"Well, she ain't there now anyway," declared Boldrigg. "I was up and about at seven, and I believe I seed her making up t'east'ard, but my eyes ain't what they used to be, not by a long chalk. I went up to the station to borrow a glass, but all the men are away on manoeuvres. There's not a gobby in the place. So I came to see you, an' I've passed the word on to Master Roche an' Master Flemming, and told them to warn their opposite numbers." "Then she's been stolen?" The old man nodded. "Seems like it, Master Peter. 'Tain't the first time a craft's been pinched. I calls to mind when I were stationed at Pitt's Deep, back in '97. But I'll spin that yarn another time. What are you going to do, Master Peter?" "I don't know yet," answered the Patrol Leader. He was thinking hard. It seemed to him that the best step was to telephone to the various coastguard stations in Hampshire and the Isle of Wight. Several of the smaller and less important ones were temporarily closed down, but there would almost certainly be men on duty in the large ones. "I'll run as hard as I can down to Keyhaven," he continued--"if you wouldn't mind my hurrying on, Mr. Boldrigg," he added apologetically. Peter Stratton took to his heels, Bruin running with him, barking excitedly as if in his doggy mind he realized that something of extreme moment was troubling his young master. Arriving at Keyhaven, the Patrol Leader found that Roche, Flemming, Woodleigh, and Warkworth were already there. "I've telephoned through to Lymington, Peter," reported Roche. "The _Olivette_ can't be very far away. Her paraffin tank's empty, and there's only enough petrol for an hour's run." "Then," added Peter, with fierce determination, "we'll go after her in the dinghy." "Dinghy's gone too," declared Flemming. "Two men collared her. I followed the track of her keel-band; two men with rubber boots, size tens, with lozenge-pattern-stamped soles." Just then Alan and Rayburn joined the others, while down the road old Boldrigg could be seen moving at a smart pace. "Mr. Boldrigg," hailed Peter, "may we borrow your boat?" "Sure, certain," shouted the old seaman. "Take her. What be you goin' to do?" "Stand in pursuit," explained the Patrol Leader, when Boldrigg, breathless with his exertions, gained the shore. "They've only enough petrol for an hour's run. If they stop in mid-Solent, the west-going tide will sweep them back, and we'll nab them." "Then I'll come along with you," declared Boldrigg. "There's an old fowling-piece in the boat, and though it ain't a 12-pounder Q.F., I'll guess 'twill make those blokes think twice if we gets within range. All the gear's aboard, Master Peter. The lot of us'll manage to launch her down the beach."