mind for a few minutes. Then he decided it would not do. There could hardly fail to be a great deal of racket if he were to scuffle with Prince Miguel. The latter was a powerfully built fellow, and would make a desperate resistance, no matter how the combat might come out in the end. As it happened, Nick Carter was not called upon to decide the question for himself. While he stood on his block, peering under the railing around the roof at the man in the chair, another man came carefully up the steep iron steps to the roof and stood statuelike behind the unsuspecting Miguel. The attitude of the newcomer was that of one who had deliberately chosen the best way to make a sudden onslaught. Nick Carter caught his breath in stern enjoyment of the contest he felt he was about to witness. CHAPTER VIII. NICK WINS A POINT. “This is a tangle all around,” he said to himself. “Who the deuce is this fellow, getting ready to lay out our friend Miguel? Can it be----” He did not finish the sentence. At that instant some unexplainable impulse made Miguel swing around in his chair. He saw the tall figure standing there, and, without hesitation, he picked up the deck chair on which he had been sitting and flung it full at the head of the other man. Nick Carter saw the man put up his hands to protect his head. Then the chair smashed into him and he reeled backward across the cabin roof, holding the chair in front of him. In the darkness, Nick was unable to see whether the chair had struck him in the face or not. Certain it was that it had taken him off his balance, and that he seemed to have been weakened in some way. He staggered backward across the roof and fell hard against the low railing. For an instant he tried to save himself.