The cabin clock struck eight bells.
"Midnight already," thought Peter. "Wonder what Mr. Grant and the other fellows are doing?"
He drew a mental picture of the Scoutmaster and seven drenched Sea Scouts standing disconsolately upon the deserted quay, and wondering where their floating home with its comfortable bunks had gone.
A few minutes later the yacht's keel grated gently upon a gravelly bottom. The dinghy, hitherto drifting alongside, swung round until brought up by the full scope of the painter.
"We're aground!" exclaimed Peter, stating what was an obvious and accomplished fact.
CHAPTER XIII
A SUCCESSFUL RUSE
"Half-ebb," he continued, musingly to himself. "She won't float much before six or seven. It'll be broad daylight by then. I wonder where we are? Can't see any sign of land. It's lucky there's no sea on. She won't hurt; that's one blessing. Wonder what that fellow's doing in the cabin? I'll see."
Carefully Craddock approached the still open skylight. Looking down through the smoke-laden atmosphere of the cabin he saw that the captive was calmly lying at full length on the starboard settee and was seemingly deep in the pages of Peter's favourite paper.