"what is the game, sir?" asked desmond, after the efforts of the trio to burst open the fore-hatch had to be abandoned as hopeless.
"can't say, i'm sure," replied mr. graham breathlessly. "let's hope it's a practical joke, but i'm afraid it isn't."
"do you think it's greening or greener, or whatever his name is?" asked findlay. "or perhaps it's another borstal boy escaping from portland."
"that thought occurred to me," admitted the scoutmaster, "but there's one flaw in the argument. the skipper of the gloria vouched for him. it might be a case of sudden mental disorder. 'ssh! he's speaking—listen."
in silence they listened to the almost one-sided conversation between the red-haired youth and hayes. they heard the outboard motor starting up, and the ominous silence when the painter fouled the propeller. then followed the cold-blooded threat to run the spindrift ashore.
"it's time we took drastic measures, lads," said mr. graham calmly. "fortunately, hayes isn't on board the yacht. that's what was tying my hands, as it were."
the scoutmaster took down his portmanteau from one of the racks, opened it, and fumbled amongst an assortment of articles. producing a small leather holster, he laid it on the cabin table and withdrew from it a short-barrelled automatic taking service ammunition. "it's rather an un-scouting article," remarked mr. graham, as he proceeded to fill the magazine. "i had doubts about bringing it, but i think the circumstances warrant it."
"are you going to shoot him, sir?" asked findlay, rather awe-struck.
"not if i can help it," was the decided assurance. "we'll have to rush the fellow. remember, he has a knife."
desmond armed himself with a knotted towel in which was wrapped up a large iron shackle. findlay laid hold of a rolling-pin from the galley. it was the first time that it had been used for any purpose since the sea scouts took over the yacht, and in jock's hand it looked a formidable weapon.
the spindrift was now heeling to starboard—an indication that the young rascal on deck had put the helm up and was getting way on the yacht.
"stand by!" whispered mr. graham.
raising the automatic he placed the muzzle against the cabin door and pressed the trigger. a deafening report shook the confined space. the air reeked of burnt cordite.
another shot followed in quick succession, then, hastily setting the safety-catch of the pistol, the scoutmaster thrust his shoulder against the door.
already the two bullets had done their work. the hasp had been torn from the teak door, and it required very little effort to clear a way.
into the cockpit rushed the scoutmaster, the two scouts hard on his heels.
alarmed by the shots, the miscreant had run for'ard, evidently under the totally wrong impression that they were meant for him. then, grasping the lever of the winch, he stood on the defensive, looking more like an infuriated beast than a human being.
"drop that and give in at once!" said mr. graham sternly, pointing the muzzle of the automatic at the fellow's stomach. the safety-catch was still set, as the scoutmaster knew, but he was also aware that a man, who will face the muzzle of a pistol without outward signs of fear, will begin to quiver and quake when the weapon is pointed at the buckle of his belt.
the boy dropped the lever and began to raise both hands. desmond and findlay ran for'ard to secure him, but with a yelp of rage the hardened youngster leapt overboard.
he reappeared half a dozen yards astern, waving his hands and yelling until he dipped for the second time. to all on board it was evident that he was unable to swim. the spindrift, although running up into the wind, was still carrying a lot of way. hayes in the dinghy was a cable's length astern, rowing strongly, but making slow progress owing to the drag of the outboard motor's propeller.
the scoutmaster picked up a life-buoy and threw it to the drowning youth. so careful was he to avoid hitting the lad with the buoy, that it fell short.
simultaneously, there were two splashes. without waiting even to kick off their shoes, desmond and findlay had both "taken to the ditch" and were swimming strongly to the aid of the lad in distress.
it was an unwise and unnecessary step for both to dive overboard. one would have been sufficient to make for the buoy and push it within reach of the drowning youth. it also left mr. graham to manage the yacht single-handed, and, although he was quite capable of so doing, it was a tough proposition to go about, huff, and pick three persons out of the water.
putting the helm up, the scoutmaster soon had the yacht under control. already she had "eaten her way" well to wind'ard of the lad in distress. to go about would mean placing a still greater distance between them. so mr. graham still kept the helm hard up, at the same time checking the main-sheet until the spindrift gybed. then running to lee'ard he close hauled and lulled up.
by this time, desmond had reached the life-buoy. findlay, a quicker and more powerful swimmer, made no effort to get hold of the life-buoy. he saw that the object of his efforts was pretty far gone. incautiously, jock made a grab at him, and the next instant the sea scout was seized round the neck by the brawny arms of the frenzied youth.
both went under at once. findlay, although he had not time to take a deep breath, fortunately retained his presence of mind, and, keeping his arms down and using his feet vigorously, brought himself and the drowning youth to the surface.
but only for a brief instant. the other fellow, gripping like a bear, strove to raise himself out of the water, with the result that jock went under again. desmond, marking time with the buoy, hesitated to approach lest he should be entangled in the meshes of this human net. deciding that something must be done—and that quickly—to avoid a double fatality, the patrol leader swam behind the struggling youth, raised the life-buoy, and brought it down heavily upon the latter's head.
desmond went under in the process, but when he broke surface, the desired result had been obtained. jock was treading water, holding up the now unconscious lad.
image: imagename1
[illustration: "drop that, and give in at once!" page 206]
"thanks!" he exclaimed breathlessly, as desmond pushed the life-buoy to within reach. he could say no more, as he was spluttering and coughing up copious quantities of salt water.
"stand by!" shouted mr. graham.
the two sea scouts looked round. the spindrift was luffing up.
ably managed, she lost way within an oar's length of the trio in the "ditch". seizing a rope thrown to him, desmond made a bowline round the unconscious youth. then, telling jock to clamber on board—it was about as much as he could do, and then only by means of the bobstay—the patrol leader remained in the water until the rescued lad could be hauled into safety.
it was a tough task. mr. graham had to hook on the runners before the heavy burden could be hoisted on deck. then desmond came aboard, after having placed the life-buoy on deck.
"you two go below and change," said the scoutmaster. "i'll see to this young gentleman. and hayes is almost alongside. he'll give a hand."
desmond and findlay were not long in shifting into dry kit. when they came on deck they found the spindrift hove-to and the rest of the crew engaged in first aid work.
"take the helm, jock," said the scoutmaster. "i'll give you the course until we arrive off the entrance to the harbour. the sooner the better."
"did i hit him too hard, sir?" asked desmond anxiously. "i simply had to do it."
"that's nothing," replied the scoutmaster reassuringly. "a tap on the head wouldn't hurt his thick skull. it's the quantity of the english channel down his throat that's causing the trouble."
the mysterious youth did not recover consciousness until the spindrift entered dartmouth harbour, and tied up alongside the quay abreast of the boat-pond.
hayes was dispatched to find a policeman. he hadn't far to go, and the guardian of the law came on board, a crowd of curious sightseers lining the quay-side.
the policeman produced his notebook.
"name, please, sir," he began, "and the name of the yacht."
"don't you think you'd better get an ambulance, or a doctor?" suggested mr. graham, when he had given the information that had little to do with the case.
"what's the name an' address of this person?" continued the unruffled constable.
"that i can't tell you," replied the scoutmaster.
"why not?"
"because i don't know it myself. get the boy taken ashore and given medical assistance. then, and only then, i'll give you all the information i know. it will be interesting, constable, very."
the policeman went away, returning in ten minutes with a couple of ambulance men. the patient was taken ashore and carried off "to an unknown destination", as far as the crew of the spindrift were concerned. mr. graham yawned. the rest of the crew yawned too.
"dog tired, the lot of us," remarked the scoutmaster. "fortunately we're in a snug berth, although rather open to the public eye. now, lads, supper and early to bed. we'll sleep the clock round!"
the meal was just fairly under way when the yacht rocked under the weight of a heavy foot on deck. it was the policeman thirsting to give and receive information.
"lively young limb you've brought in here, sir," he began, producing his inevitable notebook. "we've got him all right this time. broke out of portland a week or ten days ago."
"really?" remarked mr. graham. "i'm not surprised. but are you really sure? on our way down channel last week—not in this boat—we rescued a lad who was arrested at plymouth as the borstal boy at large."
"answerin' to the name o' gregory, sir?"
"yes," replied the scoutmaster. "do you know him?"
"a lad from abbotsbury. his people are puttin' in a claim for compensation for illegal arrest. but we ain't made a mistake this time. here you are, sir; look at this photo."
there certainly was a striking resemblance to the young ruffian. now he was properly laid by the heels.
"how came you to find him, sir?" asked the policeman.
mr. graham had already made up his mind how much to tell and what to keep back. he merely said that he had been put on board from the schooner gloria from fowey, and that some time later he had fallen overboard and had been gallantly rescued by desmond and findlay. the story of the rascal's escapade he kept dark. the crew of the spindrift would be no better for the telling of it, and they did not want to waste time by having to give evidence in case other proceedings were instituted. the young rogue would be punished severely for his spell of liberty; he had had a very narrow escape from drowning; and these two cases could be written down as a "set off" to the attempt to seize the yacht. as it turned out, the affair was not serious. beyond the shattered cabin-doors there was no harm done.
at length the policeman departed and the crew sat down to finish their interrupted supper. this they did. by common consent the ritual of washing up after the meal was placed in abeyance. they were just longing to turn in.
but the fates were against them.
"yot ahoy!" bawled a voice from the quayside. "you can't a-stop here. 'arbour master's orders. you're to shift your berth across t'other side abreast yon coal-hulk."
there was no refusal. the mandate had to be obeyed. the weary crew turned out, started up the ready engine, and motored across to the kingswear side. here they anchored, and hurrying below were soon deep in dreamless slumber.
