"I've done nothin' wrong, have I, sir?" he exclaimed. "It ain't you who's given me in charge, is it, sir?"
The Scoutmaster did not know what to reply. It seemed a despicable act on his part to have kept the boy "in the dark" until his captors were upon him. He could only shake his head in a deprecatory way.
Gregory went quietly. With quite unnecessary vehemence the two policemen bundled him off the Olivette and across the deck of the smack. Murmurs of pity rose from the throng of interested spectators, while execrations of no mild form were hurled at the crew of the Olivette and the two Scoutmasters in particular, for their part in surrendering their charge. Clearly the sympathies of the Sutton Pool habitués were strongly in favour of the prisoner.
Suddenly the lad stopped and raised his head.
"Uncle! Uncle Garge!" he shouted.
A short, burly man on the fringe of the crowd, on hearing himself addressed, elbowed his way through the press and planted himself rigidly in front of the leading policeman.
"What you'm doin' wi' my nephew?" he demanded.
"Tell them my name's Gregory, Uncle," exclaimed the youth, before the policemen could say a word.
"'Corse it tes," rejoined the fisherman. "Same as mine, an' nothin' for to be ashamed on. What are ye got 'im for, perliceman?"
"Broke out of the Borstal Institution at Portland, day before yesterday," replied the constable laconically.