Fifty hours had elapsed since the _Kestrel_ found her way into Dartmouth Harbour. The summer storm had blown itself out. The Sea Scouts, having made up arrears of sleep, were in the best of spirits and keenly looking forward to the long run across West Bay and round the famous Bill of Portland. It was almost a flat calm. The tide was still ebbing. The S.S. _Lumberjack_ remained at anchor, repairs to her machinery being still in progress. According to his rule of letting the Sea Scouts work their craft as far as possible entirely on their own responsibility, Mr. Grant was acting in the rôle of passenger, Patrol Leader Frank Brandon being for the present skipper of the _Kestrel_. “Get an oar out, Heavitree,” continued the Patrol Leader. “We’ll have to sweep her round in this light breeze, and probably tow her clear of the harbour. She’ll shift easily enough when once we get way on her.” Brandon was on the point of calling to Carline to cast off the mooring when he noticed a small motor boat approaching, apparently with the intention of crossing the _Kestrel’s_ bows. Instead, the owner of the power-craft reversed, put her helm over, and ran alongside. “Good morning!” he exclaimed. “I see you fellows are off. Perhaps you’d like a tow? I’m off to the East Blockstone to try a bit of fishing, so if you like I’ll take a line.” “Thanks awfully, sir,” replied Brandon. “It’s jolly good of you.” “Not at all,” rejoined the owner of the motor boat. “Matter of fact, I used to be a Scoutmaster. Had to give it up, unfortunately. However, I still stick to the practice of ‘One Good Turn a Day’—more if I have a chance. . . . Sorry, I didn’t see you,” he added, addressing Mr. Grant, who had just come out of the saloon. “Why! Surely your name’s Grant?” “Quite right,” was the reply, “but somehow I can’t recall you.” “Possibly not,” continued the other, with a laugh. “Do you remember coming alongside a tramp on Christmas Day ’17? You were in a M.L. and you got some bully beef and bread out of our old hooker. At the same time you warned us that there were two U-boats off Bolt Head, and said we’d better leg it back to Plymouth?” Mr. Grant remembered the circumstance. It was during the war, when he was in command of a M.L. “But I can’t recall your features,” he reiterated. “’Cause I am beautifully disguised with a beard,” explained the other. “Matter of fact, we didn’t take your advice. We held on our course, and bagged a Fritz a couple of hours later. We were a ‘Q’ ship, and you didn’t spot us.” “Heard about it later on,” said Mr. Grant. “Then your name’s Carter?” “Just so; late Scoutmaster of the 9th Gosport Sea Scouts. Unfortunately, ‘owing to the War,’ I had to give up, much to my regret, and settle down here at Kingswear. Come aboard, and we can yarn while I’m towing your craft out of the harbour.” Mr. Grant accepted the invitation, leaving Brandon actually in command of the _Kestrel_.