He turned out just as he was, barefooted and in pyjamas. But when he gained the cockpit all thoughts about putting out a fender vanished. The air was thick with driving smoke that failed to conceal a mass of deep red flame. The Snodburry mansion was on fire!
"Wake up, old man," exclaimed Peter to his slumbering chum. "Wake up! Snodburry's house is all on fire."
In the shortest possible time the Sea Scouts threw on some clothes, thrust their feet into their sea-boots and jumped into the dinghy.
A few strokes of the oars brought them to the opposite bank. Through the smoke they dashed across the lawn and up to the house, where they stumbled over the senseless form of one of the men-servants. It was a moment's work to drag him clear of the falling embers. There appeared to be no one else about on their side of the buildings. The late inmates were on the opposite end, vainly striving to quench the flames with buckets of water.
Already the whole of the ground floor was ablaze, while in one corner the flames were bursting through the roof.
"Everyone's out, I think," spluttered Peter, half choked with the fumes. "Let's release the horses and poultry. There's nothing more that we can do."
It was as well, he thought, that Carline and he had already paid a visit to the outbuildings. Up to the present the livestock were in no great danger, although the neighing horses and loudly cackling fowls were terrified by the roaring of the flames and the billowing clouds of smoke.
"There is someone, though!" exclaimed Peter, pointing to an upper window.
"Your imagination," declared Carline.
"No—look!"