At length the engineer conquered the refractory motor, and, after running the engine with the clutch out for a couple of minutes, Derek decided to start. "Cast off, there!" he shouted to the signalman. "Easy ahead!" The boat gave a final grind against the pier, then forged ahead with a strong tide under her. Barely had she got beyond heaving distance of the pier-head, when, with a fierce roar, the whole of the confined space of the engine-room seemed to burst into flames. Simultaneously the motor ceased firing. It was not an enviable situation. Adrift in a roughish sea with the engine-room well alight, it looked as if the crew had the choice either of being burnt or else compelled to take an involuntary bath in the icy-cold water. In the latter case there would be slight chance of reaching the shore, since the strong tide would carry the swimmers into the wide and exposed harbour, and in the pitch darkness of the night the possibility of rescue by another boat would be very remote. In spite of the danger the crew kept their heads. There was not the slightest sign of panic. One of the men raised a laugh by exclaiming: "We can only drown once, lads; but we may burn twice, so let's get the fire under." Without hesitation the engineer acted, directing a heavy discharge of "pyrene" into the heart of the flames. In a few seconds the anti-fire apparatus did its work. As if by magic the fierce tongue of flame died down, but for some minutes the crew were almost overcome by the fumes. During that interval the broken-down boat had drifted across the bows of two other craft moored in the vicinity. Standing on the plunging fore-deck the intrepid bowman, maintaining his precarious position, succeeded in fending off by means of a boat-hook. Then, with three miles of water to leeward, the crew had time to consider their position and act accordingly. At length the motor was restarted, and the long, tedious run up to Fisherton began. Steering by means of a series of leading lights Derek held on, drenched with spray and numbed with the cold, until, with a sigh of relief, he ported helm past the revolving green light at the entrance to Fisherton Quay. A motor-car was waiting to take Derek and the men back to Sableridge, where Daventry found that the signalman had reported the fire, and that the depot had been in a state of ferment over the news. "You practically spoiled our dinner, you rotter!" exclaimed Kaye. "I've certainly lost mine," rejoined Derek. "That's base ingratitude," protested his chum, "considering I told the messman to keep it hot. I say, you guys!" he added, addressing the other five or six occupants of the ante-room. "Daventry's raising a moan about his grub. What's the penalty?" The next instant a rolled-up flag came hurtling at Derek's head. It was the signal for battle. There was ammunition in plenty, for nearly fifty rolled signal-flags that were left over after decorating the mess were lying on the table in the hall.