“This is the reason,” announced Mr. Grant, producing the cut link from his pocket. “Someone has been monkeying about with the chain. It has been deliberately cut through with a hack-saw. When and by whom remains a question.” “Blueskin?” enquired Symington and Talbot simultaneously. “Perhaps, but unlikely,” replied the Scoutmaster. “I’m basing my idea upon the assumption that Carlo Bone has had a sea training. Some miscreant, probably the fellow who squirted petrol over the _Kestrel_, has an imaginary grievance against us. He’s been trying to destroy the yacht by the most underhanded methods imaginable. Failing to set her on fire, he cut through this link, knowing that it would still bear any ordinary strain, but not a heavy one. He was counting upon the cable parting while we were riding at anchor in some harbour during a stiff gale. Now, a seaman wouldn’t cut a link in that fashion—with the cut away from the yacht’s bows. He would saw through the other end of the link so that when it did part it would go with the outboard portion of the cable, and thus cover up all trace of his underhand work.” “But it might have been Blueskin,” remarked Wilson. “Yes, it might,” agreed Mr. Grant, “but having misjudged him once I don’t feel justified in laying the blame upon him. Not that we are likely to discover the culprit. Now I think we might see about a somewhat belated breakfast.” While Talbot and Wilson, “the cooks of the day,” went below to prepare the meal, the others set about various tasks on deck. Craddock continued to heave the lead at about five minutes’ intervals, the soundings remaining fairly regular. Carline took over the manipulation of the fog-horn, standing by the now useless tiller in case a puff of wind should bear down through the barrier of fog. Brandon and Heavitree assisted the Scoutmaster to bend the cable to the kedge. Fortunately there still remained between fifteen and twenty fathoms of the former, but in the absence of a long link there was no means of shackling it direct to the kedge—a small anchor of about twenty-five pounds in weight. Consequently the chain had to be made fast to the ring in the kedge by a “fisherman’s bend,” the end being stopped with wire to guard against any possibility of the knot slipping. “Brekker nearly ready?” enquired Brandon, calling through the open skylight. “It is,” replied Talbot, “but you won’t get any till you’ve cleared up below.” “By Jove!” exclaimed the Patrol Leader, “I’d forgotten that! Come on, lads; let’s square up and make all ship-shape below.” The saloon was in a bit of an untidy state. The Sea Scouts on their hurried exit for the deck had tumbled out of bunks and hammocks, leaving the former littered with blankets and the latter swaying to and fro from the deck-beams. The bedding was passed out, shaken, and folded; the hammocks unshipped and stowed in their accustomed places when not in use. Quickly the disordered saloon assumed a semblance of tidiness.