Even as he spoke, the front door of the cottage opened and Blueskin appeared. He was fully dressed, even to his cap and leather thigh-boots, while across one shoulder he carried a painted canvas sack. Both eyes were badly discoloured, and the scowling look he gave to the Sea Scouts added still further to the repulsiveness of his features. Once he paused as if he were about to utter a jibe, but thinking better of it, he trudged stolidly up the lane leading to the high road between Truro and Falmouth. “We’ve been on the wrong tack this time, lads,” declared the Scoutmaster. “He’s been in his cottage all the time. Of course, he may have a confederate in this business: that we’ll have to find out or get the police to see to. Meanwhile, breakfast, and then all hands turn in. It’s spoilt our working day, I’m afraid.” CHAPTER IV Investigations The Scoutmaster was perfectly correct in his surmise. Progress as far as the work on the _Kestrel_ was concerned was virtually at a standstill for that day. There were limits to the Sea Scouts’ powers of endurance. The loss of a night’s rest following upon an exciting day was not to be made up by a few hours’ sleep during the forenoon. There was little rest for Mr. Grant. After breakfast his first visit was to the police station to report the case of attempted arson. The inspector listened with ill-concealed incredulity until somewhat reluctantly the Scoutmaster mentioned the name of Carlo Bone. “I wish to goodness you were certain that was the fellow!” exclaimed the inspector. “We’ve been wanting to lay him by the heels for months past, but we can never fix him. He’s as slippery as an eel. You say he assaulted one of your lads and got knocked down in the process. Knowing the man, I’ve no doubt but what he will try to score off you.” “Possibly,” agreed Mr. Grant. “We felt so sure that he was the fellow that we kept watch on his cottage all night. He didn’t go into the place. There were indisputable signs to show that neither of the doors had been open for some hours. At daybreak, or just after, he emerged from the cottage and went off.” “H’m!” ejaculated the inspector. “On the face of it, Carlo Bone could easily establish an alibi. I know the cottage. The windows are as heavily barred as a prison. Yet, knowing Bone as I do, it wouldn’t surprise me to—— By the by, have you missed any gear? No? Well, that’s rather unfortunate in a way. Had you done so, we would examine the cottage inside and out on the strength of a search warrant.” “Do you think he has had an accomplice?” asked the Scoutmaster. The inspector shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “At least, not at Polkebo and district. He’s not popular with his neighbours, and they’d welcome the news that he’s doing a stretch. You are quite sure that it was petrol that was squirted over your yacht? Did you test the stuff?”