Slowly the guard-ship swung round and shaped a course for Fisherton, following obediently in the wake of the tug. On her bridge stood the burly figure of genial Lieutenant Dixon as he waved an acknowledgment of the exuberant welcome. Fifty feet above his head dangled the earthenware jug. "He doesn't know it's there," remarked Derek. "Then he jolly well will do so," rejoined the signalling officer, and, grasping a pair of hand-flags, he steadied himself on the pier-head rail. "Guard-ship, what's that at your fore top-mast head?" he signalled. The R.N.V.R. Lieutenant glanced aloft. For a moment he looked puzzled, then he realized that honours were no longer even. The R.A.F. were "one up". A broad smile suffused his features. Snatching up a pair of hand-flags he semaphored: "Thanks; but why didn't you fill it before you returned it?" CHAPTER XXV Salvage Work For the best part of the next five weeks adverse climatic conditions prevented the salvage of the stranded sea-plane. Unless given remarkably fine and calm weather, the sand-dunes of Thorbury, fringed by extensive shoals carrying less than a fathom of water, were inaccessible. Christmas was drawing on apace, and the prospect of liberal leave demanded a "settling up" of the matter of the sea-plane as soon as possible. Having received his instructions either to salve or destroy the errant machine, Derek proceeded to Thorbury in a brand-new motor-boat fitted with a powerful paraffin engine, and capable of keeping the sea in almost any weather. Compared with the earlier motor-boats to which Derek had been accustomed, R.A.F. 21, as she was officially designated, was a ship. With sleeping accommodation for two officers and four men, and fitted with a small but efficient galley, she was practically independent of the shore in the matter of sleeping and feeding her crew. Rounding Thorbury Head, R.A.F. 21 very cautiously approached the coast, keeping her lead-line going continuously. At a fathom and a half she anchored. It would be unwise to proceed farther in; even then the shore was only four hundred yards away. Manning a dinghy Derek went ashore. It was a difficult matter, for the ground-swell was breaking heavily. A brief examination of the sea-plane showed that her days were over. "Beach-combers" had already been at work, and several of the metal fittings had been stolen. It was also evident that an attempt to launch the sea-plane through the surf would meet with failure. "She'll have to go," declared Derek to Kaye, who had accompanied him. "I'll send off for some petrol." The crew set to work to remove the floats and dismantle the motor. This done, the fuselage was drenched with petrol and set on fire. In a quarter of an hour nothing but a few charred struts and tangled tension-wires remained.