"No, sir," replied the man stolidly.
"What time do you expect him?"
"When I sees 'im I sees 'im," was the uncompromising response.
"Can you put us on board?" asked Bernard.
The old boatman shook his head.
"That I can't, certain sure," he replied decidedly. "Ain't got no orders, sir."
"Unobliging blighter," soliloquized Geoff, but the thought had hardly entered his head when he recognized the honesty of the man in whose charge Norna had been left. After all, he was responsible, and he was only doing his duty by refusing to allow two strangers on board.
Just at that moment a car drew up and a tall, elderly man switched off the ignition and alighted stiffly. For some moments he scanned the beach, then, catching sight of the two lads, walked towards them.
"Mr. Harrison?" queried Bernard.
"'Fraid not," was the reply. "Do you happen to be Mr. Ensor?"
Bernard hastened to correct the stranger's slight error.
"I've a note for you," continued the motorist, handing Geoff a pencilled missive. "It's from Mr. Harrison."
Eagerly Geoff read the note and handed it to his chum.
"Awfully sorry," it read, "but I have met with an accident and am now in hospital. In the circumstances, I regret that our proposed cruise is off, and the doctor here declares that I shall not be fit for at least six weeks. I hope that my disappointment is greater than yours, and that you will be able to find ample recompense in another direction before very long. Yours sincerely, H. B. Harrison."
CHAPTER II. An Unexpected Offer
"Rough luck!" exclaimed Geoff.
For the present he felt a little bewildered at the sudden and unexpected news. Whether his exclamation referred to the dashing of his hopes or to the accident that had befallen the unlucky Harrison was a matter of speculation. As it happened the bearer of ill-tidings took the latter view.
"It is," he agreed. "These Cornish roads are the limit. I came across your friend lying by the side of the road and his car over on its side. From what I gathered he had collided with a stone wall in attempting to avoid a dog. I managed to get him into my car and take him to a cottage hospital. He was pretty badly knocked about—compound fracture of the left arm, dislocated collar-bone and severe scalp wound. Plucky as they make 'em, though! As soon as the doctor had patched him up he insisted on writing that note and got me to bring it along."
"Jolly decent of you, sir," declared Geoff.
"Not at all! I was on my way down to Penzance, and it isn't far out of my intended route. It will give me a chance to have a look round Falmouth. Well, that's all, I think. I'll be getting along."
With that the stranger returned to his car and was soon lost to sight.
Geoff looked at the note again.
"We didn't ask him where the accident occurred," he remarked. "And there's no address. Goodness knows where the Cottage hospital is. It may be miles away."
"And there's not much object in finding Mr. Harrison," rejoined his chum. "We don't know him and more than likely his people have been telegraphed to. Well, the cruise is off."
"And what's to be done now?"
Bernard gave a longing glance at the harbour. By this time the breeze had materialized and the red and white wings were heeling to the gentle wind.
Without replying he turned to the Norna's caretaker, who, having overheard part of the conversation, was hovering around for further information.
"Mr. Harrison's met with an accident," announced Bernard. "He won't be able to sail for at least six weeks. But no doubt he'll write to you and tell you what to do with the yacht. I suppose you don't happen to know of an owner who wants a couple of amateur hands?"
"Amatoor?" repeated the old man dubiously. "Can't say as I knows of any. Very onusual, ut be. Now I knows of a nice lil' sailing-boat wot belongs to a cousin o' we—meaning me an' me brother Carlo, Andrew Penbolla bein' 'is name—wot you can hire prapper-like for——"
"Garge! Whur be tu?" shouted one of the group of men from which the old boatman had recently detached himself.
The summons sounded peremptory. With a muttered, "'Scuse me a while, gents," George Penbolla hurried away.
During the last quarter of an hour the knot of 'longshoremen had been augmented by a swarthy, over-dressed man of about forty. Up to the present the chums, engaged in their own business, had not noticed the individual. Now that Garge had gone up to him and was apparently engaged upon an argument Bernard and Geoff could not help being attracted by the conversation.
"Not fur a 'unnard pound," declared Garge with Cornish vehemence. "'Tain't no use you axin' we; us won't take it on nohow!"
Half a dozen heads nodded in unison in support of the spokesman's declaration. The stranger shrugged his shoulder, and extended his upturned palms—a characteristically foreign gesture.
As he did so he swung round with his face turned towards the chums. He looked a foreigner. His hair was crisp and inclined to curl; also it was badly in need of cutting. His features were sallow and flabby, his lips full. His brown eyes had a pathetic, almost apprehensive look, like those of an ox in a slaughterhouse.
He was dressed in a blue yachting suit with a peaked cap crowned with a white cover. The badge was that of a well known club. Geoff noticed, with feelings of contempt, that the man sported a tie-pin and wore diamond rings on two fingers. If the stones were real, they represented a small fortune, but, in any case, they were far too conspicuous and likely to hamper any attempt at work afloat.
The man made what was an obvious appeal in a low and somewhat musical voice. He continued to talk. At first Garge, as head of the party, shook his head; gradually the negative movement ceased. Then his tawny poll began to nod.
"Now your'm talking sense-like," he observed. "Just so happens as 'ow them two gents wur axin' if I knowed where they could get berths as amatoors. Mebbe they'll do. If so be, I reckons 'arf a sovereign. . . . Right-o, guvnor, this way."
With that he led the over-dressed yachtsman to the spot where the chums stood.
"This gent," he began, without any preliminaries, "this gent 'as a nice lil' yot an' 'e wants 'er sailed up-along to Cowes. You two wants a run in a yot. I leaves it to you tu fix it up."
Having thus unburdened himself, Garge moved away to a discreet distance, leaving the chums confronted by the stranger.
For some seconds there was silence. Both would-be contracting parties looked at each other as if trying to sum up their respective personalities.
Geoff, keen on sailing and only a moderate judge of character, was only too ready to jump at the offer. Bernard, more cautious, waited to hear what was required, and deliberated with himself whether he could "stick that poisonous sweep". As for the "poisonous sweep", his chief anxiety was to get hold of a couple of hands capable of sailing his craft to The Wight. Seeing, as he thought, a pair of hefty youths of nineteen or thereabouts—and they looked it—he decided that they would do.
"My name's Gordon," he announced. "There's my yacht—the Arran Dhu."
With a wave of his be-ringed hand, Mr. Gordon indicated a cutter of about twelve tons that lay at moorings a little beyond the buoy to which the Norna rode. Outwardly she appeared to be a well-kept-up craft, although her straight stem and long counter proclaimed her to have been in existence for an extremely large number of years. Originally she had a topmast and heavy overhanging boom, but she was now rigged more snugly with a polemast and lighter spars, the boom being plumb with the counter. She was flush-decked, save for two skylights and a small cockpit. Her sides were painted black, with a white boot-top. As she rolled to the swell of a passing steamer her copper gleamed in the sunlight. From a flagstaff aft flew the Blue Ensign.