Rollo disappeared into the motor-room, leaving his chum to stow his gear and make the dinghy fast alongside. Bitter experience in the shape of a painter getting hopelessly foul of one of the propellers had prompted this course. Not until the yacht was forging ahead would the dinghy be allowed to tow astern.
First one, then both of the motors began to purr rhythmically. Vyse appeared on deck, gave a perfunctory glance over the side to see that the circulating pumps were working, and nodded to his companion.
"Let go!" he exclaimed.
With a splash and a rattle of chain, the mooring buoy was dropped. Slowly the Ibex drifted upstream until Vyse from his post in the wheelhouse could see the buoy bobbing twenty feet from the bows.
Putting the helm over, Rollo pulled both levers into the ahead position. Instantly the little craft shot forward, cleared her buoy and headed for the open sea.
"Dinghy on deck?" queried the Sub coming aft.
"No, she'll tow astern," was the reply. "There's no sea to speak of outside. Give her plenty of painter."
Broadmayne did so. This done, he lighted a cigarette and took up a position slightly in the wake of the helmsman.
Neither spoke much. Both enjoyed the lift of the following waves as the keen bows of the Ibex cleft the dancing waters. They were afloat with a definite object in view. For the present, nothing else mattered.
Rollo Vyse was too good an engineer to attempt to run the motors all out. For one thing, it was bad for the bearings if the engines were run "all out" for any length of time, and he wasn't anxious to deliver the Ibex to her new owner with her anatomy resembling a box of chattering scrap iron. For another, he did not wish to cover the one hundred and thirty miles between Fowey and the Wight at such a speed that the Ibex would be in the narrow waters of the Solent before sunrise. What he aimed for, was to reach Southampton before noon, thus giving ample time to perform the necessary formalities connected with the handing over of the yacht.