He broke off abruptly. The mast and riding-light of the _Puffin_ ought by this time to be visible. They were not. Mr. Grant said nothing. He hoped that his eyesight was playing him false, but he doubted it. "She's gone, sir!" corroborated Brandon. "Harbour master's shifted her, perhaps," suggested the Scoutmaster, quickening his pace. The _Puffin's_ berth was empty. There was her bow warp still made fast to a bollard. Hauling in the rope the Sea-Scouts made the discovery that it had parted--the frayed ends showing no sign of having been cut by a knife. A further search revealed the sternfast. In this case the rope was intact, but at one end was a wooden cleat with screws attached. "She's broken adrift," exclaimed the Patrol-leader. "What's the anchor doing?" "We'll go to the pier-head and see if we can spot the yacht," said Mr. Grant. "Craddock must have heard the yacht parting her warps, even if he were asleep in the cabin. Perhaps he brought up round the corner." But no. Seaward there was nothing but an ill-defined expanse of dark water and hissing rain. "Back to the swing-bridge, lads!" exclaimed the Scoutmaster. "Keep a look-out in case the _Puffin's_ alongside the opposite quay." The bridge-keeper on being questioned was emphatic that no yacht had passed through, and that he had only once opened the bridge that night, to admit a Norwegian timber ship. "Then there's only one thing to be done," declared Mr. Grant. "We'll have to find a boat and look for Craddock outside." It was no easy matter to find a boat with oars in her. There were several small craft lying above the bridge, but in each case they were without gear--a fact that pointed silently to the weaknesses of a certain class of Sablesham longshoremen. "We'll have to knock up one of the boatmen," decided Mr. Grant. "Come on, this way." It was a long, tedious business. The bridge-keeper furnished the addresses of two or three men who let out boats. Finding them was no easy matter in the ill-lighted streets. The first house they called at proved a blank. Either the occupier didn't or wouldn't hear the Scoutmaster's knock. At the second the owner opened an upper window and in husky accents bade his visitors, "Clear out, or I'll loose my dawg on yer!" The third attempt proved successful, although it was quite twenty minutes before the boatman could be prevailed upon to dress and lead the way to the store where he kept his gear. Then the boat had to be baled out, for the heavy rain had filled it almost level with the thwarts, and a second visit had to be made to the store, since the rowlocks provided were too big for that particular craft. The hour of midnight was striking as the Sea Scouts pushed off in their borrowed boat. "Give way, lads," ordered Mr. Grant. "Nothing like a little exertion on a wet night."