But Hayes's elation was short-lived. He had forgotten the painter trailing in the water. A jerk and the engine stopped dead, with half a dozen turns of rope round the propeller.
Shipping the oars, the Sea Scout paddled within five yards of the yacht.
"You're done for," he exclaimed to the furious youth. "I'm going ashore to summon assistance, if you don't instantly let my chums out of the cabin. The wind's falling light, and the yacht won't get very far before you're caught."
"Don't you crow, you young blighter!" was the reply. "I'm not done yet. See that beach? That's where I'm jolly well goin' to run this 'ere yot ashore and trust to luck. If anythink 'appens to your pals it won't be my fault."
Hayes realized the import of this sinister threat. Even in the light breeze, the Spindrift could sail much faster than he could row the dinghy, impeded as the latter was by the drag of the useless propeller. And on the desolate beach a heavy swell was breaking, sufficient to smash the Spindrift into firewood in a few minutes. And how would Mr. Graham and his two chums fare? They looked like being drowned like rats in a trap. And, now he came to think of it, Hayes stood a poor chance of getting ashore in the dinghy, unless there were help at hand to save the little cockleshell from the breakers.
CHAPTER XXI
The Tables Turned
"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."