It was a ship's boat, green with weed. Its copper air-tanks still retained their buoyancy, and the additional strain imparted by the grapnel had wrenched the boat from the lashings that secured it to the chocks. Fortunately, in its violent ascent to the surface the boat missed the evicted crew of the cutter.
The water was warm and there were no sharks about, or if there were the unusual splashing had scared them off. The cutter, being provided with air-compartments, floated with her gunwale a couple of inches above the surface, so that with the aid of a brace of buckets and a baler the water was soon thrown out and the men regained their craft.
This done the dinghy and the cutter started in pursuit of the unknown boat, which, in the grip of the current, was drifting towards the entrance to the lagoon.
Holding on to the "horse" of the recovered boat, Beverley scraped the slimy deposit of weed from a portion of the transom. Underneath, in faded letters that were still legible, was painted the name Fusi Yama.
"Good enough!" declared Bobby triumphantly. "Let her go. I don't think she'll drift out of the lagoon. If she does, it is of little consequence. Now, you blighters, pull for the Titania."
The rest of the proceedings savoured of a "glorious rag", for on making fast alongside the yacht the crews began shouting, firing Verey lights, beating suspended brass crutches, banging tin balers with stretchers, and raising pandemonium generally.
In the midst of the hubbub Harborough and Villiers came on deck, just as Swaine, forestalling his comrades, was sounding a terrific tocsin on the Titania's bell.
"What the——" began Harborough.
"We've come off to splice the main-brace, sir," shouted Beverley.
"Have you?" rejoined the baronet. "For what reason?"