Almost as soon as he gained the deck, Mr. Grant caught sight of a black cat sitting close to the companion leading to the cabin.
“There’s a cat aboard, lads!” he announced, going to the rail and addressing the crew of the dinghy. “I’ll hand it down to you.”
“At this rate we’ll have a regular menagerie on the Kestrel before we reach Chichester Harbour,” remarked Peter to his companion. “Hope the animal will make friends with Molly.”
The Scoutmaster walked slowly towards the cat, calling “Puss, puss!” in a coaxing tone. The animal, however, showed no enthusiasm at the prospect of being rescued. In fact, it evinced a decided reluctance to do so; and, waiting until Mr. Grant was within a couple of yards or so, it turned and bolted down the ladder.
Mr. Grant followed. It was a risky business going below, with the schooner in danger of making a sudden plunge.
At the foot of the companion ladder was a small lobby with two doors. The starboard door was shut; the other one ajar. Obviously the cat had taken refuge in the cabin on the port side.
Before pursuing the animal, the Scoutmaster opened the door of the starboard or captain’s cabin. Everything was in order. The skipper must have been on deck when the collision occurred and had not waited to save his personal belongings before taking to the boat.
Closing the door, Mr. Grant stepped into the other cabin. At the after end pale daylight showed through the jagged gap in the counter. Water gurgled sullenly under the floor, a portion of which had been violently up-heaved by the compact, causing the swing table to be capsized together with a quantity of splintered woodwork.
“Puss! puss!” he called again. “Bother the animal! Where’s it got to?”
Suddenly the Scoutmaster caught sight of a man’s legs protruding from the pile of debris. The occupant of the cabin had been caught and pinned down—crushed more than likely—by the sudden and unexpected blow of the colliding vessel’s bows.