“I can give an account of myself.  I am one of a citizens’ committee.  Robberies have been frequent on this island of late, and we compel every stranger to give an account of himself.”

“Oh, that’s it, eh?”

“Yes.”

“Well, arrest me, and I will give an account of myself to the proper authorities.”

“I am the proper authority.”

“I don’t recognize your authority.”

“You are any prisoner!”

“That’s all right,” said the detective; and, throwing up his arms, he walked toward the armed man.

The latter did not know exactly how to act under the circumstances, the detective was so cool and acted so strangely.

Our hero, however, knew what he was up to well enough, and, when within a few feet of the smuggler, he suddenly threw himself forward and grappled with the ruffian.

A struggle followed.  Both were powerful men, but the detective was the most active and the coolest, and better prepared to take advantage of all chances.

Exerting himself to almost superhuman efforts, he forced the ruffian back to a great bowlder, and threw him down with such force that the man lost consciousness.

Half an hour passed.

The man lay silent and motionless like one dead, and no one came to the rescue.

The detective moved stealthily from his hiding-place to the verge of the bluff and glanced over to the spot where the “Nancy” had been riding at anchor.  The boat had disappeared.

A moment Vance stood and considered.  He knew that he was walking upon dangerous ground.  He had received an intimation of the desperateness of the gang.  After a review of the situation he walked back to where the smuggler whom he had worsted lay.  The man was just beginning to show signs of returning consciousness.

“I reckon I’ll render you harmless for the balance of the night,” muttered the detective, and he bound the man hand and foot.

The man meantime revived, and called for water.

“Ah, you are thirsty, are you?” muttered the detective, who, after all, was a humane and merciful fellow, and he proceeded to a running rill near by and got some water in a rubber cup which he always carried about him.

The man slaked his thirst, and asked: 

“Where am I?”

“You are at home, I reckon.”

The smuggler, at length, appeared to realize that he had been bound, and he said: 

“Who tied me up this way?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“You were set to shoot me down, and I got the better of you,”

“Ah, I remember.”

“Yes, you set on me and I was compelled to serve you out.”

“Release me now, it’s all right.”

“Oh, it’s all right, eh? well, I don’t think so; it’s my idea you are a bad character, and I’m going to keep you here until I notify the constable or someone else.  I think you are a highwayman or a robber or something of that sort; you’re a bad man anyhow.”