"I forgot all about him, sir," admitted Findlay. "Where do you think he is?"
"I can't say," replied the Scoutmaster. "He may have missed a train. He had to make one change."
"But he was seen along the canal, sir," said Hayes. "The description was correct: he limped."
"Limping is not an unusual thing, especially in the holiday time," rejoined Mr. Graham. "Galled heels, feet cut by glass while bathing, a hack while skylarking—there are a dozen common causes; so we can't be certain that the Scout was Desmond. I'll go across to the railway station and make inquiries."
"Shall we come too, sir?" asked Findlay.
"Hardly necessary, Jock," was the reply. "You've had quite enough walking for to-day. While I'm away you might overhaul the halliards and see how they lead. Hayes can square things up in the fo'c'sle and see about getting the galley stove under way."
Mr. Graham set off on his quest. He was certainly anxious about Desmond. The lad was a level-headed youth who knew how to take care of himself, and his failure to put in an appearance was therefore more of a serious matter than if he had been an irresponsible lad. And had Desmond not been of a dependable character, the Scoutmaster would not have allowed him to make the railway journey alone.
On inquiry Mr. Graham was informed, by a porter who collected the tickets, that a Sea Scout carrying his kit and having a slight limp had arrived by the twelve o'clock train, and, in order to confirm his statement, he produced the tickets given up by passengers by that train. Amongst them was one single from Launceston to Bude.
Armed with that information, the Scoutmaster made his way to the harbour. It was now nearly low tide, and the natural breakwater of kelp-covered rocks was high and dry. On it was a rough track leading to the bathing pool known as Sir Thomas's Pit. Was it probable that Desmond had gone for a bathe and had met with an accident? Hardly likely, otherwise the news would have spread. There were always numerous bathers on this spot, and, besides, Desmond's clothes were marked with his name. Nor was he likely to have been cut off by the tide, for at noon it was just about to ebb. The suggestion that the lad might have fallen over the cliffs was also a subject for mental debate; but this Mr. Graham rejected. A lad with a wound on his toe was hardly likely to indulge in the pastime of scaling cliffs.
Greatly perturbed the Scoutmaster returned to the Spindrift. It was now nearly six o'clock. Desmond even had he loitered anywhere—a thing he was very unlikely to do—ought to have put in an appearance long before that time.