Cleary's men made quick work of them.
The boat from the yacht now hove to by this time, filled with
excited and profane sailormen. The skipper of the "White Swan,"
revolver drawn, stood in its bow as it bumped against the
stairway. Howard Van Cleft was unbound: dazed but happy he tried
to talk.
"What--why--who?" he mumbled.
"Pat Cleary, from the Holland Detective Agency," was Shirley's
response. "There, handcuff these men quick. Two cops are
coming. We want the credit of this job before the rookies beat
us to it."
Van Cleft recognized the speaker, and caught his hand fervently.
Shirley, though, was too busy for gratitude. He gave another
quick direction.
"Hurry on board your yacht tender and get underway. Your life
isn't worth a penny if you stay in town another hour. These men
will be attended to. Good luck and goodbye."
The young man rapidly transferred his luggage to his own boat.
They were soon out of view on their way to the larger vessel.
Shirley turned toward Cleary.
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