It did not take Broadmayne long to make up his mind. The ability to make a quick decision on points that require unerring judgment is a characteristic of the naval man who hopes to make a name for himself in his profession.
"Right-o; I'll come," he replied. "When do you get under way?"
"In an hour's time," said Vyse promptly, lest too prolonged an interval might afford his new shipmate an opportunity to change his mind. "Provisions and petrol are on board. I'll have to lay in some fresh tack, though. Heaps of bedding, too. All you'll want is your kit."
"I'll be at Whitehouse Steps in half an hour," declared the Sub. "Must slip off on my motorbike and tell my people that Little Gerry is off on the high seas and pack up a few things."
"And I'll do the same," added Rollo; "although my governor's been expecting to hear that I've actually cleared every day for the last fortnight. You're a real pal, old man. Thanks awfully."
Prompt to time, the chums met at the prearranged spot. The Sub was rigged out in white sweater, grey flannel "bags" and rubber shoes. Across his shoulder was thrown a black pegamoid oilskin. A suit-case containing clothes of sufficient respectability to enable him to return by train lay at his feet.
Vyse appeared in a thick blue sweater, pilot coat and trousers, the bottoms of the latter garment being rolled over a pair of india-rubber sea-boots.
"Rest of my gear's already on board," he remarked as they descended the steps to the dinghy. "We're going to have a topping run if this weather holds. How about making an all-night run? We'd be inside the Wight before morning."
"I'm game," replied Broadmayne, dumping his suit-case in the stern sheets of the dinghy.
It was a short distance to row out to the moorings on which the Ibex lay. The motor yacht, riding to the first of the young flood, looked smart and seamanlike in the afternoon sunlight. From the short, slender mast fluttered the club burgee, hoisted for the last time on that particular craft. A loose-footed lugsail and small foresail formed the sum-total of the yacht's canvas. Vyse rarely made use of the sails, since the motors never gave trouble. In the event of a mechanical breakdown, the Ibex might do four miles an hour with the wind abaft the beam; but with her light draught she would sag to lee'ard like a barrel.