Craddock was a splendid diver. Three years in succession he had won a prize in the plate-diving competition at the Aberstour Regatta, and now he was putting his skill to a practical test.
It was a difficult matter to see under the water in the failing daylight, but before the stone touched bottom, Peter’s left hand caught the fiercely struggling puppy. One quick movement of the keen knife and the deed was done. Still retaining his hold of the released animal, Craddock shot to the surface, and amidst the ringing cheers of his now thoroughly excited chums struck out for the stone steps at the end of the quay.
But Blueskin had yet to be reckoned with.
“That’s my pup,” he declared angrily, planting himself in front of the dripping Sea Scout. “ ’And ’im ower tu me. In ’e goes intu the ditch agen, I tells yu.”
“Excuse me,” protested Peter coolly. “It was yours. When you threw the dog in you threw away all rights to it. It’s ours now. . . . Take charge of it, please, Brandon.”
The Patrol Leader took the shivering pup. The animal, fearing further punishment, struggled frantically to gain the shelter of its rescuer’s protecting arms.
Carlo Bone was flabbergasted. His slowly acting brain was trying to think out the problem. No doubt that interfering “furriner” was right. He was a fool not to stop him from diving to the rescue. There yet remained the question of brute force. He would be more than a match for the whole crowd of “they Sea Scoutses.”
“Gimme that dawg!” he shouted, striding towards the Patrol Leader.