“Kindly open the door!” exclaimed the voice again. This time there was a violent rapping on the panel of one of the side lockers in the cockpit.
The locker was a fairly spacious one, extending from the after bulkhead of the cabin on the starboard side to the bulkhead supporting the decked-in part of the stern. Usually it contained spare sails, canvas awnings, and warps not likely to be frequently required. It was secured by means of a detachable panel held in place by two projecting battens at one end and a stout wooden button at the other.
“Brandon!” sang out Peter.
“Coming,” replied the Patrol Leader. “What’s wrong?”
Swinging himself down by the throat halliards, Brandon gained the deck and came aft.
“Someone’s in there,” declared Craddock.
“Then hike him out,” rejoined Brandon in matter-of-fact tones. “This isn’t the First of April, me lad!”
“I quite agree,” boomed the voice from the locker.
Brandon gave a start, but quickly recovering himself, threw open the panel. Lying full length on the assortment of canvas gear and blinking in the strong sunlight was a boy of about twelve or fourteen.
“Come out!” ordered Brandon sternly.