Hitherto such a precaution was hardly necessary, since the east-going tide had changed fifty minutes ago and the opposite or west-going stream was setting the Getalong back to the approximate position where the Puffin left her.
But before the three "hands" could clear away the cable and release the compression, a long-drawn wail, followed by four short blasts, announced that the Stormcock was approaching.
In reply, Craddock gaily tootled the Getalong's syren, until, grotesquely magnified by the mist, the squat little tug loomed up, her normal crew augmented by sixteen wildly excited Sea Scouts, since the Seals and the Eels had prevailed upon the good-natured Captain Weatherhead to let them "have a look in."
It did not take very long for a stout hawser to be passed on board the tramp, and by five o'clock the Getalong crossed Aberstour bar on a falling tide with less than two feet of water under her keel.
"You saw no signs of the crew?" inquired Mr. Grant as he stepped ashore.
"No, sir," replied Brandon. "The first thing we saw after we left you—sorry, sir, I didn't mean to suggest that you were a thing—was the east pier-head of Aberstour. Luck, of course," he added modestly.
"Just as well, perhaps, that you didn't fall in with the crew," commented Mr. Grant. "I think that as soon as the fog lifts we'll go for a week's cruise, otherwise the best part of our holidays will be taken up with attending police-courts.
"As a matter of fact it is lifting. Away home, lads, and tell your people we're off cruising for a few days. With decent luck we ought to be in Sablesham Harbour before sunset."