Mr. Armitage climbed the iron ladder out of the cockpit and glanced shorewards. Hurst Castle and the Hampshire shore were now a couple of miles astern. Broad on the port beam lay Totland Bay and the cliffs of the western end of the Isle of Wight. Ahead, and slightly on the port bow, were the Needles.
"No," he replied after a brief survey. "Unless I'm much mistaken we won't have to retrace our course. Do you see that craft coming out of Alum Bay, Peter? I rather fancy she belongs to the Totland Sea Scouts."
The Patrol Leader focused his binoculars upon the little craft—an ex-service whaler with a dipping foresail and gaff mainsail. "Yes, sir," he agreed. "There's Mr. Mostyn, their Scoutmaster, in the stern-sheets."
"That's good enough, then," continued Mr. Armitage. "Run alongside and get them to take Bruin ashore. If they've no particular object in view, they will, I feel sure, land him on Milford beach for us."
The Olivette's course was altered in order to intercept the whaler. When within a couple of hundred yards of the Totland Sea Scouts, Hepburn, holding a pair of hand-flags, stood erect upon the coach-roof.
It was not long before the Totland lads acknowledged the preparatory sign, and Alan proceeded to spell out a message, asking them if they would do a real good turn.
The whaler's canvas was lowered and the boat lost way, waiting for the Olivette to range up alongside.
Briefly Mr. Armitage explained the nature of his request.
"Certainly," replied Mr. Mostyn. "We're just out for a practice spin, and we may as well run across to Milford as anywhere. Your dog will find his way home from there, I hope? So you're off across Channel? My word, Armitage, your lads are lucky fellows."
Bruin was obviously most reluctant to part company with the Olivette. Peter had to speak sternly to his pet, and even then the animal refused to enter the whaler.