Without waiting to put on his oilskin, Craddock nipped up the ladder. His unwanted companion made no effort to stop him. In fact, he moved his legs aside.
The rain was still descending in sheets. Through the mirk Craddock could distinguish the stern light of a tramp steamer that had just entered the harbour and was making for a berth beyond the swing-bridge.
In vain the Sea Scout looked along the ill-lighted quay in the hope of seeing either Mr. Grant or a policeman or even a friendly fisherman. The idea that had flashed across his mind had taken root. He was firmly convinced that the fellow in the cabin was there for no good purpose.
"I'll lock him in and go ashore for help," he decided, and measured the distance between the yacht's rail and the edge of the quay. By this time the tide had fallen considerably and was ebbing with great force. The coping of the masonry was a good five feet higher that the Puffin's deck.
"Don't want to find myself in the ditch," thought Peter.
Through the slightly-opened skylight he peeped cautiously into the cabin. The stranger was in the act of transferring a revolver from his hip-pocket to the side-pocket of his jacket.
The light of the cabin lamp glinted upon the dull steel of the sinister weapon. That was conclusive proof of the intentions of the fellow.
Very gently Craddock felt for the padlock and key of the companion hatch, which when not in use hung from a hook just behind one of the double doors. With a feeling of elation his fingers closed over the required articles.
The next instant the doors and the sliding-hatch were closed and the padlock slipped through the hasp that secured all three. So neatly was the operation completed that the man in the cabin was unaware of what had taken place. Possibly the thud of the raindrops upon the cabin-top had deadened the sound.
"Don't stop out in the rain, boy!" he shouted.