The _Mudlark_ was a decrepit old tub. Tom Boldrigg, although he had been pensioned for a good number of years, had not arrived at that stage when "there shall be no more sea". The boat was a centre-board, flat-floored craft about twenty feet in length, decked in for'ard and with a "fish-tray" aft. She was a suitable craft for running over the flats and working the small unbeaconed creeks on the Hampshire shore; but only in fine weather was she fit for the strong tides of the Solent. Willing hands hauled the _Mudlark_ down the beach. The mast was stepped and the tan sprit-sail set. Into the boat crowded the six Sea Scouts, with old Boldrigg at the helm. The Tenderfoot was left behind. The fact that none of the crew had had breakfast passed unnoticed in the excitement, but would be realized later, as would also the mistake of omitting to provision and water the little craft. "We'll keep well over agen the flats," said Tom. "There'll be a mort less o' tide. You say there ain't but an hour's supply of oil aboard? Well, at seven or eight knots she won't be as far up along as Cowes, and now she's got a foul tide. We'll sight her in a couple of hours, Master Peter." Stratton and the other Sea Scouts were equally sanguine. From experience they knew the helplessness of the _Olivette_ when deprived of motor power. There were no sweeps on board, and she carried no canvas. The only means of propulsion would be by towing her from the dinghy, and it would take a terrific amount of energy in that direction to move her through the water at a mile an hour. Inquiries of the skipper of an eight-ton ketch yacht, abreast of Jack-in-the-Basket, resulted in the information that no motor craft had put into Lymington River since five that morning, so one possible hiding-place was eliminated. With the sail drawing steadily, the _Mudlark_ slipped rapidly over the tide, keeping close to the fringe of mud-banks on the northern shore of the Solent. Pitt's Deep, open to full view, was a blank. So was the long expanse of shore between it and the entrance to Beaulieu River. "She might have got in through Bull Run," suggested Hepburn. "Might," agreed Peter, "but it would take a fellow jolly well acquainted with the place to get the _Olivette_ through. We'll try it and see." Close hauled on the port tack, the _Mudlark_ skimmed through the narrow channel that affords a short but intricate cut into one of the most picturesque creeks on the south coast. As the boat passed one of the numerous "hards", the crew noticed a coastguardsman running towards them. "Up centre-board. Down helm." The boat's forefoot grounded on the shingle, Stratton and Roche jumped ashore to meet the bluejacket. "You're looking for a motor-boat," announced the coastguard. "I had a telephone message through half an hour ago. She hasn't put into this river, and I've seen nothing answering to her description making to the east'ard."