"What is the game, sir?" asked Desmond, after the efforts of the trio to burst open the fore-hatch had to be abandoned as hopeless.

"Can\'t say, I\'m sure," replied Mr. Graham breathlessly. "Let\'s hope it\'s a practical joke, but I\'m afraid it isn\'t."

"Do you think it\'s Greening or Greener, or whatever his name is?" asked Findlay. "Or perhaps it\'s another Borstal boy escaping from Portland."

"That thought occurred to me," admitted the Scoutmaster, "but there\'s one flaw in the argument. The skipper of the Gloria vouched for him. It might be a case of sudden mental disorder. \'Ssh! He\'s speaking—listen."

In silence they listened to the almost one-sided conversation between the red-haired youth and Hayes. They heard the outboard motor starting up, and the ominous silence when the painter fouled the propeller. Then followed the cold-blooded threat to run the Spindrift ashore.

"It\'s time we took drastic measures, lads," said Mr. Graham calmly. "Fortunately, Hayes isn\'t on board the yacht. That\'s what was tying my hands, as it were."

The Scoutmaster took down his portmanteau from one of the racks, opened it, and fumbled amongst an assortment of articles. Producing a small leather holster, he laid it on the cabin table and withdrew from it a short-barrelled automatic taking Service ammunition. "It\'s rather an un-Scouting article," remarked Mr. Graham, as he proceeded to fill the magazine. "I had doubts about bringing it, but I think the circumstances warrant it."

"Are you going to shoot him, sir?" asked Findlay, rather awe-struck.

"Not if I can help it," was the decided assurance. "We\'ll have to rush the fellow. Remember, he has a knife."

Desmond armed himself with a knotted towel in which was wrapped up a large iron shackle. Findlay laid hold of a rolling-pin from the galley. It was the first time that it had been used for any purpose since the Sea Scouts took over the yacht, and in Jock\'s hand it looked a formidable weapon.

The Spindrift was now heeling to starboard—an indication that the young rascal on deck had put the helm up and was getting way on the yacht.

"Stand by!" whispered Mr. Graham.

Raising the automatic he placed the muzzle against the cabin door and pressed the trigger. A deafening report shook the confined space. The air reeked of burnt cordite.

Another shot followed in quick succession, then, hastily setting the safety-catch of the pistol, the Scoutmaster thrust his shoulder against the door.

Already the two bullets had done their work. The hasp had been torn from the teak door, and it required very little effort to clear a way.

Into the cockpit rushed the Scoutmaster, the two Scouts hard on his heels.

Alarmed by the shots, the miscreant had run for\'ard, evidently under the totally wrong impression that they were meant for him. Then, grasping the lever of the winch, he stood on the defensive, looking more like an infuriated beast than a human being.

"drop that and give in at once!" said Mr. Graham sternly, pointing the muzzle of the automatic at the fellow\'s stomach. The safety-catch was still set, as the Scoutmaster knew, but he was also aware that a man, who will face the muzzle of a pistol without outward signs of fear, will begin to quiver and quake when the weapon is pointed at the buckle of his belt.

The boy dropped the lever and began to raise both hands. Desmond and Findlay ran for\'ard to secure him, but with a yelp of rage the hardened youngster leapt overboard.

He reappeared half a dozen yards astern, waving his hands and yelling until he dipped for the second time. To all on board it was evident that he was unable to swim. The Spindrift, although running up into the wind, was still carrying a lot of way. Hayes in the dinghy was a cable\'s length astern, rowing strongly, but making slow progress owing to the drag of the outboard motor\'s propeller.

The Scoutmaster picked up a life-buoy and threw it to the drowning youth. So careful was he to avoid hitting the lad with the buoy, that it fell short.

Simultaneously, there were two splashes. Without waiting even to kick off their shoes, Desmond and Findlay had both "taken to the ditch" and were swimming strongly to the aid of the lad in distress.

It was an unwise and unnecessary step for both to dive overboard. One would have been sufficient to make for the buoy and push it within reach of the drowning youth. It also left Mr. Graham to manage the yacht single-handed, and, although he was quite capable of so doing, it was a tough proposition to go about, huff, and pick three persons out of the water.

Putting the helm up, the Scoutmaster soon had the yacht under control. Already she had "eaten her way" well to wind\'ard of the lad in distress. To go about would mean placing a still greater distance between them. So Mr. Graham still kept the helm hard up, at the same time checking the main-sheet until the Spindrift gybed. Then running to lee\'ard he close hauled and lulled up.

By this time, Desmond had reached the life-buoy. Findlay, a quicker and more powerful swimmer, made no effort to get hold of the life-buoy. He saw that the object of his efforts was pretty far gone. Incautiously, Jock made a grab at him, and the next instant the Sea Scout was seized round the neck by the brawny arms of the frenzied youth.

Both went under at once. Findlay, although he had not time to take a deep breath, fortunately retained his presence of mind, and, keeping his arms down and using his feet vigorously, brought himself and the drowning youth to the surface.

But only for a brief instant. The other fellow, gripping like a bear, strove to raise himself out of the water, with the result that Jock went under again. Desmond, marking time with the buoy, hesitated to approach lest he should be entangled in the meshes of this human net. Deciding that something must be done—and that quickly—to avoid a double fatality, the Patrol Leader swam behind the struggling youth, raised the life-buoy, a............