Telling Desmond to come down, the Scoutmaster went aloft. Desmond was right. Through the powerful binoculars, the white lighthouse buildings on Start Point and the signal station at Prawle Point were unmistakably clear.
"That settles it," decided Mr. Graham. "We'll make for Dartmouth."
"Dartmouth, sir!" exclaimed Desmond. "I thought we were going to pick up Bedford and Coles at Plymouth?"
"Out of the question," rejoined the Scoutmaster. "We can't beat to wind'ard all that way and retrace our course. We'll wire them to join us at Dartmouth."
About twenty minutes later a topsail schooner, close hauled on the port tack, showed evident intention of crossing the Spindrift's bows. By the "Rule of the Road at Sea" the latter, running free on the same tack, had to make way for her.
As the ketch passed astern of the schooner, whose name, painted in vivid yellow letters, was the Gloria, of Fowey, a short, thick-set man, wearing a reefer suit and a bowler-hat, hailed the Spindrift.
"Ahoy!" he bawled. "Can you heave-to, an' take a lad ashore?"
"What's the game, I wonder," remarked Mr. Graham to his companions. "Another sort of Gregory stunt?"
Apparently the skipper of the Gloria considered his request acceded to, for he ran the schooner up into the wind and backed his top-sail. The Spindrift also put her helm down, and hove-to about fifty yards from the schooner's starboard quarter.
"Anything wrong?" queried the Scoutmaster.