"That's what has happened to your ducks, anyway," declared Carline, and proceeded to relate what he had seen.
"Dang me!" ejaculated Mr. Thorley, slapping his thigh. "That puts a different face to the matter. Thank you, lad, I'm off to the police station."
The farmer hurried off. He was back in about an hour, his face beaming.
"I saw the superintendent," he reported. "Super told me that if I could get hold of 'em ducks without doing any damage to Old Snodburry's property I'd best do so. Just to make sure I called on Lawyer Tebbutt, and he said much the same. And as luck would have it spied Old Snodburry driving to railway station, so he's out of the way for some time, thank goodness! Will you lads do me another Good Turn?"
"Rather," replied both Sea Scouts. "What do you want us to do?"
"I'll just run round to the market and borrow a poultry crate," continued Mr. Thorley. "Then if you young gents will put me across the river in your little boat I think I can get my five ducks back and save the shilling a head I offered him. I'd get my man Andrew to bear a hand only he's away over Nine Acre field, and Tom 'e's gone to Fleyton with the milk."
"We'll be glad to go with you," volunteered Peter.
"Good lads!" ejaculated the farmer. "I'll go up along and fetch the crate."
A few minutes later the dinghy, deeply laden with a big farmer, two hefty Sea Scouts and a spacious poultry coop, gained the opposite bank.
Boldly the trio crossed the meadow. The gate of the enclosed garden was ajar, a massive padlock with the key in it, dangling from a stout chain.