"There's a cutter close inshore," observed Phillips, as the boats rounded North Head.
"She's too close in for safety," added Mayne. "She can't be very far from the reef where the tramp steamer struck."
"She's anchored," declared Atherton. "I can see the cable. She's a good distance this side of the reef, nearly opposite the Tea Caves, I should imagine."
"We'll pull close to her and see if anything's wrong. Perhaps they've missed the tide, and have anchored close inshore till slack water," said Mr Buckley. "Give way 'Wolves'; we'll race you."
The "Wolves" did give way with a will, and being in a lighter and fairly narrow-beamed boat they outstripped their friendly rivals.
"That will do," ordered the Scoutmaster. "Take it easy now."
The cutter was a yacht of about ten tons. Since she had no name on her counter, Mr Buckley came to the conclusion that she belonged to a recognised yacht club in spite of the fact that she flew no burgee.
She was moored with two anchors and cables—an unnecessary business unless she was to stay over one tide. A dinghy was made fast astern, and this was the only intimation the Scouts had that there was some one on board the yacht, for her deck was deserted.
"Yacht ahoy!" hailed the Scoutmaster.
Two disreputable-looking men clad in blue jerseys and dirty canvas trousers emerged hurriedly from the cabin.