“Smart bit of work,” he declared admiringly, when Craddock had told his plain, unvarnished tale. “He’s a desperate character with a black record. Well, young man, you’ve jolly well earned the reward offered for his apprehension.” Peter shook his head. “We don’t want it, do we, Heavitree?” he replied. “It’s too much like blood-money.” “Nonsense,” declared the warder. “You’re entitled to it. You’ve rendered a public service.” “S’pose that’s one way of looking at it,” admitted the lad. “All the same, I don’t like the idea of touching the money. As a matter of fact, Molly earned it as much as we did. Couldn’t we give the reward to that Society for—you know what I mean, sir?” “‘Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.’ Yes, that’s rather a good wheeze, Peter,” agreed the Scoutmaster. “Well, now, it’s quite about time this party broke up.” Taking the hint, the warders removed their prisoner, who accepted the situation philosophically, especially as Craddock and Heavitree had made no mention to the authorities of the fact that he had used violence. “He didn’t hurt our pup, so we simply felt we had to let him down lightly,” explained Peter. Very soon the crew of the _Kestrel_ were deep in slumber. They did not turn out till late in the forenoon for two reasons. They wanted to arrive at Chichester Harbour “as fresh as paint”; it was practically useless to attempt to set sail until the west-going tide eased considerably. By this time the Aberstour Sea Scouts had learnt to respect the fierce tides of the Solent. When the lads did turn out, Brandon went on deck to haul down the riding-light. Then, to his surprise, he discovered that the _Merlin_ was nowhere to be seen. “She’s stolen a march on us on the last lap,” declared Heavitree when the Patrol Leader announced the astonishing news. “Well, she hasn’t got far,” added Carline. “Unless, of course, she’s made use of her motor.” “We would have heard it,” remarked Craddock. “Her exhaust is a very noisy affair.” “Perhaps they thought that we gave them the slip at Falmouth,” suggested Talbot. “One or two of the fellows looked a bit doubtful, as if we were pulling their legs, when we explained how it happened. So they’re taking a rise out of us.” “Stop arguing!” exclaimed Brandon. “Don’t go hanging on to the slack, but get your breakfasts. The sooner we get under way the better.” By the time the meal had been dispatched and everything below made ship-shape the tide had slackened. There was a light southerly breeze which would enable the _Kestrel_ to romp full and bye up the Solent, and, unless the wind changed in direction, would take her to Chichester Bar without having to tack. It was now nine o’clock. High water at Spithead would occur at four, and if the _Kestrel_ were to make the rendezvous that day, she must arrive off the bar not later than five.