“Now I comes to think on it, the moty cycle you seed was Blueskin Bone’s. ’E an’ fayther are neighbours like; an’ Blueskin ain’t got no shed in ’is garden, and ’aving trouble to get moty cycle up the girt steps to ’is door, ’e keeps un in fayther’s shed.”
“So that’s it,” thought Mr. Grant. “I wish I’d known that when I interviewed Mr. Marner, senior, the sly old rascal! However, Blueskin’s a back number as far as we are concerned. That’s something to be thankful for.”
CHAPTER X
Blueskin’s Plot
The presence of the Aberstour Sea Scouts’ yacht Kestrel in Dartmouth Harbour attracted a fair amount of interest, but none more than that shown by a tall, heavily built, and loose-jowled deck-hand on board the S.S. Lumberjack.
Leaning over the bulwark of the tramp and shading his face with his hands, the man gazed so intently at the newly arrived yacht that one of his shipmates was struck by his studied interest.
“Lor’, Blueskin!” he exclaimed. “Wot’s strikin’ your fancy now? Ain’t you never seen a crowd o’ Sea Scoutses afore?”
Carlo Bone spat contemptuously into the scuppers.
“Axin’ for trouble, them is,” he remarked.
“An’ so’ll you be if the Old Man sees you hangin’ on to the slack,” rejoined the other. “Bear a hand an’ help shift this ’ere dunnage.”
The S.S. Lumberjack was lying within a hundred yards of the mooring which the Kestrel had picked up. She had arrived a few days before, having developed engine trouble in that antiquated box which required all the skill and patience of a dour Scots engineer to take the old tramp along at even a modest five knots.