"Close a bit."
"Ay, ay, sir."
The yacht's propeller began to churn, and the Puffin glided gently to within a dozen yards of the tramp.
"We're going to get that craft into Aberstour, lads," declared the Scoutmaster.
"Tow her in, sir?" asked Brandon.
"Hardly," replied Mr. Grant. "Our twelve horse-power wouldn't get her along at more than one mile an hour. The tide would set us well beyond Oldbury Head before that.
"No; I want you, Brandon, to take the Puffin back to Aberstour. North by west is the approximate course. Keep your lead going and mind the Medlar Shoal. When you get there tell Weatherhead, the master of the tug Stormcock, to put out to us at once. Let him know that the job's worth a hundred or more."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the Patrol-leader, keenly alive to the possibilities of sole command.
"And another thing," continued Mr. Grant. "You may pass some boats making for the shore—boats from this vessel. If they ask for a tow do so, but on no account must any of you even hint that the Getalong is still afloat."
"And how about you, sir?" inquired the Patrol-leader.