“What are we going to do?” inquired Harry Brackett, once more. “Wait till we run her down alongshore between here and the crew’s camp,” replied Mr. Carleton. “Then you’ll see.” It was a quarter to eleven, by Mr. Carleton’s watch, when he at length arose and motioned for the boy to follow him. “Any skiffs along the beach?” he asked. “There are, ’most always,” replied Harry Brackett. “The cottagers have them.” They found what they wanted, shortly, a little flat-bottomed affair, that just sufficed to float the two. They got in and rowed out to the yacht. Stepping aboard, Mr. Carleton dragged the light skiff also aboard after him. Then he paused abruptly, as though a thought had occurred to him. He shot one quick glance at Harry Brackett, and another off through the darkness. “We need another small boat,” he said. “When we get down alongshore we’ll use them both.” “There’s a rowboat moored off that cottage just below,” said Harry Brackett. “Get it,” said Mr. Carleton, “when we sail up to it.” Harry Brackett expressed surprise. “Oh, we’ve got to put them back where we get them from, when we are through,” laughed Mr. Carleton. “Let’s untie the stops in this mainsail now. We’ll run it up only a little way, enough to drift down out of sight of any one from shore here. I want to light a cabin lamp, and I shouldn’t dare to do it here, though I guess every one’s gone to bed.” There was certainly no sign of life in and about the town. There was not a fisherman in the harbour. Not even a light gleamed from a cottage window. Southport had gone to bed. It was a gloomy sort of night, too, with the black clouds wheeling along overhead, and only the uncertain glimmering of the stars in the shifting patches of blue to relieve the dreariness. Harry Brackett wondered what time he would get back home. “It’s getting late,” he suggested. “Well, it won’t take us long,” replied Mr. Carleton. “There, the sail’s free. Get forward and cast that mooring off, while I start the sail up a bit.” Harry Brackett quickly gave the word that the _Viking_ had dropped its mooring. Mr. Carleton gave another vigorous haul on the halyards, made them fast, and sprang to the wheel. They ran down to where the rowboat lay, and picked that up. But then, Mr. Carleton, strangely enough, ran the sail up more than “a little way.” In fact, as it bagged out with a sharp flaw of the night-wind, the _Viking_ shot ahead quickly and was almost instantly under full headway, gliding rapidly out from the shore. “We’ve got to get that sail up still more,” exclaimed Mr. Carleton. “We don’t need it, but it’s dangerous sailing this way. However, we will get there all the quicker. You pull on those halyards when I head up into the wind.” Harry Brackett, knowing little of what he was doing, complied. “Now break into that cabin,” commanded Mr. Carleton. “There’s a hatchet under that seat. It’s all right. It’s a cheap lock. We’ve got to get in there.”