“Well, I’ve kicked the bucket,” declared Peter feelingly. A roar of laughter greeted this apparently innocent remark. Craddock, failing to grasp the grim significance of the words, couldn’t imagine why his chums should roar because he had stubbed his toe against the submerged article. Taking turns to use the hack-saw, the two lads set to work energetically. True they broke a couple of blades—mishaps that, owing to the erratic motion of the yacht and their unstable position, were not to be wondered at—but at length the tautened wire parted. The bucket was hauled in deck while Brandon, who believed in doing a good job thoroughly, extricated the stranded wire rope from the narrow gap between the rudder and the stern-post. “Dirty dogs, whoever they are,” commented the Patrol Leader, after he had hauled himself clear of the water. “Here’s a clue, anyway,” exclaimed Heavitree. He pointed to the somewhat dented side of the bucket. On it could be traced the partly obliterated letters in black paint. . . . UM . . . R.J. . . .K. “_Lumberjack!_” announced Craddock. “That’s the name of the tramp lying next to us at Dartmouth.” “Why should any of her crew want to play a joke on us, I wonder?” enquired Carline. “Couldn’t you write to the owners and find out the names of the crew, sir? That might explain matters.” “I am thinking seriously of doing so,” replied Mr. Grant. “There may be more in this business than we know. It’s not merely a practical joke; had we been compelled to tack out of harbour the result might easily have been disastrous. Now, Brandon! Get way on her again. She ought to slip along in a nice breeze like this; and Portland’s still a long way off.” With that the Scoutmaster went below. CHAPTER XII Out of Action Mr. Grant went to his cabin for a very serious reason. His hand was rapidly swelling. The slight cut he had received when he rescued young Marner from the sinking schooner had resulted in an undoubted case of blood-poisoning. He, who was prone to boast of his immunity from that sort of thing, had at last fallen a victim to the dangerous malady. For some time he had suspected it. He ought to have gone ashore at Dartmouth and seen a doctor. He would have done but for the fear that he might be ordered to lay up. In that case, the voyage of the _Kestrel_ would have been indefinitely prolonged—long after the forthcoming Jamboree was over. Although Brandon was quite a capable fellow, he held no warrant, without which Sea Scouts are not permitted to go afloat; and it was doubtful whether a fully qualified man could be found to undertake the duties of temporary Scoutmaster. So, rather than spoil the lads’ chance of taking part in the Chichester Harbour Jamboree, Mr. Grant risked his own.