Eric brought the dinghy alongside on the starboard quarter and clambered on board. "She'll do," he reported. "She's as quiet as a lamb. Wonder what those fellows are doing ashore? It's nearly midnight. You'd better turn in, Rayburn." The Tenderfoot was about to go below, when he startled the others by exclaiming: "What's that coming towards us?" It was a heavily laden barge, drifting broadside on to the wind and tide. Already it was close upon the bows of the _Olivette_, its long, low-lying outlines grotesquely magnified in the darkness. "She'll hit us!" shouted Roche. "Stand by and fend her off. Phil, put the helm hard over, and see if we can sheer clear of her." Flemming and Roche ran for'ard, each with a boat-hook. They might as well have tried to stop an armoured car with a broomstick. Rayburn promptly put the helm hard over, but the scope of chain to which the _Olivette_ was riding was not sufficient to enable her to sheer out of the course of the derelict barge. The next moment the impact came. It was a severe shock, although the _Olivette_ gave to the momentum of the barge. Round swung the latter under the irresistible strength of the tide, although her side was still grinding against the _Olivette's_ stem. "Look to the dinghy!" shouted Roche, still pushing with the boat-hook with all his strength. Flemming realized the danger. Dropping his boat-hook, he raced aft, dropped into the dinghy, and began to cast off the painter. [Illustration: THE DERELICT (missing from book)] The rope--a new one--had swollen with the night dew. Before Eric could untie the stubborn clove-hitch, the barge, still swinging round, crashed heavily against the frail dinghy. Nipped between the sides of the two larger craft, the dinghy was literally split asunder. Flemming barely contrived to jump upon the deck of the low-lying barge. A second or so later and he would have shared the fate of the dinghy. Baffled by the darkness and by the fact that he was on a strange craft, Flemming attempted to run for'ard and regain the _Olivette_. Stumbling over a ring-bolt, he fell awkwardly upon the barge's waterways, and by the time he recovered himself the two craft had drifted apart. He was marooned upon a derelict at the mercy of the swiftly running Seine. It was a time of agonizing suspense for Dick Roche. He knew that his chum had gone to save the dinghy; he had heard the rending crash as the frail craft was nipped between the sides of the _Olivette_ and the barge. A prey to the liveliest apprehension, Dick ran aft, encountering the Tenderfoot, who, having placed the helm amidships, had hurried from the wheel-house. "Where's Eric?" shouted Roche. "He was in the dinghy." "On board the barge," replied Phil; "I saw him jump for it." Roche ran aft and shouted. By this time the derelict had drifted so far that she was a mere shadow in the darkness. "Ahoy!" came a faint shout, barely audible against the down-wind.