Then, catching sight of old Boldrigg, he shouted: "Hello, chum. What ship now? Bit of a change from the old _Polyandra_." Tom blinked his eyes as he studied the features of the coastguard. "Can't recall your tally, mate." he replied. "Not Tubby Young, boy 1st class aboard the old _Polyandra_ back in 'nought nine, an' you chief bos'un's mate?" "Sure I do," exclaimed Boldrigg. "But you've altered the cut of your figurehead. How's things?" The old shipmates conversed for a few moments. Then the coastguard suggested trying the creeks on the Isle of Wight shore. "I've had my glass on Thorness Bay and as far down as Hamstead," he added. "There's no craft up again the beach. Like as not she's pushed into Newtown." The Scouts now re-embarked. It occurred to them that not only was the possibility of success diminishing but that they were hungry. "We'll carry on as far as Cowes, anyway," decided Peter. "We'll make inquiries there, and buy some grub at the same time. All ready? Get her head round, Alan." It was a long business stemming the now fierce tide. Half-way across the Island shore they spoke a coaster anchored while waiting for a fair tide. From her master they learnt that there had been someone on deck since sunrise, and certainly no motor-boat answering to _Olivette's_ description had passed between Egypt Point and Stone Point. "No use carrying on." said the Patrol Leader. "We'll stand across to the opposite shore and put into Newtown for grub. A pull on that mainsheet, Dick. Sit more to windward, you fellows." Peter was now at the helm. Old Boldrigg, having handed over the tiller, was sitting on the bottom-boards puffing contentedly at a black clay pipe. "Look!" suddenly exclaimed Hepburn, pointing astern. "There she is." All hands looked in the direction indicated. "Yes," agreed Peter, after a lengthy survey. "It's the _Olivette_ right enough, and under power, too." The motor-boat was about a mile and a half away, but by the "bone in her teeth", as her bows cut through the choppy waves of the weather-going tide, it was evident that she was moving at full speed. That rather upset the Sea Scouts' calculations. A man and six strong, healthy boys, backing their arguments with a shot gun, could compel the unlawful crew of the _Olivette_ to surrender if the boat were motionless. It would be an entirely different proposition to hold her up when she was forging ahead at eight knots. The _Olivette_ could run down the _Mudlark_, or else turn away and leave her hopelessly astern. Peter knitted his brows. All the scoutcraft and seamanship at his command failed to suggest a satisfactory solution to the problem. As a preliminary he told Roche to signal to her to stop. Even as he cudgelled his brains as to the next step, he was interrupted by Dick Roche's voice exclaiming: "She's not the _Olivette_ after all. There's a number painted on her bows."