Deep in his favourite paper, Peter was unconscious of the flight of time until the rippling of water against the yacht's bows warned him that the tide had changed and was beginning to ebb hard. A glance at the clock showed that it was nine o'clock.
"Below there!"
Craddock sat up with a start. Someone was hailing from the quayside. Who could be wanting to communicate with the yacht on such a horribly dirty night?
"Below there!" shouted the voice again.
Pushing back the sliding hatch Peter thrust head and shoulders out into the rain and darkness. Blinded by the sudden change from the well-lighted cabin, he could see nothing.
"Hello!" he replied. "What is it?"
"Is this the Puffin?" inquired the insistent voice. "Is Mr. Grant on board?"
"No, sir," replied Craddock.
"When will he return?"
"Very soon," was the non-committal answer.