"That depends upon how soon we recover our compass," replied the Scoutmaster. "Why did you ask?" "Because I'd like to take these films ashore and get them developed, sir," explained Alan. Mr. Armitage looked rather surprised. "I thought you did your own developing and printing," he remarked. "Usually, sir," replied the lad, "but I've taken something that might be a bit exciting, and I'm in a hurry to see the result." The _Olivette_ was lying off Poole, in an anchorage locally known as "off Stakes". It was well above the approach-channel to the quays, and consequently, out of the way of traffic, except for a few yachts and fishing-boats and an occasional barge engaged in carrying clay. "Right-o," agreed Mr. Armitage. "I'm going ashore now to make inquiries. Anyone else for the beach?" At length the dinghy pushed off, Hepburn and Warkworth rowing, and the Scoutmaster in the stern-sheets. The rest of the crew elected to remain on board, especially after seeing a man in a neighbouring yacht hook a couple of flounders in quick succession. They, too, meant to try their luck with hook and line. "How about bait?" inquired Flemming. "There's a youngster digging for ragworms on the mud-flats. We'll hail him and get him to sell us some." The boy quickly responded to the hail, and plodding along on mud-pattens to the water's edge, jumped into a flat-bottomed punt and rowed off to the _Olivette_. A bargain was soon struck, and for the sum of sixpence Flemming obtained a rusty tin containing between thirty and forty slimy, writhing worms. The hooks were baited and the lines paid out. Patiently the "band of hope" waited, but save for the quivering of the lines in the tideway, the ground tackle was quite idle. "Slow work this," observed Roche, giving envious glances at the fellow on the neighbouring yacht, who was hauling in prizes with unfailing regularity. "How is it that that merchant has all the fun, and we don't get so much as a bite?" The sun set in a blood-red sky, betokening a continuance of fine weather. As the orb of day disappeared behind the distant hills the young flood set in. Then did the Sea Scouts' luck change. "Dabs", plaice, and flounders were hauled on board in quick succession, until a pailful of fish represented the combined efforts of four lads in under half an hour. Suddenly Flemming gave a shout of astonishment as his line was almost jerked out of his hand. "I've hooked a whopper!" he exclaimed. "Doesn't the thing tug?" "Play with him, then," suggested Peter. "He'll break your line if you don't." "He's almost broken my fingers," rejoined the excited sportsman. "That's the whole of my line, too." "Haul in gently," cautioned the Patrol Leader. "For goodness sake don't lose the fish." Inch by inch, foot by foot, the thin line came inboard, until a furious swirl announced that the "catch" was not far from the surface. The rest of the Sea Scouts left their lines and crowded round the wildly excited Flemming.