On glided the yacht past an ever-changing panorama. To port lay a snug red-tiled farm. On the ground in front, sloping down to the river, were between fifty and sixty sleek cows just in from the rich, grassy meadows. On the gentle rise of the hillside were fields heavy with golden wheat and barley waving in the breeze. Fat hay-ricks and long, rambling barns were visible behind the house, while ducks and geese were either swimming on the river or else grubbing amongst the sedges and reeds. Another bend brought the _Thetis_ in sight of the little town of Ravensholm, nestling under the Norman church, the square tower of which, surmounted by a recently-added spire, was a landmark for miles around. "Stand by to let go," ordered Mr. Clifton as a grey, seven-arched bridge appeared in sight. "There's only one spot where we can anchor here without taking ground at low water--and we don't want to do that." For the next twenty minutes Craddock and Carline were far too busy to take stock of their surroundings, but when sails were stowed, and the _Thetis_ moored fore and aft they were able to enjoy a well-earned spell. On the opposite side of the river was a modern glaring red-brick house that seemed aggressively foreign to the mellowed buildings that comprised the rest of the town. But it was not the house that attracted the Sea Scouts' attention--it was the squat, ungainly figure of a man standing on the lawn and staring fixedly at the yacht. He was between fifty and sixty years of age. His face was fat, he appeared to have no neck. Rolls of adipose tissue puffed out his cheeks to such an extent that his eyes were scarcely visible. His complexion was of a dull, pasty-white hue, while his clothes hung on him like sacks. "Why's that fellow staring so?" asked Peter. "Looking at the yacht, I suppose," replied Carline. "He's not: he's looking at us," declared Craddock. "Wonder if he knows Mr. Clifton?" "Who's that? Another friend of mine?" exclaimed the skipper emerging from his cabin. "No, thanks," he continued after a brief inspection. "Never seen him before. All right, lads, let him look. We'll go below and have tea." The crew of the _Thetis_ were about half way through the meal when Peter put down his cup and sniffed. "Something burning," he announced. "By Jove! There is," agreed Mr. Clifton, getting up and disappearing into the fo'c'sle. "No," he said, as he re-entered the cabin. "There's nothing smouldering there. I thought that perhaps the stove was still alight. See if everything's all right on deck, Carline." Carline, who was sitting nearest the companion, went up the steps. "It's a big bonfire, sir," he reported. "They're burning rubbish across the river." The skipper went on deck. From the garden of the glaring red-bricked house dense clouds of vile-smelling smoke were drifting in the direction of the _Thetis_, enveloping the yacht in a pall of acrid vapour.