If the launch were to get to Nick and the unconscious Marcos first, the probability was that the men in the boat would be circumvented. There was still another chance. Even if Nick could swim away in the darkness, so that the searchlight could not pick him up, it would not be bad. On the other hand, if the boat got to him before the launch, then the whole purpose of the expedition up the river would be frustrated at once. It was soon apparent to the detective that Claudia was handling the launch very well so far as the steering was concerned. She did not quite understand the engine. Therefore, she hesitated about opening the throttle too wide, with the result that her speed was less than it need have been. On came the boat, while the launch bored her way forward steadily in the other direction. Nick Carter never allowed his exertions to flag for an instant. Whatever the boats might do, he knew that it would be better for him to get as near shore as possible. “There he is!” exclaimed the gruff voice he had heard before, as the small white light sought out his face again. “He’s swimming for shore. We’ve got him now!” “Have you!” muttered Nick, quickening his stroke. “I’m not so sure of that, my friend!” He saw that the launch was about the same distance from him on one side as the skiff was on the other. Allowing for the difference in speed--for the launch was coming much faster than the rowboat, even without the full pressure of her engine--Claudia ought to get to him a minute or so sooner than the skiff. Once he could get Marcos on board the launch, the detective was not afraid of anything that might happen to himself. He did not believe the men on the yacht would know that he had been their assailant at the ball, and he was satisfied that when they knew who he was, the power of his name, as that of a detective who had been heard of even in Joyalita, would be his protection. “If that is not enough protection,” he told himself grimly, “then I have a pair of active fists that have never failed me yet.” He increased his efforts, but was swimming now straight for the launch, rather than for the shore, although in a general way he was going shoreward, too. “Stop!” bellowed the gruff voice. Nick Carter did not answer, but the girl, trying to increase the speed of the launch, somehow got her hand on the valve that governed the whistle, and a mocking scream was the consequence. The detective grinned. It was a good answer to the skiff, he thought, although he was rather surprised that the girl had hit on it so opportunely. “She’s learning the launch pretty fast,” he told himself. “It’s made them mad, I guess.” “If you don’t give up, it will be the worse for you, Marcos!” came from the gruff man in the skiff, as he waved his light about. “Marcos, eh?” thought Nick. “This is the right man I have here, after all. I thought I recognized him. Well, he isn’t going on board that yacht again, if I know myself--and I think I do.”