On the swing table was a cigarette case and a spirit flask. The occupant of the cabin appeared to be very happy! Rather ruefully the Sea Scout compared his own position with the comfortable surroundings in which his prisoner was taking things so easily.
"He won't enjoy himself when the yacht begins to heel," thought Peter. "She's bound to lie right over when the tide leaves her."
Even as he watched, Craddock saw the man bring his hand up to his forehead and slide helplessly upon the cabin floor, groaning dismally as he did so.
In an instant Peter's feelings towards the fellow changed. Up to the present he had treated him as a dangerous character, now he regarded him only as a human being in distress.
"He's ill—very ill," thought the Sea Scout. "I'll do what I can to render First-Aid, and while I'm about it I may as well relieve him of that revolver."
Without hesitation Craddock unlocked the padlock and flung open the doors. Nimbly descending the companion ladder he gained the cabin.
As he did so a hand shot out and grasped him firmly by the shoulder.
"Now, young man!" exclaimed the stranger briskly. "I've done you this time. What's your explanation?"
Peter gaped at his captor. The man had scored by a ruse. He was smiling grimly as he gripped the lad's shoulder.
"Like firing on the white flag, eh?" continued the man. "Couldn't be helped. You wouldn't listen to reason. You thought I was reading. I wasn't. Your Scoutmaster's shaving-mirror came in very handy. But isn't it time to knock off fooling? The yacht's aground. If we don't get her off she'll be matchwood before morning."