“If they can get the thing to go,” added Brandon. “But it’s rather strange. Here we are busting along with every stitch of canvas drawing, and they haven’t a breath of wind. The sea’s as smooth as glass a mile ahead.” As far as the _Kestrel_ was concerned the breeze held strong and true until she drew within a hundred yards of the Cornish Sea Scouts’ craft. Then the wind failed utterly. In the grip of the now adverse tide both yachts began to lose ground. Ahead and only three miles away lay the Solent—looking alluring and peaceful in the rays of the late afternoon sun. Without the aid of a steady and favourable breeze or that of a powerful motor the two yachts were not likely to gain their desired harbour during the next six hours. Keeping her now useless canvas set, the _Kestrel_ dropped anchor. The _Merlin_ continued to drift until she came abreast of the Aberstour Sea Scouts’ craft; then she, too, let go her anchor. “You were lucky to carry a breeze so long,” shouted the Patrol Leader of the _Merlin_. “We’ve been becalmed for quite two hours. We got within a quarter of a mile of the lighthouse when the tide changed. Look where we are now!” “Why didn’t you use your motor?” asked Craddock. “We haven’t been able to get the thing going,” was the reply. “We’ve been trying all day, and we haven’t given up hope yet, although we do feel a bit fed up.” “Can I give you a hand?” asked Peter, who possessed a sound knowledge of internal combustion engines. “If you will,” replied the Cornish Patrol Leader. Craddock jumped into the dinghy, cast off the painter, and rowed to the _Merlin_. It required a considerable amount of hard rowing, for the tide was now swirling past and the dinghy was large and heavy. “What have you done?” he enquired, as he gained the _Merlin’s_ deck. “Tried everything,” was the reply. “The mag.’s all right; there’s quite a healthy spark, but she won’t even fire her dope.” Peter made the usual preliminary tests. Pouring a few drops of petrol into the plug and placing the latter on the cylinder, he found that the spirit ignited readily enough; but, as the Patrol Leader had said, the “dope” would not fire when the plug was in position. “Tried a spare plug?” asked Craddock. “Four—no good,” was the terse and emphatic reply. Carefully overhauling the high-tension wire, Peter called attention to the fact that the insulation was rather worn at a spot where the wire crossed one of the bearers of the cockpit floor. “Yes,” agreed the Cornish lad, “I noticed that; but if there is a short there’d be no spark at all. As it is, the plug has quite a healthy spark.” “Well, try now,” suggested Craddock. “No; don’t replace the floorboards. Stand astride of the gap.” At the first swing of the starting handle the motor fired and continued to do so, “ticking over” with the throttle only just open. “Well, I’m dashed!” ejaculated the _Merlin’s_ engineer. “What did you do?” “Nothing,” replied Peter. “Now replace the floorboards.”