The Tables Turned
"What is the game, sir?" asked Desmond, after the efforts of the trio
to burst open the fore-hatch had to be abandoned as hopeless.
"Can't say, I'm sure," replied Mr. Graham breathlessly. "Let's hope
it's a practical joke, but I'm afraid it isn't."
"Do you think it's Greening or Greener, or whatever his name is?"
asked Findlay. "Or perhaps it's another Borstal boy escaping from
Portland."
"That thought occurred to me," admitted the Scoutmaster, "but there's
one flaw in the argument. The skipper of the _Gloria_ vouched for
him. It might be a case of sudden mental disorder. 'Ssh! He's
speaking--listen."
In silence they listened to the almost one-sided conversation between
the red-haired youth and Hayes. They heard the outboard motor
starting up, and the ominous silence when the painter fouled the
propeller. Then followed the cold-blooded threat to run the
_Spindrift_ ashore.
"It's time we took drastic measures, lads," said Mr. Graham calmly.
"Fortunately, Hayes isn't on board the yacht. That's what was tying
my hands, as it were."
The Scoutmaster took down his portmanteau from one of the racks,
opened it, and fumbled amongst an assortment of articles. Producing a
small leather holster, he laid it on the cabin table and withdrew
from it a short-barrelled automatic taking Service ammunition. "It's
rather an un-Scouting article," remarked Mr. Graham, as he proceeded
to fill the magazine. "I had doubts about bringing it, but I think
the circumstances warrant it."
"Are you going to shoot him, sir?" asked Findlay, rather awe-struck.
"Not if I can help it," was the decided assurance. "We'll have to
rush the fellow. Remember, he has a knife."
Desmond armed himself with a knotted towel in which was wrapped up a
large iron shackle. Findlay laid hold of a rolling-pin from the
galley. It was the first time that it had been used for any purpose
since the Sea Scouts took over the yacht, and in Jock's hand it
looked a formidable weapon.
The _Spindrift_ was now heeling to starboard--an indication that the
young rascal on deck had put the helm up and was getting way on the
yacht.
"Stand by!" whispered Mr. Graham.
Raising the automatic he placed the muzzle against the cabin door and
pressed the trigger. A deafening report shook the confined space. The
air reeked of burnt cordite.
Another shot followed in quick succession, then, hastily setting the
safety-catch of the pistol, the Scoutmaster thrust his shoulder
against the door.
Already the two bullets had done their work. The hasp had been torn
from the teak door, and it required very little effort to clear a
way.
Into the cockpit rushed the Scoutmaster, the two Scouts hard on his
heels.
Alarmed by the shots, the miscreant had run for'ard, evidently under
the totally wrong impression that they were meant for him. Then,
grasping the lever of the winch, he stood on the defensive, looking
more like an infuriated beast than a human being.
"Drop that and give in at once!" said Mr. Graham sternly, pointing
the muzzle of the automatic at the fellow's stomach. The safety-catch
was still set, as the Scoutmaster knew, but he was also aware that a
man, who will face the muzzle of a pistol without outward signs of
fear, will begin to quiver and quake when the weapon is pointed at
the buckle of his belt.
The boy dropped the lever and began to raise both hands. Desmond and
Findlay ran for'ard to secure him, but with a yelp of rage the
hardened youngster leapt overboard.
He reappeared half a dozen yards astern, waving his hands and yelling
until he dipped for the second time. To all on board it was evident
that he was unable to swim. The _Spindrift_, although running up into
the wind, was still carrying a lot of way. Hayes in the dinghy was a
cable's length astern, rowing strongly, but making slow progress
owing to the drag of the outboard motor's propeller.
The Scoutmaster picked up a life-buoy and threw it to the drowning
youth. So careful was he to avoid hitting the lad with the buoy, that
it fell short.
Simultaneously, there were two splashes. Without waiting even to kick
off their shoes, Desmond and Findlay had both "taken to the ditch"
and were swimming strongly to the aid of the lad in distress.
It was an unwise and unnecessary step for both to dive overboard. One
would have been sufficient to make for the buoy and push it within
reach of the drowning youth. It also left Mr. Graham to manage the
yacht single-handed, and, although he was quite capable of so doing,
it was a tough proposition to go about, huff, and pick three persons
out of the water.
Putting the helm up, the Scoutmaster soon had the yacht under
control. Already she had "eaten her way" well to wind'ard of the lad
in distress. To go about would mean placing a still greater distance
between them. So Mr. Graham still kept the helm hard up, at the same
time checking the main-sheet until the _Spindrift_ gybed. Then
running to lee'ard he close hauled and lulled up.
By this time, Desmond had reached the life-buoy. Findlay, a quicker
and more powerful swimmer, made no effort to get hold of the
life-buoy. He saw that the object of his efforts was pretty far gone.
Incautiously, Jock made a grab at him, and the next instant the Sea
Scout was seized round the neck by the brawny arms of the frenzied
youth.
Both went under at once. Findlay, although he had not time to take a
deep breath, fortunately retained his presence of mind, and, keeping
his arms down and using his feet vigorously, brought himself and the
drowning youth to the surface.
But only for a brief instant. The other fellow, gripping like a bear,
strove to raise himself out of the water, with the result that Jock
went under again. Desmond, marking time with the buoy, hesitated to
approach lest he should be entangled in the meshes of this human net.
Deciding that something must be done--and that quickly--to avoid a
double fatality, the Patrol Leader swam behind the struggling youth,
raised the life-buoy, and brought it down heavily upon the latter's
head.
Desmond went under in the process, but when he broke surface, the
desired result had been obtained. Jock was treading water, holding up
the now unconscious lad.
[Illustration: "DROP THAT, AND GIVE IN AT ONCE!"
_Page_ 206]
"Thanks!" he exclaimed breathlessly, as Desmond pushed the life-buoy
to within reach. He could say no more, as he was spluttering and
coughing up copious quantities of salt water.
"Stand by!" shouted Mr. Graham.
The two Sea Scouts looked round. The _Spindrift_ was luffing up.
Ably managed, she lost way within an oar's length of the trio in the
"ditch". Seizing a rope thrown to him, Desmond made a bowline round
the unconscious youth. Then, telling Jock to clamber on board--it was
about as much as he could do, and then only by means of the
bobstay--the Patrol Leader remained in the water until the rescued
lad could be hauled into safety.
It was a tough task. Mr. Graham had to hook on the runners before the
heavy burden could be hoisted on deck. Then Desmond came aboard,
after having placed the life-buoy on deck.
"You two go below and change," said the Scoutmaster. "I'll see to
this young gentleman. And Hayes is almost alongside. He'll give a
hand."
Desmond and Findlay were not long in shifting into dry kit. When they
came on deck they found the _Spindrift_ hove-to and the rest of the
crew engaged in first aid work.
"Take the helm, Jock," said the Scoutmaster. "I'll give you the
course until we arrive off the entrance to the harbour. The sooner
the better."
"Did I hit him too hard, sir?" asked Desmond anxiously. "I simply had
to do it."
"That's nothing," replied the Scoutmaster reassuringly. "A tap on the
head wouldn't hurt his thick skull. It's the quantity of the English
Channel down his throat that's causing the trouble."
The mysterious youth did not recover consciousness until the
_Spindrift_ entered Dartmouth Harbour, and tied up alongside the quay
abreast of the boat-pond.
Hayes was dispatched to find a policeman. He hadn't far to go, and
the guardian of the Law came on board, a crowd of curious sightseers
lining the quay-side.
The policeman produced his notebook.
"Name, please, sir," he began, "and the name of the yacht."
"Don't you think you'd better get an ambulance, or a doctor?"
suggested Mr. Graham, when he had given the information that had
little to do with the case.
"What's the name an' address of this person?" continued the unruffled
constable.
"That I can't tell you," replied the Scoutmaster.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't know it myself. Get the boy taken ashore and given
medical assistance. Then, and only then, I'll give you all the
information I know. It will be interesting, constable, very."
The policeman went away, returning in ten minutes with a couple of
ambulance men. The patient was taken ashore and carried off "to an
unknown destination", as far as the crew of the _Spindrift_ were
concerned. Mr. Graham yawned. The rest of the crew yawned too.
"Dog tired, the lot of us," remarked the Scoutmaster. "Fortunately
we're in a snug berth, although rather open to the public eye. Now,
lads, supper and early to bed. We'll sleep the clock round!"
The meal was just fairly under way when the yacht rocked under the
weight of a heavy foot on deck. It was the policeman thirsting to
give and receive information.
"Lively young limb you've brought in here, sir," he began, producing
his inevitable notebook. "We've got him all right this time. Broke
out of Portland a week or ten days ago."
"Really?" remarked Mr. Graham. "I'm not surprised. But are you really
sure? On our way down Channel last week--not in this boat--we rescued
a lad who was arrested at Plymouth as the Borstal boy at large."
"Answerin' to the name o' Gregory, sir?"
"Yes," replied the Scoutmaster. "Do you know him?"
"A lad from Abbotsbury. His people are puttin' in a claim for
compensation for illegal arrest. But we ain't made a mistake this
time. Here you are, sir; look at this photo."
There certainly was a striking resemblance to the young ruffian. Now
he was properly laid by the heels.
"How came you to find him, sir?" asked the policeman.
Mr. Graham had already made up his mind how much to tell and what to
keep back. He merely said that he had been put on board from the
schooner _Gloria_ from Fowey, and that some time later he had fallen
overboard and had been gallantly rescued by Desmond and Findlay. The
story of the rascal's escapade he kept dark. The crew of the
_Spindrift_ would be no better for the telling of it, and they did
not want to waste time by having to give evidence in case other
proceedings were instituted. The young rogue would be punished
severely for his spell of liberty; he had had a very narrow escape
from drowning; and these two cases could be written down as a "set
off" to the attempt to seize the yacht. As it turned out, the affair
was not serious. Beyond the shattered cabin-doors there was no harm
done.
At length the policeman departed and the crew sat down to finish
their interrupted supper. This they did. By common consent the ritual
of washing up after the meal was placed in abeyance. They were just
longing to turn in.
But the fates were against them.
"Yot ahoy!" bawled a voice from the quayside. "You can't a-stop here.
'Arbour Master's orders. You're to shift your berth across t'other
side abreast yon coal-hulk."
There was no refusal. The mandate had to be obeyed. The weary crew
turned out, started up the ready engine, and motored across to the
Kingswear side. Here they anchored, and hurrying below were soon deep
in dreamless slumber.