“ ’Cause I am beautifully disguised with a beard,” explained the other. “Matter of fact, we didn’t take your advice. We held on our course, and bagged a Fritz a couple of hours later. We were a ‘Q’ ship, and you didn’t spot us.”
“Heard about it later on,” said Mr. Grant. “Then your name’s Carter?”
“Just so; late Scoutmaster of the 9th Gosport Sea Scouts. Unfortunately, ‘owing to the War,’ I had to give up, much to my regret, and settle down here at Kingswear. Come aboard, and we can yarn while I’m towing your craft out of the harbour.”
Mr. Grant accepted the invitation, leaving Brandon actually in command of the Kestrel.
The tow-rope was made fast, the moorings slipped. Very gently, by skilful use of the reverse gear, Mr. Carter allowed the yacht to gather way in the wake of the 4-h.p. motor boat.
During the run down the harbour, Brandon kept all hands busily employed in casting loose mainsail and mizzen and hoisting the jib in stops ready to be broken out directly the Kestrel was cast off. Thus engaged they failed to notice the relatively slow progress or the somewhat unusual swirl under the yacht’s stern. Nor were they aware of the presence of a highly exasperated deck-hand on board the S.S. Lumberjack, who consoled himself for the preliminary failure of his plans by the thought that perhaps the motor boat would not tow the Kestrel right out to sea, but only just clear of St. Petrox. In that case there was still some hope that the yacht would pile herself up upon the tide-swept Verticals or perhaps the rugged Mewstone.
“You’ve a lump of a craft there, Grant,” remarked Mr. Carter. “She’s heavier to tow than I thought; although this packet is only a four-horse motor boat.”
“Yet she’s moving her all right,” added Mr. Grant.
“Yes, with the tide. I doubt whether we are doing three knots. Has the Kestrel’s compo. been scrubbed recently?”
“Fresh on a week ago,” declared the Scoutmaster.