Craddock was about to haul the dinghy alongside, when he caught sight of the steaming-lights of a vessel on the starboard quarter. She was, he judged, about a quarter of a mile away and heading straight for the _Kestrel_. Above the distant roar of the Race could be distinguished the steady pulsations of a marine motor. “Show a stern light,” ordered Brandon. “She won’t be able to see our starboard light.” Talbot produced a torch and held it pointing in the direction of the oncoming vessel. Suddenly a succession of “E’s” in Morse flashed from the stranger; then, after a brief pause, came the question, “What ship is that?” “_Kestrel!_” signalled Talbot in reply. “I hope they’ll be the wiser for that,” remarked Carline. Then, to the astonishment of all on board, the approaching craft announced her identity as the _Merlin_, and followed up by asking whether the _Kestrel_ wanted a tow. “Yes, badly,” was the reply. In a few minutes the Falmouth Sea Scouts’ yacht was alongside. “So we’ve overhauled you,” remarked Scoutmaster Pendennis. “We wondered what had happened. What made you put to sea in a fog?” “Didn’t you get our wire?” countered Mr. Grant. “But explanations can come later. You’ve arrived at a very opportune moment.” “And how’s that?” asked Mr. Pendennis. “We’re in danger of being swept through Portland Race, and it looks as if you are heading straight for it.” “Are we, by Jove!” ejaculated the Cornishman. “Yes, I can hear the roar now. Our engine muffled the sound. Right-o! pass your line. Course, sou’east?” “Sou’-sou’-east would be better,” remarked Mr. Grant. “’Tany rate, day’s breaking, and we’ll soon see if we’re giving the Race sufficient berth.” “Right-o!” rejoined Scoutmaster Pendennis. “We’ll do our best, but we’ve only an eight horsepower engine.” The _Merlin_ forged slowly ahead until she took up the strain of the tow; then, increasing power, she whisked the _Kestrel_ along at a steady five knots. “You fellows can turn in again,” said Brandon, addressing the Sea Scouts who had been routed out of their bunks. But the lads showed no desire to go below. In the pale grey dawn they remained on deck, dividing their interest between the _Merlin_ and a broad belt of white-foamed water barely a couple of miles on the port hand. Although the sea everywhere else was calm, the Race was one chaotic mass of broken water, roaring like a wild beast baulked of its prey. “Good old _Merlin_!” exclaimed Talbot. “She’s done the trick!”