Quickly the topsail was set. The yacht being "stiff," she could carry this additional canvas with ease even in a much stronger breeze. Now she was slipping through the dancing, sunlit water at a very modest three knots. "Jolly sight better than sitting in a stuffy court," remarked Peter Craddock, referring to the recent trial of a certain Harry Benz, who, under the name of George Gregory, had attempted to smuggle a quantity of cocaine. "I didn't like having to give evidence a bit, sir. And it seemed rough luck that the fellow should get all the punishment and his pals go scot free." "A case of honour amongst thieves, I expect," remarked Mr. Grant. "He wouldn't divulge the names of his accomplices, and apparently there was a pretty big gang at work." "I suppose, sir," said Patrol-leader Frank Brandon, "they won't try to pay us out." "Hardly," replied the Scoutmaster, shaking his head. "They'll look upon our part of the business from a level-headed point of view. They used us as instruments to further their ends--and that without consulting us. They took their chances and got let down. Revenge rarely enters into the case as far as an Englishman is concerned, even amongst rogues." "Of course, with Spaniards and Italians the case is different. No, I don't think we have any cause for anxiety on that score. Slack off that lee runner a bit, Carline. That's right. Now, Peter, another couple of feet home with that mainsheet." A couple of hours' run brought the _Puffin_ within hailing distance of the _Vang_ Lightship. The shipkeepers knew the Sea Scouts and guessed their errand. "Coming aboard, sir?" inquired the mate, who happened to be in charge of the lightship in the absence of the master on shore leave. "Not to-day, thank you," replied Mr. Grant, noticing that the _Vang_ was riding stern to tide, and was in consequence pitching considerably. "We've just had our topsides painted. Stand by for papers." One of the men produced a landing-net lashed to the end of a boathook. The _Puffin_, with staysail a-weather, crept slowly under the lee of the huge, lobster-red hull. Deftly Brandon transferred the packet of newspapers to the net, receiving in return a small waterproof bag containing the lightship's "mail." "Righto!" shouted Mr. Grant. "We'll post that little lot for you well before post time. Sheet home, Peter. Up helm, Tom." "Plenty of time yet, sir," remarked Brandon as the _Puffin_ drew clear of the securely-moored lightship. "Can't we have a run seaward and come back on the young flood?" "Just what I was about to suggest," agreed the Scoutmaster. "The wind's dropping, I fancy. Plenty of petrol in the tank, I hope?" "Filled up this morning, sir," was Brandon's reassuring reply. For the next hour the _Puffin_ held on, her crew basking in the glorious sunshine. Then, with remarkable suddenness the sun disappeared in a watery haze, the temperature dropped considerably, and the crew actually found themselves shivering.