Griffiths, blinking in the light, had shoved his head and shoulders through the tent-flap.
"Just the man we want, soldier!" exclaimed Beverley. "A little practice at rowing a dinghy, you know."
"Not in these trousers," protested the ex-Engineer officer, displaying a leg clad in pyjamas of variegated hues. "What's the move? Are you fellows trying to camouflage a nocturnal bridge-party?"
"At him, lads!" exclaimed Swaine, and the four hurled themselves upon the interloper. In spite of his desperate resistance Griffiths was dragged into the tent, and while Beverley sat on his chest the others rammed a pair of rubber boots on his feet and a sou'-wester on his head.
"Kamerad!" exclaimed Griffiths. "Chuck it! I'll fall in with your rotten scheme, whatever it is."
By this time the commotion had aroused the remainder of the shore-party, and to them the nature of the proposed expedition was explained.
"Right-o!" said Vivian. "We'll launch the cutter and have a moonlight trip, only there isn't any moon."
Eleven men put off from the beach, four in the skiff-dinghy, the rest in the cutter. Expectations ran high, and everyone was in good spirits.
"Not so much noise there," cautioned Beverley, "or you'll wake the Old Man."
"We'll wake him right enough, if we find the ship," rejoined Swaine. "Port helm a bit, Bobby; I can see the mark-buoys."