Softly and skillfully, Nick Carter introduced his wire and turned the lock. He stepped inside, closely followed by Chick, both walking on their tiptoes, and without the least noise. It was quite dark. But the detective knew where the bed was, and he moved over to it without hesitation. Then he uttered a low exclamation of surprise. The bed was empty! “Hurry, Chick! Let’s get out of this! There’s something going to happen. They’ve found out that I have got away!” “Where’s the other cabin?” “Farther along! Let me see!” Nick rushed forward. He was not astonished when he found that the other cabin was not only unoccupied, but that the door was unlocked and partly open. “Let’s get out, Chick! I guess the whole yacht is on the qui vive! The rascals have laid a trap for us.” “Do you think they know I am aboard?” “I hope not! That will give us an advantage if we can surprise them by being two, instead of one. Come on!” Nick led the way to the short flight of steps leading to the big door that gave upon the deck. As he had expected, the door was fastened. The only bolt was inside. But there was a lock that could be operated either without or within. “The lock is nothing, Chick! We can burst that!” whispered Nick. “Now! Together!” The two hurled all their weight against the door. The lock broke away, and Nick Carter found himself in the arms of Prince Miguel, the bigger of the two ruffians. There was a desperate struggle for a few minutes, and then Jean, the valet who had been attending Nick when he came aboard--showing him his dry clothing and explaining to him that his bath was ready--tried to help his master. It happened that Nick was held in such a way that his left arm was free. He sent a swing at the valet that knocked him spinning down the deck, where he lay without movement. The sailors at the other end of the yacht had not been told of what was to take place. As Nick had said, the yacht was hired for two months from the multimillionaire, Judge Millings, and all the crew went with the vessel. It was not likely the sailors belonging to the yacht would take a hand in anything that looked too bad. “Don’t you suppose they knew Marcos was a prisoner?” Chick had asked. “Not likely. Marcos was allowed to go about the yacht as he chose. We have proof of that in the fact that he attacked Miguel when he was sitting on the deck, smoking. They relied on there being no boats handy, and on the watchfulness of that scoundrelly valet, Jean, who was really his guard, I should judge.” Now that there was a quiet, but strenuous battle on, the crew were in blissful ignorance. Miguel and Solado had thought they were quite capable of holding Nick Carter until they should be ready to take him to some place ashore. They were finding their mistake, for, as Nick sent the valet flying to the deck, senseless, Chick flew at Solado just when that worthy was going to help Miguel.