"It's a twenty-pounder, Eric," declared Woodleigh. "You're in luck." "Twenty-pounder!" ejaculated the wellnigh breathless Flemming scornfully. "Feels like a ton.... Hello! What is it?" "An eel--conger, most likely," declared Stratton, as a hideous head appeared. "Stand by with your knife, Woodleigh, and nick the brute behind the neck when Flemming gets it on board." Resisting to the last, the salt-water reptile was hauled up the side and thrown on deck. At the second attempt Woodleigh succeeded in hacking the eel just behind its head. "That's settled it!" he declared. "What an ugly brute. Now, if old Boldrigg were here, he'd have the eel skinned in a brace of shakes, and would wrap the skin round his ankle." "What for?" asked Rayburn. "He says an eel's skin is a certain cure for his rheumatism," replied Woodleigh. "Old sailor's superstition, more'n likely. When----" "Coil down and stand by, lads," ordered the Patrol Leader. "Here's Mr. Armitage coming off in the dinghy." "Well, lads, I see you've had some luck," was the Scoutmaster's greeting as he boarded the _Olivette_, nearly slipping on a flat-fish as he did so. "Yes, sir," replied Peter; "more than a pailful of them. The one that nearly threw you must have wriggled on to the deck." "What do you think of this eel, sir?" asked Flemming. "It's certainly of a decent size," said Mr. Armitage, turning the eel over with his foot. "Ready for supper? I am." "Roche is cook, sir," announced the Patrol Leader. "He's in the galley now cleaning fish, I think." "They're cleaned already and in the frying-pan," shouted the cook, who had overheard the dialogue between Mr. Armitage and Stratton. "Get the gear out on the table, Alan, and everything will be ready in a quarter of an hour." By the time the anchor-lamp was lighted and hoisted, and everything on deck made snug for the night, supper was announced. "How about the eel?" asked Flemming. "Where is it? Has anyone taken it below?" No one had seen it during the last ten minutes. A search on the foredeck produced no satisfactory result. "P'r'aps the thing wasn't dead after all," suggested Warkworth. "It was as dead as a door nail," declared Flemming, somewhat disappointed at the loss of his trophy. "Did any careless blighter kick it overboard, I wonder?" "I don't see that it matters very much," said Peter. "None of us like stewed eels, but of course we might have given it away to someone." The Sea Scouts trooped below to the after cabin, where the supper things were already laid. Roche thrust his head through the open doorway. "We're short of water," he declared. "It took quite a time to fill the kettle." "What?" exclaimed Stratton. "Why, we only filled the tank the day before we launched the boat. Are you sure it's empty?" "Look for yourself, my festive," suggested Flemming.