Full and bye, the _Kestrel_ passed a full hundred yards to lee’ard of the schooner, and then the mystery was in part solved. The vessel had been in collision. Most of her counter had been carried away, the damage extending almost, if not quite, to the water line. She was well down by the stern—possibly not far short of foundering. There was no sign of a boat. Apparently the crew had abandoned her and had either made for the shore or else had been picked up by the craft that had run the schooner down. Owing to the severe damage to the stern, her name and port of registry were not to be seen, but by the yellow letters on her bow the derelict proclaimed herself to be the _Euterpe_. “That name seems familiar,” thought Mr. Grant. “Where have I heard that? I remember. Old Richard Marner told me his son was on her—_Huterp_, he pronounced the name.” “Lee-o!” ordered Brandon. “Head sheets to wind’ard! Gather in your mainsheet roundly!” The _Kestrel_ went about slowly yet unhesitatingly and hove-to on the starboard tack within fifty yards of the _Euterpe’s_ starboard quarter. “I’ll send the dinghy off to her, sir,” said the Patrol Leader. “There might be someone on board.” “Do so,” agreed Mr. Grant. “I’ll take charge of the dinghy. We must be very careful how we go alongside. She won’t last very much longer, I fancy.” The boat was hauled up alongside the _Kestrel_. Into her jumped the Scoutmaster and Craddock and Heavitree. A few strokes brought the dinghy to the abandoned schooner. She was so low aft that it was quite an easy matter to board her by the main chains. The Scoutmaster did so, bidding the two lads hang on, but to be ready to push off should the vessel show a tendency to hasten her departure to Davy Jones’ locker. Almost as soon as he gained the deck, Mr. Grant caught sight of a black cat sitting close to the companion leading to the cabin. “There’s a cat aboard, lads!” he announced, going to the rail and addressing the crew of the dinghy. “I’ll hand it down to you.” “At this rate we’ll have a regular menagerie on the _Kestrel_ before we reach Chichester Harbour,” remarked Peter to his companion. “Hope the animal will make friends with Molly.” The Scoutmaster walked slowly towards the cat, calling “Puss, puss!” in a coaxing tone. The animal, however, showed no enthusiasm at the prospect of being rescued. In fact, it evinced a decided reluctance to do so; and, waiting until Mr. Grant was within a couple of yards or so, it turned and bolted down the ladder. Mr. Grant followed. It was a risky business going below, with the schooner in danger of making a sudden plunge. At the foot of the companion ladder was a small lobby with two doors. The starboard door was shut; the other one ajar. Obviously the cat had taken refuge in the cabin on the port side.