Then Craddock began to be interested, too. And for a very good reason: the basket was not drifting with the tide. It was moving decidedly against it and slowly yet surely approaching the Kestrel’s bows.
“Come on deck, old man,” said Peter to his chum, in a low voice; but Heavitree, who had resumed his absorbing pastime, either did not hear or did not want to.
Presently the basket disappeared from Peter’s range of vision. From where he was standing in the cockpit he could not see the surface of the water in the vicinity of the yacht’s bows. He heard the rasping of the wickerwork against the Kestrel’s side, and once more the basket appeared in view, bobbing astern and now drifting naturally with the tide.
Molly’s bark grew louder and shriller. She had lost all interest in the basket and was directing her attention to something under the bows.
Before Craddock could go for’ard to investigate, the dripping head and shoulders of a man appeared above the rail. Then, obtaining a foothold on the bobstay, the intruder swung himself on the fore-deck, stood up, and steadied himself by means of the forestay.
“Get that there dawg of yourn out of it afore I ’as to ’urt it,” he growled.
In the semi-darkness the stranger seemed to tower to a great height. Actually he was well over six feet, though narrow across the chest. He was clean-shaven, and wore an overcoat that was many inches too short for him. He was bare-legged, and it looked as if he were wearing shorts. Water drained steadily from his meagre and saturated garments.
“Come here, Molly!” exclaimed Peter, fearful lest the intruder should carry out the alternative he had mentioned.
The pup still refused.
The man, stooping suddenly, grasped the animal by the scruff of the neck and stepped aft as far as the mainmast.