Peter was now at the helm. Old Boldrigg, having handed over the tiller, was sitting on the bottom-boards puffing contentedly at a black clay pipe.
"Look!" suddenly exclaimed Hepburn, pointing astern. "There she is."
All hands looked in the direction indicated.
"Yes," agreed Peter, after a lengthy survey. "It's the Olivette right enough, and under power, too."
The motor-boat was about a mile and a half away, but by the "bone in her teeth", as her bows cut through the choppy waves of the weather-going tide, it was evident that she was moving at full speed.
That rather upset the Sea Scouts' calculations. A man and six strong, healthy boys, backing their arguments with a shot gun, could compel the unlawful crew of the Olivette to surrender if the boat were motionless. It would be an entirely different proposition to hold her up when she was forging ahead at eight knots. The Olivette could run down the Mudlark, or else turn away and leave her hopelessly astern.
Peter knitted his brows. All the scoutcraft and seamanship at his command failed to suggest a satisfactory solution to the problem. As a preliminary he told Roche to signal to her to stop.
Even as he cudgelled his brains as to the next step, he was interrupted by Dick Roche's voice exclaiming:
"She's not the Olivette after all. There's a number painted on her bows."
In a moment or so there was no doubt about it. The on-coming vessel was identical in design, colour, and size with the Olivette, so that the mistake was pardonable. There was a difference: on each bow she bore the legend "R.A.F. No. 5", while her crew were rigged out in the characteristic blue uniform of the Royal Air Force.