"stand by with the red ensign and code pennant, rayburn," ordered patrol leader woodleigh.

the olivette had passed start point, and was approaching the low-lying extremity known as prawle point, on which is built a lloyd's signal-station.

the southend lads watched the operation of "making her number" with deep interest. they had often heard and read of vessels proclaiming their names and destination by this means, but this was the first occasion on which they were about to see the "real thing".

rayburn, the olivette's "bunting tosser" had brought the signal-locker close to the base of the mast. deftly he toggled the ensign above the red and white striped pennant and hoisted it. then he drew four flags from the locker.

"that's our number," he explained to the temporary crew.

"'k j v t'—that's not a number," observed findlay, who knew the international code flags by heart.

"isn't it? it is," rejoined rayburn. "they are letter flags, but they form a number all the same. they tell the signal-station that we are the olivette of london. stand by with the signal-book, hepburn." the sea scout signalman had the four flags together, and was now watching prawle point station through his binoculars.

promptly the shore station hoisted the answering pennant, just "at the dip", to show that the signal was seen, and their "close up" indicating that the message was understood.

a e l w and a e n u followed in quick succession.

"they mean southampton and plymouth," explained rayburn. "our port of departure and the port we're bound for. southampton is considered our port, since keyhaven comes in that district. now give me v o x."

"what does that mean?" asked desmond.

"'i am going to semaphore to you '," was the reply. rayburn glanced over his shoulder at gregory, who was sitting on the raised cabin-top with his eyes fixed shoreward. "mr. armitage gave me instructions to report the picking up of young gregory at west bay. i think there'll be a rather astonishing reply." taking up a pair of hand-flags, rayburn awaited the acknowledgment from prawle point and then began to semaphore the message.

"have picked up dinghy with 'gregory, abbotsbury' on her transom. one person in her is now aboard. propose landing him at plymouth. please telephone information to gregory, abbotsbury, dorset."

presently the long arms of the shore semaphore began sending out the reply:

"boy escaped from borstal institute, portland, yesterday night. keep him on board until arrival at plymouth. will inform police there, who will take necessary action."

"message received," replied rayburn, then, turning to findlay, he exclaimed: "haul down!"

meanwhile woodleigh, standing just behind rayburn, had written down the message as the latter dictated in a low voice the astounding news. then, without giving any sign that might arouse master gregory's suspicions, the patrol leader went aft and handed the written report to mr. armitage.

"by jove, graham!" exclaimed the scoutmaster. "how's that for character-reading? the young blighter is an escaped borstal boy. i wonder what he was sent to portland for?"

"better not ask him," rejoined mr. graham. "he might give trouble. it's rather a wonder he didn't get the wind up when we commenced semaphoring."

"perhaps he is in a bit of a funk," said mr. armitage. "however, that's his affair. i'm not going to spoil his few hours of unauthorized liberty unless he cuts up rough. there's salcombe, lads. a snug harbour but a tricky place to enter. bolt head's just on our starboard bow. the next few miles is a magnificent bit of coast."

the olivette was now fairly close to shore, about half a mile from the frowning cliffs of devon. fascinated by the sight of the surf-lashed shore, stupendous walls of rock, the southend sea scouts gazed stolidly shorewards, while mr. armitage pointed out the various objects of interest between bolt head and bolt tail, and gave accounts of several notable shipwrecks that had taken place within the limits of the two forbidding headlands.

then across bigbury bay, almost out of sight of land, the olivette ploughed her way against a foul tide. the best of the day had gone. misty-looking clouds were banking up in the west'ard with a promise of rain before very long.

"that doesn't look very inviting for a tramp across cornwall," remarked mr. graham.

"it may be only local," replied mr. armitage. "without casting any aspersions upon the attractions of plymouth, i can assert that i have put into the sound on at least half a dozen widely different occasions, and i have never yet done so in sunshine. it has always been raining pretty heavily."

two hours later the olivette rounded the peaked, isolated rock, known as the mewstone, and the whole of plymouth sound with its magnificent breakwater came into view. in spite of the fact that it was raining heavily, all the sea scouts not actually on duty in the wheelhouse and engine-room kept on deck to enjoy the view, for enjoyable it was even in the now steady downpour. gregory too was up for'ard gazing, rather apprehensively it seemed, at the hoe and smeaton's tower.

"i feel sorry for that chap," confided jock findlay to his chum desmond. "i think he knows that there's something in the wind. he has hardly spoken a word since we passed prawle point."

"it's rough luck being pitchforked into the arms of a policeman," said desmond. "of course, we don't know what he was sent to portland for, but i'm hanged if i like the idea of pushing him back. we can't help it, but it looks like a low-down trick on our part."

"nearly there, you fellows," announced woodleigh, as the olivette passed the end of mount batten breakwater. "don't you think you'd better sleep aboard again? it's not much fun tramping ten miles on a wet evening like this."

"especially if you've got to sleep out," added flemming.

the patrol leader bent down and spoke to the engineer through the open window of the wheelhouse.

"turn over to petrol now, warkworth, old son," he said. "we're almost at sutton pool."

the crew began to make ready with ropes and fenders, while woodleigh kept a sharp look out for a suitable berth in the sheltered but considerably crowded harbour known as sutton pool.

"unity, ahoy!" he hailed, addressing a short, thick-set fisherman in a blue jersey, tanned trousers, and sea-boots, and wearing a billy-cock hat that looked rather out of keeping with his nautical rig. "can we berth alongside you? are you putting out to-night?"

"make fast alongside o' we," replied the skipper of the fishing-smack unity. "you'm welcome, sure."

"why don't you tie up alongside the quay?" asked desmond.

"we never do if it can be avoided," explained woodleigh. "for one thing, it's rough on our fenders, grinding against a stone wall; for another, we'd have to keep a watch on deck all night to tend the warps when the tide fell. lying alongside the smack we rise and fall with her. her crew will have to see to the warps."

the task of making fast had occupied the attention of all hands, but when the work was completed the sea scouts became aware that they were objects of considerable attention. there was quite a crowd of fishermen and longshore folk taking an interest in the olivette, while standing discreetly in the background, with their helmets showing above the heads of the onlookers, were two stalwart policemen.