_Someone_ had taken the boat out, and sent her adrift! When you come to think of it, this was an odd thing to happen in the night--more than odd in Bell Bay. Almost unbelievable, because you might leave anything about and all your doors and windows open in such a garden of friends as the valley. The conclusion Hughie came to was that no native of Bell Bay had done it. He had little doubt who was the offender, and stood still considering his next move. _Why_ should Pam’s double want to go out aboard the yawl at such an hour? Crow having said nothing at all to anyone about her suspicions with regard to meddling in the saloon; of course Hughie knew nothing about that, and the idea came to him in all its startling freshness. However, having convinced his reason, he quickly decided on the next action. "I’d better go and find her," said Hughie to himself in the low murmur with which he held "doll" conversations. As the tide was rising he had small difficulty in pushing the dinghy down; she was the lightest make, varnished--a first-rate little craft with the power of standing much more than her slight appearance suggested. A very fortunate thing, as it proved afterwards. The little boy got in, balanced himself in the stern to lighten the bows, and pushed off deftly; then he sat down, took the sculls, and looked about him into the dark. The sculls, small as they were, were too big for his hands, but he was strong and amazingly tenacious--he never gave up what his heart was set on. "She can’t get away," he murmured again, and, as the idea took his fancy, he gave a sudden little wriggle of amusement. Then he sculled out to the _Messenger_ with very short light strokes, wonderfully noiseless. He went into the thick of the dark, thick because the mistiness of dawn was there--it was what people called "the darkest hour before the dawn", starless, moonless, softly thick. Having gone a short distance, Hughie turned the dinghy round gently by rowing one oar, and, having got his craft stern first, he began to push steadily with both sculls. He knew he would soon find the yawl--but all in a moment, and he must be prepared not to bump. To his quick ear came a sound; he stopped and listened. It was water--rippling against an obstacle--the incoming tide driving past the bows of the yacht. He had not far to go, because _Messenger_ was pulling the length of her chain cables inshore--a very different position from the one she would have held in a strong ebb, as she lay then almost under the shadow of the Bell Ridge point, the height to the north of the cove.