Peter made no reply.
"Modest about your achievement, eh?" laughed the stranger. "Very well, we'll change the subject. This is a fine little craft of yours. I'm a sailing man myself, when I can spare the time. As a matter of fact I was cruising off Aberstour about a week ago. White Gull is the name of my craft. She's about eighty tons."
"Straight-stemmed cutter, isn't she?" inquired Craddock, feeling that he must say something.
"No, spoon bow."
"Square stern?"
"No, counter."
"Oh!" exclaimed Peter involuntarily. The particulars as supplied by the talkative visitor coincided with those of the mysterious craft from which the Puffin had received the consignment of contraband drugs.
At that moment a red light gleamed through the port scuttle. The Puffin lifted to a swell and ground heavily against the piles.
"Steamer coming in," remarked the stranger. "She gave us a bit of a biff with her wash. I hope your warps are sound."
"I'll go on deck and see," said Peter eagerly.