“I gathered that he did so from subsequent happenings,” rejoined Eric. “Regarding your question, I’m sorry to inform you that I had no opportunity of studying his features. Nocturnal conditions and a natural desire to efface myself combined to keep me in ignorance of the man’s appearance. But here I am,” he added briskly, “willing to acquire as much nautical knowledge as my mental appetite will digest. Which, by the by, is the main brace?” He cocked his eye aloft at the expanse of tautened canvas, and then looked at Brandon enquiringly. “No use, my lad,” replied the Patrol Leader. “You won’t find a brace aboard this craft. Sea Scouts favour belts, you know. Now, lads! Dinner! We’re behind time.” The meal was duly relished and dispatched, the stowaway receiving a share as a matter of course. “Washing-up,” a distasteful yet necessary operation, was completed, the plates and other utensils being temporarily stowed in one of the cockpit lockers in order that Mr. Grant would not be disturbed had the gear been returned to its usual place. By this time the wind had fallen light and was almost dead aft. Land was still visible; only an expanse of smooth sea rippled by erratic catspaws greeted the sight of the crew. “Can’t we hoist the topsail?” asked Heavitree. “No,” replied Brandon decidedly, “we can’t. Scoutmaster’s orders are that the topsail is not to be set without his permission. But we can hoist the spinnaker,” he added. “That’ll help us along.” The spinnaker, a large triangular sail of light canvas, was spread by being hoisted by a halliard to the mainmast head, the tack being secured to the mast below the gooseneck, while the third corner of the sail was hauled out to the extremity of a horizontal spar known as the spinnaker boom. The latter was held by means of a sheet, but in order to prevent any tendency on the part of the boom to swing back, it was secured on the free side of the sail by means of a rope called a “guy.” The duty of “manning the guy” was deputed to Fred Heavitree. “All ready, there?” sung out Brandon. “Ay, ay, sir!” replied Craddock. “Up with her, then! Out out-haul! Check your sheet!” ordered the Patrol Leader. Craddock and Talbot at the halliard whipped the head of the canvas aloft. Simultaneously, Wilson tailed on to the out-haul. The spinnaker, distended by the light breeze, strained at the sheet; then, without warning, dropped from aloft in shivering folds. Unaccountably the halliard had parted, letting the spinnaker down with a run. There was a heavy splash. Heavitree, enveloped by the canvas, had been jerked into the sea. “Man overboard!” shouted Craddock. “Down helm, Carline!” The helmsman put the tiller hard over. Peter, snatching up a life-buoy, prepared to throw it within easy reach of the Sea Scout in the ditch. The others, abandoning the spinnaker, rushed aft to bring the dinghy alongside to pick up their chum.