Craddock swept the horizon. Right astern and on the port quarter the red hills of Devon were merging into the mist of a hot summer’s day. Broad on the port beam, where the chalk cliffs make their first appearance on the south shores of England, land was no longer visible. Neither was it ahead. To starboard, Peter knew, was the broad expanse of the English Channel. For the first time in his life, Craddock was about to find himself out of sight of land. With the exception of Brandon, the other Sea Scouts were to have a similar experience: afloat with an unbroken horizon of sea and sky forming a complete circle of which the little _Kestrel_ formed the exact centre. It was true that they had been out of sight of land during the fog, but that wasn’t the same thing. Had there been no fog they would have seen the rugged Cornish coast the whole time. Now, even in the clearest weather, they would probably be an hour or more out of sight of land until the wedge-shaped promontory of Portland showed up on the port bow. Even as Craddock looked, a strange, muffled voice exclaimed: “Isn’t it quite about time you fellows liberated me from this uncomfortable apartment?” CHAPTER XIII The Stowaway For a few moments, Peter Craddock could hardly believe his sense of hearing. Wilson and Symington were also too astonished for words. They could only abandon their efforts to teach the pup tricks and gaze blankly at Craddock’s face. The first conclusion they arrived at was that Peter was indulging in a little ventriloquism at their expense. Craddock, too, tried to “fix” the owner of the voice. With the exception of Heavitree the others were on deck. Carline was for’ard, lying in luxurious ease and basking in the sunshine on the fore-deck. Brandon was still aloft; Talbot at the helm; Symington and Wilson in the cockpit. “Kindly open the door!” exclaimed the voice again. This time there was a violent rapping on the panel of one of the side lockers in the cockpit. The locker was a fairly spacious one, extending from the after bulkhead of the cabin on the starboard side to the bulkhead supporting the decked-in part of the stern. Usually it contained spare sails, canvas awnings, and warps not likely to be frequently required. It was secured by means of a detachable panel held in place by two projecting battens at one end and a stout wooden button at the other. “Brandon!” sang out Peter. “Coming,” replied the Patrol Leader. “What’s wrong?” Swinging himself down by the throat halliards, Brandon gained the deck and came aft. “Someone’s in there,” declared Craddock. “Then hike him out,” rejoined Brandon in matter-of-fact tones. “This isn’t the First of April, me lad!” “I quite agree,” boomed the voice from the locker.