This work had been quickly finished, and Pencroff, Spilett, and Herbert found time for an expedition to Port Balloon. The sailor was anxious to know whether the little inlet up which the Good Luck was moored had been visited by the convicts. “These gentry got to land on the southern shore,” he observed, “and if they followed the line of the coast they may have discovered the little harbor, in which case I wouldn’t give half a dollar for our Good Luck.” So off the three went in the afternoon of November 10. They were well armed, and as Pencroff slipped two bullets into each barrel of his gun, he had a look which presaged no good to whoever came too near, “beast or man,” as he said. Neb went with them to the elbow of the Mercy, and lifted the bridge after them. It was agreed that they should give notice of their return by firing a shot, when Neb would come back to put down the bridge. The little band walked straight for the south coast. The distance was only three miles and a half, but they took two hours to walk it. They searched on both sides of the way, both the forest and Tadorn’s Fens; but they found no trace of the fugitives. Arriving at Port Balloon, they saw with great satisfaction that the Good Luck was quietly moored in the narrow inlet, which was so well hidden by the rocks that it could be seen neither from sea nor shore, but only from directly above or below. “After all,” said Pencroff, “the rascals haven’t been here. The vipers like tall grass better, and we shall find them in the Far-West.” “And it’s a fortunate thing,” added Herbert, “for if they had found the Good Luck, they would have made use of her in getting away, and we could never have gone back to Tabor Island.” “Yes,” replied the reporter, “it will be important to put a paper there stating the situation of Lincoln Island, Ayrton’s new residence, in case the Scotch yacht should come after him.” “Well, here is our Good Luck, Mr. Spilett,” said the sailor, “ready to start with her crew at the first signal!” Talking thus, they got on board and walked about the deck. On a sudden the sailor, after examining the bit around which the cable of the anchor was wound, cried, “Hallo! this is a bad business!” “What’s the matter, Pencroff?” asked the reporter. “The matter is that that knot was never tied by me——” And Pencroff pointed to a rope which made the cable fast to the bit, so as to prevent its tripping. “How, never tied by you?” asked Spilett. “No, I can swear to it. I never tie a knot like that.” “You are mistaken, Pencroff.” “No, I’m not mistaken,” insisted the sailor. “That knot of mine is second nature with me.” “Then have the convicts been on board?” asked Herbert. “I don’t know,” said Pencroff, “but somebody has certainly raised and dropped this anchor!”