“What’s that—petrol fumes?” demanded Mr. Grant from the partitioned-off cabin. “Yes, sir,” replied Craddock. “Can you come on deck? I’ve a torch handy.” By this time the other Sea Scouts with one exception were “beginning to sit up and take notice.” During the process, Talbot, who was sleeping in a hammock, bumped his head against a deck beam. His swaying resting-place swayed still more, slinging him out and depositing him on one of the bunks where Wilson was sleeping soundly. Mutual protests arose only to be checked by the Patrol Leader, who bade the pair, “Stow that row and get your things on.” Meanwhile Mr. Grant had hurriedly dressed. Making sure that every lad realised the supreme importance of refraining from striking a match, he told Brandon, Craddock, Heavitree, and Carline to follow him while the others dispersed the dangerous fumes from the interior of the saloon. “Which way did the fellow go, Peter?” asked Mr. Grant. Craddock told him. “Away from his cottage, then,” continued the Scoutmaster. “Good! We’ll picket the place. A scoundrel like that deserves all he gets; but it’s just possible that he didn’t realise what might have happened. His idea might have been to set the yacht on fire and give us a scare. He may not know the properties of air and petrol as an explosive mixture. Although he only squirted the petrol on the tarpaulin on the cabin-top, the fumes, being heavier than the atmosphere, settled inside the boat.” Accompanied by the four Sea Scouts, Mr. Grant made his way to Carlo Bone’s cottage, a ramshackle stone structure of two storeys situated about a hundred yards from the furthermost row of houses that formed the hamlet of Polkebo. At the back was a neglected garden of about a quarter of an acre in extent and enclosed by a low wall of ashlar masonry. There were two doors to the cottage, one opening directly upon the street, and gained by a flight of eight stone steps; the other led into the garden and was also reached by steps. The windows were small, heavily barred, and so high from the ground that it was impossible for anyone to see in without the aid of a ladder. “It wants an hour and a half to sunrise,” remarked Mr. Grant, after he had consulted the luminous dial of his wristlet watch. “Possibly Mr. Bone will return before then. I doubt whether he has had time to do so already. In any case, we’ll investigate.” Posting Brandon and Heavitree at the front of the cottage, Mr. Grant followed by Craddock and Carline, scaled the low wall and crept up to the back door. The Scoutmaster flashed his torch upon the latch. A spider had built a web across the door. The air was warm and saturated with dew, and glistening particles of moisture hung from the undisturbed web. In fact, webs abounded. Almost every tree and shrub was festooned with them.