At six o'clock, being half flood, he took in the slack of the ropes and shifted the dinghy from alongside to under the bowsprit, so as to be out of the way in case a clumsily-managed boat coming in should give her a nasty "nip." This done he was free to continue reading until sunset. Presently he became aware of the fact that the light was fading. A heavy patter on the coach-roof of the cabin informed him without any doubt about the matter that it was raining. Donning his oilskin Craddock went on deck to make sure that there was nothing left about that might get spoilt. A glance at the sky showed that the rain had set in for the night, although there was no wind at all. So heavy was the downpour that the houses beyond the opposite quay were almost invisible. "May as well light the riding lamp while I'm about it," thought the lad. "It's almost sunset." The lamp, cleaned and well-trimmed, was quickly lighted and hoisted on the fore-stay. Then going below and pulling over the sliding-hatch, Peter prepared to make the best of things till his comrades returned. He rather felt like "shaking hands with himself" at the thought that he hadn't to tramp a good five miles in the pouring rain. After all there were worse places than a cosy and well-lighted cabin on board a yacht snugly moored in a sheltered harbour. "Let me see," he continued, "high water's at 8.15. No need to tend the warps before midnight. I'll put the kettle on the stove about nine, so that the other fellows can have something hot when they return." Deep in his favourite paper, Peter was unconscious of the flight of time until the rippling of water against the yacht's bows warned him that the tide had changed and was beginning to ebb hard. A glance at the clock showed that it was nine o'clock. "Below there!" Craddock sat up with a start. Someone was hailing from the quayside. Who could be wanting to communicate with the yacht on such a horribly dirty night? "Below there!" shouted the voice again. Pushing back the sliding hatch Peter thrust head and shoulders out into the rain and darkness. Blinded by the sudden change from the well-lighted cabin, he could see nothing. "Hello!" he replied. "What is it?" "Is this the _Puffin_?" inquired the insistent voice. "Is Mr. Grant on board?" "No, sir," replied Craddock. "When will he return?" "Very soon," was the non-committal answer. "In that case I'll come on board and wait," rejoined the stranger. There was a heavy thud, as a pair of thick-soled boots landed on the deck, and a burly figure, just visible in the dancing rays of the swinging riding-light, made straight for the companion hatchway.