“Yes,” he admitted. “Sure there is. ’Ow did you twig it? Sakes alive! A chap like me must get up very early in t’mornin’ tu get to wind’ard of a Sea Scout, I’m thinkin’.”
“How did you find out about the secret tunnel?” asked Brandon of his chum after the interview with Carlo Bone.
“I didn’t,” replied Peter. “It was a guess on my part. I’d been thinking things over, and, like Mr. Grant got it out of young Marner that he hadn’t a motor bike, that rather confirmed my theory, although, of course, I might have been wide of the mark.”
Little more remains to be told.
The Jamboree ran its course in perfect weather and with unabated enthusiasm. At its termination, Eric Little was sent to his uncle’s house at Chichester, where life for him was considerably brightened by his being able to have friends of his own age. He lost no time in becoming a Cub.
After the termination of the Sea Scouts’ marine festival, the assembly of yachts and boats dispersed. The Kestrel got away in company with nearly a dozen craft bound for the eastern part of the English Channel and the East Coast. Three days later she entered Aberstour Harbour and made fast alongside the quay in the berth the old Puffin had so long occupied.
“We’ve had a topping time,” declared Heavitree, as the crew prepared to disperse to their respective homes. “Course we’ve had sticky times, too; but what’s the use of being Sea Scouts if we don’t know how to tackle them?”
“We haven’t done so badly,” admitted Craddock cautiously. “We’re here, safe and sound, that’s the main point. And I don’t think it’s entirely owing to good luck. I rather fancy there’s another reason, and a jolly good one.”
“What’s that?” enquired his chum.
“We’ve kept to the good old Scout’s motto: ‘Be Prepared.’ ”