“I’ll attend to that; come on, Mark, let’s throw the damn sneak into that left-hand stateroom.  He’ll stay there all right.  Aw, take hold; don’t be afraid of hurting the fellow.”

They roughed him forward, but West made no attempt to resist; his hands were bound, and he was helpless.  The woman threw open the narrow door, and he was bundled unceremoniously across the threshold, and thrown heavily to the floor.  He struggled partially upright, protesting against being left in that helpless condition, but the red-moustached man only laughed, shutting the door tightly, and locking it.  The single port hole was covered by heavy drapery, the stateroom in total darkness.  Through the door panels he could hear a voice speaking.

“He’s better off that way until we get out of here.  You stay here, Mary, till I can attend to him myself.  Those fellows ought to have that engine fixed by this time.  Mark and I better go up on deck awhile.”

“But, Joe, do you think they have caught on to us?” she asked anxiously.

“No, I don’t; this guy wouldn’t be snooping about alone if they had.  He ain’t no fly cop, and just happened to be loafin’ here—­that’s my guess.  He knew this was the Coolidge Yacht, and that set him to asking questions.  That guy don’t look to me like he was the kind to be afraid of.  All we got to do is hold him here until Jim decides what he’s up to.  I don’t want to hurt him none, unless I have to.  Everything else all right, I suppose?”

“Sure; quiet as a mouse; asleep, I guess.”

“That’s good; well you stay here until I come back.  Want a gun?”

She did not answer so as to be heard, but West could distinguish the movement of feet in the outer cabin, and then the closing of a door.  Undoubtedly the two men had gone on deck, leaving the woman there alone.  His feet were not tied, and he could sit up, although the hands were tightly bound behind him.  With eyes accustoming themselves to the gloom, he could discern something of his surroundings.  He was in the ordinary stateroom of a small yacht, with barely space in which to move about comfortably.  Two bunks were at one side, with a metal stand at their foot for washing purposes.  A rug covered the floor, the beds were made, and a stool, screwed to the deck, occupied a position just below the porthole.  A few hooks were in evidence on the opposite wall; but no garments dangled from them to tell of previous occupancy.  Indeed the place was scrupulously clean, as though unused for some time.

West made his way to the port, pushed aside the curtain with his shoulders and looked out.  The smallness of the opening made any hope of escape in that way impossible; nor could he expect to attract the attention of any one ashore.  His view was limited to the east and north, a wide expanse of blue water, the only thing in sight being the pleasure boat bound for Lincoln Park, already little more than a black dot in the distance.  Convinced of his complete helplessness, he sat down on the stool to consider the situation.