Here the cat had taken up its position, and, with arched back and bristling fur, defied all attempts at pacification, spitting and growling in its fright. Neither my father nor my uncle had the inclination to tackle the brute, so the owner, using extraordinary and ridiculous terms of endearment, placed a short ladder, against the beam, and ponderously began the ascent. Even its mistress's blandishments were futile, for the cat, backing along the beam, still growled defiance. So Mrs. Penibar, mounting to the fourth rung from the top, leaned sideways along the beam and attempted to seize her pet. Suddenly there was an appalling crash, a shriek, and, amid a shower of dust and plaster, the old lady fell heavily to the ground, and by the feeble glimmer of our lantern we saw that the massive beam had broken as cleanly as if shorn by an axe. Fortunately there were no bones broken, and, by dint of our united efforts, we managed to extricate the frightened old lady and carry her to her house. Next morning I arose early and went to examine the debris of the summer-house. Only the walls remained; the beam, deceptive in its apparent solidity, had been hollowed out, and, by natural decay, had gradually become rotten, till the unusual weight of Mrs. Penibar's portly frame had caused it to break, bringing down the roof with it. All at once my quick eye detected some peculiar object that was half hidden in the heap of rubbish, and, drawing it out, I discovered that it was an old book, bound in rough leather, that was covered in mildew. Without waiting to examine its contents I hastened back to the house, meeting my father and Uncle Herbert on the threshold as they were about to leave for their usual morning swim--a practice they followed winter and summer alike. "My word, Reggie! what have you got there?" inquired my father, taking the book out of my hands. For a few moments he looked at its contents in silence, turning over a few musty pages; then, so suddenly that it quite astonished me, he slapped my uncle vigorously on the back, exclaiming, "My word, Herbert, it is the long-lost log of the 'Anne'!" That day, I remember, the morning swim did not take place, and I was allowed to remain away from the Grammar School at Fowey, and the whole morning was spent in deciphering Humphrey Trevena's faded handwriting, and by night we were in possession of the salient facts concerning the "San Philipo" treasure, though the cipher, giving the latitude and longitude of the island, was alone wanting to complete the information necessary for the recovery.