Read Ebook: Sea Scouts Abroad: Further Adventures of the Olivette by Westerman Percy F Percy Francis Pears Charles Illustrator

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Ebook has 927 lines and 38255 words, and 19 pages

"We'll have to make one coat do," decided Stratton, "and whack on the final one at the first favourable opportunity. Bruin! Come away from that varnish. It's not treacle, old son."

"When do we launch her?" inquired Woodleigh.

"When the paint's dry," replied the Patrol Leader. "It ought to be set by seven o'clock to-night. We might try launching her on the evening tide. Are you all game?"

A chorus of assent greeted Stratton's suggestion.

"Right-o," continued Peter. "We've done all that is to be done for the present."

"The ballast?" queried Hepburn.

At eight the same evening the Sea Scouts assembled once more. It was now about half-flood and too early for the actual launching operations, but the lads busied themselves by getting the dinghy out of store, greasing the ways, and in a variety of odd but necessary tasks.

Night fell, but the moon, almost approaching its full, gave sufficient light for the Sea Scouts to proceed with their work.

"Tide's high enough now," declared Peter, grasping a sledge-hammer. "Start knocking out those dog-spikes, lads. Stand clear of the ways in case she starts off unexpectedly."

"All clear this end!" announced Roche.

"Same here," added Flemming.

"Right-o," rejoined Peter.

"Perhaps the ways have sunk," suggested Alan.

"Tide's falling," announced Roche, wiping his heated brow. "It's dropped a couple of inches."

"We must get her off," declared Peter. He felt that it was a slur upon his shipwright's knowledge. He had been responsible for the construction of the ways and the hauling out of the boat. The latter task had been performed without a hitch, and now, unaccountably, what ought to have been a relatively easy task had proved a regular teaser.

"I vote we borrow Dr. Mallerby's motor-jack," suggested Flemming. "That would start her on the downward path, I think." The suggestion was adopted, and the Sea Scouts proceeded to the doctor's house, which was situated at the remote end of Keyhaven village.

"How many fellows do we want for the stunt?" demanded Stratton, addressing his six companions. "Some of you ought to be standing by the boat."

"She won't move, worse luck," commented Roche.

A knock at the door was promptly answered by the doctor in person. It was now after eleven o'clock and the maids had gone to bed.

"Hello!" was his greeting when he recognized the Sea Scouts. "What's the game, eh? Are you going to do your good turn for to-morrow now, and get ahead of the clock?"

"We want you to do us a good turn, sir, if you please," said Stratton. "Can you lend us your motor-jack?"

"Certainly," replied Dr. Mallerby. "Where's the breakdown? Here's the key of the garage, Stratton. Take the jack, and, when you return it, lock up and put the key through the letter-box. Good-night!"

"Why," exclaimed Roche, as the lads approached the slipway, "I do believe she has moved."

"Yes," added Rayburn, the Tenderfoot; "she's turned round."

Stolen

"Well, I'm blest! How did that happen? Quick with the dinghy, lads. No, Bruin, you stop there. It's much too late for little dogs to go afloat."

"Not such a bad day's work after all," commented Stratton after they had rowed back to the beach and taken the unnecessary jack back to the garage. "Ten o'clock to-morrow will be early enough. It's no use burning the candle at both ends."

Bidding his companions good-night, Peter whistled to Bruin and walked briskly home. His house lay half a mile inland from Milford-on-Sea, and to reach it he had to cut across a field, rejoining a main road within a few yards of the old church.

Peter had just cleared the stile when he noticed two men approaching. The moon was behind a cloud, but there was sufficient light to enable him to see that they were two strangers, and apparently fisherfolk. They were wearing jerseys, grey trousers, and canvas shoes. Slung over their shoulders were their pilot coats and sea boots, while one man carried a large canvas sack and was grumbling about its weight.

"Good night!" said the Patrol Leader, but the men passed him by in silence.

"Surly blighters," soliloquized Peter. "Wonder what they're doing this time of night. Fishermen from 'up along' most likely, who've had to wait for a fair tide back."

A few minutes later Peter was sleeping the sleep of healthy exhaustion, nor did he wake until eight o'clock next morning, when he was roused by his father announcing that Tom Boldrigg was waiting to speak to him.

Hastily throwing on his clothes, the Patrol Leader went downstairs.

"Good morning, Mr. Boldrigg," he said.

"Good morning, Master Peter," rejoined the ex-coastguardsman, getting to the point at once. "Do you know that craft of yours ain't on her moorings?"

"No!" replied the astonished Peter. "She was there all right last night, and I made sure the bridle of the moorings was firmly secured to the bitts."

"Well, she ain't there now anyway," declared Boldrigg. "I was up and about at seven, and I believe I seed her making up t'east'ard, but my eyes ain't what they used to be, not by a long chalk. I went up to the station to borrow a glass, but all the men are away on manoeuvres. There's not a gobby in the place. So I came to see you, an' I've passed the word on to Master Roche an' Master Flemming, and told them to warn their opposite numbers."

"Then she's been stolen?"

The old man nodded.

"Seems like it, Master Peter. 'Tain't the first time a craft's been pinched. I calls to mind when I were stationed at Pitt's Deep, back in '97. But I'll spin that yarn another time. What are you going to do, Master Peter?"

"I don't know yet," answered the Patrol Leader. He was thinking hard. It seemed to him that the best step was to telephone to the various coastguard stations in Hampshire and the Isle of Wight. Several of the smaller and less important ones were temporarily closed down, but there would almost certainly be men on duty in the large ones.

"I'll run as hard as I can down to Keyhaven," he continued--"if you wouldn't mind my hurrying on, Mr. Boldrigg," he added apologetically.

Peter Stratton took to his heels, Bruin running with him, barking excitedly as if in his doggy mind he realized that something of extreme moment was troubling his young master.

Arriving at Keyhaven, the Patrol Leader found that Roche, Flemming, Woodleigh, and Warkworth were already there.

"Then," added Peter, with fierce determination, "we'll go after her in the dinghy."

"Dinghy's gone too," declared Flemming. "Two men collared her. I followed the track of her keel-band; two men with rubber boots, size tens, with lozenge-pattern-stamped soles."

Just then Alan and Rayburn joined the others, while down the road old Boldrigg could be seen moving at a smart pace.

"Mr. Boldrigg," hailed Peter, "may we borrow your boat?"

"Sure, certain," shouted the old seaman. "Take her. What be you goin' to do?"

"Stand in pursuit," explained the Patrol Leader, when Boldrigg, breathless with his exertions, gained the shore. "They've only enough petrol for an hour's run. If they stop in mid-Solent, the west-going tide will sweep them back, and we'll nab them."

"Then I'll come along with you," declared Boldrigg. "There's an old fowling-piece in the boat, and though it ain't a 12-pounder Q.F., I'll guess 'twill make those blokes think twice if we gets within range. All the gear's aboard, Master Peter. The lot of us'll manage to launch her down the beach."

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