In a trice he leapt across the cabin-top. Before Peter could recover his guard the fellow was within the wavering point of the boat-hook. The next instant he grasped Heavitree’s right wrist, rendering the belaying-pin useless as a weapon either of defence or offence. But there was one thing he forgot. Accustomed to having a dry and comparatively unyielding solid ground, he was quite unused to the motion of a vessel. Even a forty-foot yacht responds perceptibly to the weight of a person moving on deck. In his wild onslaught he lost his balance. His bare feet slipped on the wet painted canvas of the cabin-top. He fell heavily, bringing Heavitree down with him. In vain Heavitree tried to get in his terrible upper cut to the point. The convict’s face seemed as if it were made of metal. He gave a grunt as the Sea Scout’s fist jolted his chin, then with a quick movement his fingers closed upon the lad’s throat. For a moment Craddock was unable to distinguish friend from foe in the deep shadows of the cockpit. Then he heard his chum’s choking cry as he gasped for breath. Snatching another belaying-pin from the rack, Peter brought the iron bar down with considerable force upon the back of the convict’s closely cropped head. The man seemed to crumple up. He subsided inertly across the body of the Sea Scout he had tried to choke into insensibility. Extricating Heavitree from his decidedly unpleasant situation, Peter set his chum down upon one of the seats in the cockpit. For several minutes, Heavitree could do nothing but gasp, swallowing mouthfuls of the pure ozone-laden air, until his companion grew alarmed. “It’s all right, I think,” spluttered Heavitree. “I don’t think I’m hurt much, but I feel like a jelly. What’s happened to the chap? You haven’t killed him?” “Hardly,” replied Peter. “His skull is too thick for that. I gave him a tap to quiet him. Hello! more of them?” A pair of hands appeared over the side of the yacht, followed by a head. It was one of the crew of the _Merlin_. Alarmed by the commotion on board the _Kestrel_, he had boldly dived overboard and swum to the aid of his brother-Scouts. It was a risky thing to do, and by the time he had battled against the strong flood tide he was nearly exhausted. Peter assisted the lad on board and explained matters. “My word!” exclaimed the Cornish lad. “This is some trip! We can’t say the voyage has been dull, can we? Cheerful looking fellow, isn’t he? Hadn’t we better secure him before he comes round?” “He looks as if he is about to recover consciousness,” said Peter. “In that case we’ll get busy,” rejoined the _Merlin’s_ representative. “There’s no need to lash him up. Let me show you how we do things down our way.” So saying, the Cornish Sea Scout picked up the mop which was lying on deck. “Got another stick like this?” he asked. Craddock produced a spare handle from one of the lockers.