Intensified by the confined space the terrific roar awakened Desmond only too effectually. He sat up, caught his head on one of the deck-beams, and subsided with his hands held to his aching forehead.
"Sorry, I am really!" exclaimed the genuinely repentant Wilde, who had never anticipated such a sequel. "I only meant to turn you out. What are you doing here?"
Desmond made no reply. He was a little dazed, deafened, and completely mystified at being rudely awakened to unfamiliar surroundings. He slid out of the cot and sat upon one of the lockers, blinking at the disturber of his slumbers.
"What are you doing here?" repeated Wilde.
"This is the Sea Scouts' yacht Spindrift," declared Desmond. "I——"
"First I heard of it," interrupted the other with a laugh. "This is the Spanker of Dartmouth, for Penarth; and at Penarth you'll be set ashore, unless we drop across some Bude fishing-boats. That isn't likely, as they are generally away down west'ard."
"Then I've made a mistake," said the Patrol Leader.
"First time I've known a Scout to admit that," rejoined Wilde drily. "However, come aft and tell your yarn to my chum."
It was soon apparent to the partners that Desmond had made a genuine blunder. His open narrative carried conviction, and the annoyance that the two men had shown when the stowaway had been discovered quickly evaporated.
"With luck, you'll be with your pals by noon to-morrow," observed Truscott. "We'll send you back by train from Penarth, unless there's a joy-boat running from Cardiff to Ilfracombe. Hello, Wilde old man: wind's heading us."