Back swung the yacht head to tide, but the anchor still refused to "bite." Having started to drag it continued to do so. Soon the yacht was abreast of the pier-head and about twenty yards from it. In a few minutes she would be swept by the surging ebb right out into the English Channel. CHAPTER XII ADRIFT--THEN AGROUND "I MUST give her more chain," decided Peter, aware of a violent hammering on the cabin doors, but paying no heed to the clamouring of the prisoner to be let out. It was an easy matter to cast off the turns of the chain round the bitts. With a rush and a rattle the links ran out, until Craddock decided that he had given enough scope. But when it came to checking and securing the cable, well, that was a very different matter. Vainly Peter tried to secure the rapidly running chain, for the anchor had now obtained a firm hold. Fathom after fathom rattled through the fairlead. This state of things did not trouble Peter. He knew that the anchor was holding this time, and that the inboard end of the chain was shackled to an eyeplate in the keelson. Sooner or later the yacht would bring up, and then he could await the return of Mr. Grant and the rest of the Sea Scouts before attempting to move the _Puffin_ back to her former berth. But alas for these reassuring thoughts. The yacht--eight tons dead weight moving at a good three knots--snubbed violently. There was a disconcerting jerk that almost threw Peter overboard, and the next instant he caught a glimpse of the tail-end of the cable disappearing over the bows. The violent jerk had wrenched apart the shackle that ought to have held the chain to the eyebolt, and the _Puffin_, unfettered, was utterly at the mercy of the tide. Craddock kept his head. Although realising his very awkward and possibly dangerous position he was not one to get into a state of panic because he found himself drifting out to sea. It was useless to hail, since there was no one on either quay. Nor would it be of any use hoisting sails since there was not the faintest breath of wind. The sweeps were useless against the three-knot current. There was the motor, but in the present circumstances it was a "broken reed." In order to start it up it was necessary to go below to turn on the petrol and make the usual adjustments, and the cabin through which Peter would have to pass to gain the motor-room was in the possession of the armed rascal who was responsible for the present predicament. By this time Peter was unpleasantly aware that it was still raining in torrents and that he was without an oilskin. During the excitement occasioned by the yacht breaking adrift he had hardly noticed the downpour. Now that the strenuous period of activity was over, the rain felt horribly cold as it beat down upon his unprotected head. "She won't drift very far," thought Craddock. "The tide doesn't run so hard outside, and Mr. Grant ought to be back by now. He'll be bound to see the riding-light."