CHAPTER I
THE DEPUTY SCOUTMASTER
"Any luck?"
Sea Scout Peter Craddock had heard that question many times before. It seemed to be a stock phrase with the numerous trippers at Aberstour whenever they attempted to open a conversation with any of the amateur fishermen on the pier-head.
Peter finished the task on which he was engaged—placing a plump and slippery ragworm upon a sharp, brand-new hook—before replying.
Turning his head, he saw that his questioner was a young, rather prepossessing man, somewhere in the vicinity of twenty-five years of age.
In one hand he held a folding kodak, in the other a towel and bathing costume.
"Not yet," replied the Sea Scout. "I'm a bit too early. Tide's still ebbing, though it's close on low water."
"Rummy little beasts," commented the stranger, as he looked at the wriggling worms "I shouldn't care to handle them."
"You'd soon get used to that," declared Peter, "'specially if they were put in sand—takes the slimy sensation off, you know."