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“Stuck a wot in the hold?” gasped the skipper.

“Infernal machine,” said the mate; “one of them things wot you blow up the ‘Ouses of Parliament with.”

“Wot’s the time now?” interrogated Jem anxiously.

“‘Bout ha’-past ten,” said the cook trembling. “Let’s give ’em a hail ashore.”

They leaned over the side, and sent a mighty shout across the water. Most of Lowport had gone to bed, but the windows in the inn were bright, and lights showed in the upper windows of two or three of the cottages.

Again they shouted in deafening chorus, casting fearful looks behind them, and in the silence a faint answering hail came from the shore. They shouted again like madmen, until listening intently they heard a boat’s keel grate on the beach, and then the welcome click of oars in the rowlocks.

“Make haste,” bawled Dobbs vociferously, as the boat came creeping out of the darkness. “W’y don’t you make ‘aste?”

“Wot’s the row?” cried a voice from the boat.

“Gunpowder!” yelled the cook frantically; “there’s ten tons of it aboard just going to explode. Hurry up.”

The sound of the oars ceased and a startled murmur was heard from the boat; then an oar was pulled jerkily.

“They’re putting back,” said Jem suddenly. “I’m going to swim for it. Stand by to pick me up, mates,” he shouted, and lowering himself with a splash into the water struck out strongly towards them.

Dobbs, a poor swimmer, after a moment’s hesitation, followed his example.

“I can’t swim a stroke,” cried the cook, his teeth chattering.

The others, who were in the same predicament, leaned over the side, listening. The swimmers were invisible in the darkness, but their progress was easily followed by the noise they made. Jem was the first to be hauled on board, and a minute or two later the listeners on the schooner heard him assisting Dobbs. Then the sounds of strife, of thumps, and wicked words broke on their delighted ears.

“They’re coming back for us,” said the mate, taking a deep breath. “Well done, Jem.”

The boat came towards them, impelled by powerful strokes, and was soon alongside. The three men tumbled in hurriedly, their fall being modified by the original crew, who were lying crouched up in the bottom of the boat. Jem and Dobbs gave way with hearty goodwill, and the doomed ship receded into the darkness. A little knot of people had gathered on the shore, and, receiving the tidings, became anxious for the safety of their town. It was felt that the windows, at least, were in imminent peril, and messengers were hastily sent round to have them opened.

Still the deserted Susan Jane made no sign. Twelve o’clock struck from the little church at the back of the town, and she was still intact.

“Something’s gone wrong,” said an old fisherman with a bad way of putting things. “Now’s the time for somebody to go and tow her out to sea.”

There was no response.

“To save Lowport,” said the speaker feelingly.. “If I was only twenty years younger–“

“It’s old men’s work,” said a voice.

The skipper, straining his eyes through the gloom in the direction of his craft, said nothing. He began to think that she had escaped after all.

Two o’clock struck, and the crowd began to disperse..Some of the bolder inhabitants who were fidgety about draughts closed their windows, and children who had been routed out of their beds to take a nocturnal walk inland were led slowly back. By three o’clock the danger was felt to be over, and day broke and revealed the forlorn Susan Jane still riding at anchor.

“I’m going aboard,” said the skipper suddenly; “who’s coming with me?”

Jem and the mate and the town policeman volunteered, and, borrowing the boat which had served them before, pulled swiftly out to their vessel, and, taking the hatches off with unusual gentleness, commenced their search. It was nervous work at first, but they became inured to it, and, moreover, a certain suspicion, slight at first, but increasing in intensity as the search proceeded, gave them some sense of security. Later still they began to eye each other shamefacedly.

“I don’t believe there’s anything there,” said the policeman, sitting down and laughing boisterously; “that boy’s been making a fool of you.”

“That’s about the size of it,” groaned the mate. “We’ll be the laughing-stock o’ the town.”

The skipper, who was standing with his back towards him, said nothing; but, peering about, stooped suddenly, and, with a sharp exclamation, picked up something from behind a damaged case.

“I’ve got it,” he yelled suddenly; “stand clear!”

He scrambled hastily on deck, and, holding his find at arm’s length, with his head averted, flung it far into the water. A loud cheer from a couple of boats which were watching greeted his action, and a distant response came from the shore.

“Was that a infernal machine?” whispered the bewildered Jem to the mate. “Why, it looked to me just like one o’ them tins o’ corned beef.”

The mate shook his head at him and glanced at the constable, who was gazing longingly over the side. “Well, I’ve ‘eard of people being killed by them sometimes,” he said with a grin.