"Is tarred and perfectly dry," replied the Patrol Leader. "But we can stow that to-morrow. By the time we've launched the _Olivette_ we'll have done quite enough. There are limits. Besides, we want daylight for that job." At eight the same evening the Sea Scouts assembled once more. It was now about half-flood and too early for the actual launching operations, but the lads busied themselves by getting the dinghy out of store, greasing the ways, and in a variety of odd but necessary tasks. Night fell, but the moon, almost approaching its full, gave sufficient light for the Sea Scouts to proceed with their work. "Tide's high enough now," declared Peter, grasping a sledge-hammer. "Start knocking out those dog-spikes, lads. Stand clear of the ways in case she starts off unexpectedly." "All clear this end!" announced Roche. "Same here," added Flemming. "Right-o," rejoined Peter. The last restraining bond was removed, but the _Olivette_ obstinately refused to budge an inch. Levers were brought into action without effect. In theory the fifty-four feet of hull ought to have glided down the greased ways in style to the accompaniment of ringing cheers from her crew. It was, therefore, a decided "damp squib" when she chose to remain seemingly as immovable as the pyramids of Egypt. "Perhaps the ways have sunk," suggested Alan. "Tide's falling," announced Roche, wiping his heated brow. "It's dropped a couple of inches." "We must get her off," declared Peter. He felt that it was a slur upon his shipwright's knowledge. He had been responsible for the construction of the ways and the hauling out of the boat. The latter task had been performed without a hitch, and now, unaccountably, what ought to have been a relatively easy task had proved a regular teaser. "I vote we borrow Dr. Mallerby's motor-jack," suggested Flemming. "That would start her on the downward path, I think." The suggestion was adopted, and the Sea Scouts proceeded to the doctor's house, which was situated at the remote end of Keyhaven village. "How many fellows do we want for the stunt?" demanded Stratton, addressing his six companions. "Some of you ought to be standing by the boat." "She won't move, worse luck," commented Roche. A knock at the door was promptly answered by the doctor in person. It was now after eleven o'clock and the maids had gone to bed. "Hello!" was his greeting when he recognized the Sea Scouts. "What's the game, eh? Are you going to do your good turn for to-morrow now, and get ahead of the clock?" "We want you to do us a good turn, sir, if you please," said Stratton. "Can you lend us your motor-jack?" "Certainly," replied Dr. Mallerby. "Where's the breakdown? Here's the key of the garage, Stratton. Take the jack, and, when you return it, lock up and put the key through the letter-box. Good-night!" "Why," exclaimed Roche, as the lads approached the slipway, "I do believe she has moved." "Yes," added Rayburn, the Tenderfoot; "she's turned round."