“Why!” he exclaimed. “There’s something dragging astern. I can’t make out what it is, ’cause the wake is bubbling so much. Pass me the boat-hook, Talbot.” Lying at full length on the stern deck, Peter probed with the iron-shod boat-hook. Metal rasped on metal, and on attempting to withdraw the boat-hook the Sea Scout found that it was hitched in a line of some sort. “Bear a hand, some of you fellows!” he called out breathlessly. Talbot and Symington came to his assistance. All three hauled and levered at the stout ash boat-hook stave. “Can’t get in another inch,” declared Talbot. “Sure you’re not foul of the rudder?” asked Mr. Grant. “No, sir, it’s astern of the rudder, whatever it is.” “Now, Brandon, you’re in charge,” said the Scoutmaster. “Carry on and see what you can do.” The Patrol Leader began throwing off his scanty clothing. “Down helm!” he ordered. “Jib and staysail sheets a-weather!” It took three attempts to get the _Kestrel_ to come up into the wind so that she might be hove-to. As sluggish as a mule, she absolutely refused to go about until Carline and Wilson got her round by means of a sweep. Then Craddock prodded with the boat-hook, and this time found nothing more resisting than water. “Whatever it is it has slipped off,” he announced. “I’ll make sure, in any case,” declared Brandon. The Patrol Leader made a clean dive, broke surface, and swam to the yacht’s stern. Then, taking a deep breath, he grasped the edge of the rudder and lowered himself towards the _Kestrel’s_ heel. He was under for nearly half a minute; then he reappeared, puffing and blowing like a grampus. “There’s a large iron bucket hanging from the lower pintle,” he reported. “I tried to shake it clear, but it’s made fast by about a couple of yards of wire rope.” “See if you can work the free end of the wire past the stern-post,” suggested Craddock. “I’ll put the helm hard over and see if that frees it.” “There is no free end,” was the astonishing reply. “Both ends are tightly knotted round the handle of the bucket.” All hands realised that the obstruction had not been placed there by accident or natural causes. Human agency had been deliberately at work. “No use arguing about it, lads!” called out Brandon. “Pass me the hack-saw.” “One minute, I’ll be with you, Frank,” said Craddock, proceeding to strip. “It’s not much use sawing at a slack wire. Get a line, Talbot. That’s right. Now, Frank, can you pass this under the handle of the bucket? You can? Good. Now, you fellows, take a strain; put plenty of beef into it and keep the rope taut.” Craddock then went overboard and swam to give his chum a hand. They found that the strain on the rope had brought the bucket within five or six inches of the surface, and that the wire was as taut as a bar of iron. “Wouldn’t it be easier and quicker to saw through the handle?” asked Craddock. “Yes, but we won’t,” decided the Patrol Leader. “Why spoil what seems to be a jolly decent bucket?”