Nor was the astonishment of his companions much less, for within fifty yards of them, securely moored, lay the s.s. _Getalong_. The skipper turned to his partner in crime, the chief engineer. "You've mucked it, you fool!" he hissed. "'Pears ye're richt," admitted the still fuddled Aberdonian, as if it were beneath his dignity to argue over what was an apparent and obvious fact. "I'll send the men aboard," continued Quelch. "You an' me had best hook it. Where's a railway station, my man?" he added, addressing a clean-shaven man in a blue reefer suit and bowler hat. "Police station, you mean," was the reply. "This way, Captain Quelch. I've been looking for you. Let me caution you; any statement you may make will be used as evidence against you. Are you coming quietly?" The procession was reformed. Captain Quelch and the detective led the way, followed by the chief engineer and another representative of the law. The rest of the officers and the crew formed the main body, although they had no idea why they were invited to inspect the inside of the Aberstour police station. Three uniformed policemen brought up the rear, while ahead and on both flanks were dozens of curious townsfolk. Once on his way along the quay the arrested captain looked seaward. A little cutter, outward bound, was passing between the pier-heads. To a seaman who, more than likely, was to spend the next few years of his life between stone walls, the sight of that little yacht raised envious regrets. "Lucky beggars!" he muttered. But possibly his benediction would have taken a different form had he but known that it was through the agency of the _Puffin_ and her crew of Sea Scouts that the s.s. _Getalong_ was not lying fathoms deep on the bed of the English Channel. CHAPTER XI THE MYSTERIOUS VISITOR "ONE of you fellows must remain on board as ship-keeper," decided Scoutmaster Grant. "The unlucky one must be elected amongst yourselves, so get busy, lads." The _Puffin_ lay alongside the quay at Sablesham, moored fore and aft by ropes ashore and with her anchor in the stream to prevent her chafing against the piles. The Sea Scouts were about to spend the evening ashore. An invitation had been received from the Lydiard Scouts to attend a camp-fire concert at a camp on the side of Blackbird Beacon, a lofty, grass-covered chalk down about five miles from Sablesham Harbour. Having told his crew to choose amongst themselves who should be ship-keeper, Mr. Grant went ashore to visit the harbour master. Twenty minutes later he returned to find the debatable point still undecided. Everyone wanted to go, and each Sea Scout had half a dozen reasons, good, bad, or indifferent, why he should _not_ be left behind. There was no unseemly wrangle or display of bad temper; they were simply arguing the matter out. "What! Not settled yet?" exclaimed Mr. Grant. "We wish you'd decide, sir," said Carline. "Unanimous on that?" asked the Scoutmaster.