Monsieur Raoul
As it was only a distance of thirty-five kilometres, or, roughly, 23
miles, Mr. Armitage decided to bring up on moorings off Duclair until
the tide changed. This would enable the crew to make up arrears of
sleep, or, at any rate, go a long way towards doing so, while, with
the favourable tide, the boat ought to arrive at Rouen early in the
afternoon.
The Scoutmaster was dubious as to what would happen when the
_Olivette_ did arrive there. It looked as if the cruise would have to
terminate abruptly, while to repair the damage would probably eat up
the whole of the Troop's finances.
He said nothing of this to the lads under his care.
He was content to let events shape their course, and not to meet
trouble half-way. The youngsters were enjoying themselves, and he
would not place their pleasures under a cloud by as much as hinting
that the cruise of the _Olivette_ would be drastically curtailed.
It was a picturesque stretch of the river that confronted the Sea
Scouts when the voyage was resumed. The Seine made a huge U-shaped
bend, almost encircling the Forest of Roumare on the port hand, and
skirting the Forests of Mauny and du Rouvray to starboard. On either
bank were numerous villages, while occasionally small islands were
passed.
The _Olivette_ was abreast of the Obelisk at Le Val de la Haye, when
her crew noticed a weird sort of craft approaching at tremendous
speed. At first the Sea Scouts could not make head or tail of it.
There was hardly anything to be seen but a triangular girder
appearing above the apex of a double crest of spray, but the noise
the quaint craft made was terrific.
"It's driven by an aerial propeller," declared Peter. "I can see the
glint on the blades as they revolve."
Approaching at a rate of about forty-five miles an hour, the vessel
passed the _Olivette_ "like a streak of greased lightning". That was
Hepburn's definition.
As she passed, the Sea Scouts saw that she was a hydro-glisseur, her
hull composed of three rectangular floats in line ahead and
supporting an aluminium cabin. Right aft was the motor with a triple
chain-driven air propeller. In the bows a tiny Tricolour stood out
stiffly in the breeze. Her crew consisted of two people--one, a
bareheaded mechanic, wearing a blue overall, the other, a youngish
man, the outstanding features of his costume being a velour Alpine
hat, with a tuft of feathers, and a pair of light-yellow kid gloves.
Noticing the Red Ensign flying on board the _Olivette_, the Frenchman
took off his hat and made an elaborate bow. Not to be outdone in
politeness, the Scoutmaster gave the order, "Alert!" and while the
crew stood to attention he saluted the owner of the glisseur in scout
fashion.
"We ought to have dipped our ensign, I suppose," remarked Stratton.
"There wasn't time," rejoined Woodleigh. "He passed before you could
count five."
"He's turning!" exclaimed Alan. "I say, what a heel! Oh, look! she's
over!"
Hepburn's exclamation directed the attention of all hands aft. Even
Flemming, who was in the wheel-house, allowed the _Olivette_ to swing
a couple of points out of her course as he looked astern.
The air-propelled craft, extremely sensitive to her helm, had made
too sharp a turn, or perhaps the mechanic had not slowed down the
motor sufficiently. In any case she capsized. For a moment, quite
two-thirds of the under-surface of the floats was exposed. Then, with
a rending crash, the rapidly-revolving propeller blades hit the water
and were shattered into splinters. The next instant the violently
racing engine dipped beneath the surface. A cloud of steam, as the
water came into contact with the hot cylinders, momentarily hid the
scene of the disaster.
Flemming acted promptly. Spinning the wheel hard over, and shouting
to his chum, Roche, to slow down, he brought the _Olivette's_ bows on
to the spot where the glisseur had disappeared on an unpremeditated
submarine excursion.
The owner of the vanished craft was with difficulty swimming towards
his mechanic, who, unable to keep afloat, had sunk for the second
time.
The Frenchman was obviously handicapped, because he made no attempt
to use his left arm, but, arriving over the place where the
air-bubbles marked the presence of the unfortunate mechanic, he dived
to the latter's rescue.
The pair reappeared together, the mechanic desperately grasping his
master round the neck. With a sudden wrench the latter shook himself
partly clear, then, with a short quick jab with his right fist, the
Frenchman hit the struggling man a stunning blow on the left temple,
grasped him by the collar of his overalls, and waited the arrival of
the _Olivette_.
Quickly the pair were hauled on board. Three of the Sea Scouts
immediately set to work to resuscitate the half-drowned mechanic,
while the others, in their imperfect French, offered their services
to the owner of the lost craft.
The Frenchman bowed. He had lost his hat.
"_Permettez-moi, messieurs!_" he exclaimed, and gravely produced a
saturated visiting-card on which were the words "Raoul de la Voie,
Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur".
Mr. Armitage suggested to his involuntary guest that perhaps the crew
of the _Olivette_ might conduct salvage operations. The boat had
stopped, with her engines running well throttled down, close to the
place where the hydro-glisseur had disappeared, a ready clue being
afforded by the oil rising in a steady, far-spreading stream to the
surface.
Monsieur de la Voie listened with perfect gravity to the
Scoutmaster's halting attempt to put his thoughts into words in the
French language. Mr. Armitage "stuck" badly. His vocabulary was
usually good, but at the present time he had the greatest difficulty
in finding his words, and his dictionary was in one of his
portmanteaux in the after-cabin.
"Excuse me," remarked the Frenchman, with an almost perfect English
accent, "but if you will kindly talk in English, no doubt I will be
able to follow you better."
"Thanks awfully," replied Mr. Armitage, falling back upon his
mother-tongue. Then he added gravely, "I hope you are feeling quite
chirpy now."
"Chirpy?" queried the Frenchman.
"Chirpy--bucked," prompted the Scoutmaster.
Monsieur de la Voie's face wore a puzzled expression. But he would
not admit defeat, for, producing a saturated pocket-dictionary, he
looked up the perplexing words.
"Ah, yes," he continued, with a smile. "I'm feeling absolutely
top-hole, thank you, notwithstanding an unusual style of bathing in
the Seine. Salvage? Hardly necessary to trouble you, sir; you've done
quite enough for us as it is, but if you will buoy the spot, one of
my barges will conduct the operations. If you will be good enough to
give my mechanic and me a passage to Rouen?"
Monsieur Raoul was little worse for his immersion, but the condition
of the luckless mechanic gave rise to grave misgivings. Not only had
he swallowed a liberal quantity of water: his knee had been hurt by
coming in contact with the girder supporting the aerial propeller,
while, to make matters worse, his master had been compelled to stun
him in order to free himself from his dangerous clutch.
The owner of the hydro-glisseur was greatly interested in the Sea
Scouts and their craft. He plied the lads with innumerable questions,
and complimented them upon their sound knowledge of seamanship.
Very little escaped the notice of the mercurial Frenchman, and when
he caught sight of the scars upon the _Olivette's_ bows he asked how
the damage had been caused.
"And this happened last night, then? It is just possible that I know
who is the owner of the barge that caused the mischief."
"He is a careless blighter, sir, whoever he is, to let a barge break
adrift," declared Hepburn.
"Yes," assented Monsieur de la Vole solemnly. "He is."