"I want the Arran Dhu sailed round to the Solent," continued Mr. Gordon. "You two—I understand you're amateurs—seem quite the sort of people I want. Think you'd like to take on the job?"
Bernard glanced at Geoff. Geoff glanced at Bernard. The latter's caution had vanished at the sight of the Blue Ensign. To him that emblem was the hall-mark of maritime respectability second only to the White Ensign of the Royal Navy and the Royal Yacht Squadron. What he did not know was that, provided the owner is a British subject and a member of a recognized club entitled to fly the Blue Ensign, and that the yacht is "registered", the Admiralty will grant a warrant entitling the yacht to display the ensign in question. The owner may be the biggest scoundrel unhung, the yacht the rottenest old tub ever held together by paint—provided the Admiralty conditions are complied with, the former virtually becomes a member of the Royal Naval Reserve, and the latter can sport the Blue Ensign in the presence of abler and better-manned craft that have to be content with the humble "Red Duster".
"We're on it, sir!" exclaimed Geoff, and Bernard nodded concurrence.
"That's a deal then!" rejoined Mr. Gordon.
"When do you set sail?" asked Bernard.
Mr. Gordon waved his hand magnificently.
"I'm not sailing," was the surprising reply. "Business affairs demand my presence in London to-morrow. You two can manage quite all right. She handles like a top. It will be a surprisingly cheap holiday for the pair of you. If you had to charter a yacht like Arran Dhu twelve guineas a week it would cost you. As it is, all the expense you'll be put to is for provisions. With the wind where it is, you can pick up moorings in Cowes Harbour within twenty-four hours, but I'm in no hurry. You can take a week if you like. Provided Arran Dhu is handed over by the 12th, I'll not mind. Well, that's that. Now we'll go into details."
It seemed rather a tall order, but the chums, in spite of their inexperience of open sea work, realized that it was up to them to see the business through. Both were glad in their minds that they were not to be burdened with Mr. Gordon's company. They were on their mettle. Now was the opportunity to see how theoretical knowledge combined with a little practical work would pan out.
"There are charts on board, I hope?" asked Geoff.
"Charts—everything; she's fully found," declared Mr. Gordon airily. "I'll go on board and show you round. One minute while I have a word with the boatman."
Mr. Gordon was absent not one but many minutes. The chums remained by the Arran Dhu's dinghy—a beamy craft that had only left the boat-builder's yard a fortnight—until the owner returned.
"We've let ourselves in for it this time, old son," remarked Geoff. "She's a big packet to handle."
"All right with plenty of sea-room once we've learnt the ropes," rejoined his chum. "By the look of her she'll stand anything. We'll get her into Cowes Harbour right enough."
Arran Dhu's owner, treading with cat-like softness, returned to overhear Bernard's remark.
"I hope to goodness you do nothing of the kind, my friend," was his amazing, unspoken wish.
CHAPTER III. Gordon's Little Scheme
The chums' knowledge of what is known as "the world" was decidedly limited. They were practical enough when dealing with situations or tackling problems connected with youthful sport and pastime, but when thrown into contact with strangers they were apt to accept them at their own valuation.
Thus it was that they accepted Mr. Gordon's statement without hesitation: that he was a yachtsman who had been "compelled to go to London and leave his craft at Falmouth". Since Mr. Gordon wanted the Arran Dhu taken round to Cowes, the arrangement fitted in admirably. They would be doing the owner a good turn while he would be saved the inconvenience of making a long train journey to bring her eastwards at some future date.
As a matter of fact Mr. Gordon lived in various places between Bournemouth and Hastings, never remaining more than a few weeks in the same hotel. In London he had "chambers" of a more or less permanent character. He described himself as a financier—a high-sounding term to the uninitiated. Some people had no hesitation in describing him as a shark. On more than one occasion he had been called that to his face and he had accepted the insult with a sickly smile.
Thanks to the tolerant and benevolent attitude of the British Government to undesirable foreigners seeking sanctuary within its gates, Mr. Gordon's father had little difficulty in dropping his name—an unpronounceable one ending in "ski"—and assuming a good Scots one. The present Mr. Gordon found the name useful. It inspired confidence in clients who communicated with him by letter only. Mr. Gordon rarely granted personal interviews professionally. He was fully alive to the fact that the assumption of a Scottish name had not and could not eliminate the marked characteristics of his Russo-Polish forbears.
Through one of those sudden inexplicable impulses to which human nature is subject, Gordon decided "to go in for yachting". It seemed easy. All one had to do was to buy a yacht, join a club, engage a crew (even if the crew numbered one only), and, of course, purchase a yachting uniform with peaked cap complete. That was Gordon's view. He set about putting his ideas into execution.
He had no trouble in buying a yachting suit. Joining a "Royal" club presented little difficulty, especially as the club was anxious to increase its membership list, and thereby strengthen its financial position. Mr. Gordon, having been duly proposed and seconded by members who had never set eyes on him and who knew nothing whatever about him, was declared elected.
Then came the snag—the purchase of a yacht. Gordon, who prided himself upon the calculating cunning whereby he had fleeced scores of foolish victims, had yet to discover that a little knowledge is a dangerous thing, especially when yachts are concerned.
A carefully worded attractive advertisement resulted in the purchase of the Arran Dhu. Knowing nothing about "marine survey", Gordon bought her at Penzance "as she now lies", according to the vendor's announcement. It was true that she was officially registered. Her number was carved deeply in her main deck beam. Her certificate was in order—her pedigree that showed amongst other things that once she had been the property of a belted earl. So, in consideration of a monetary payment, Gordon became the owner of "sixty-four sixty-fourths" of the Arran Dhu.
Straight stemmed, lean bodied, and deep draughted, Arran Dhu was as "stiff as a church and as slow as a funeral". According to local longshoremen "she'd starve you afore she'd drown you". Her timbers and planking were sound. Her sails were in good condition. Her standing and running gear had recently been renewed. Freshly painted, Arran Dhu looked a smart well-cared-for craft; but to the professional eye there was no disguising the fact that she was no chicken.
Having purchased the yacht, Gordon had her insured up to the hilt; but according to the terms of the policy, he had to bear the first fifty pounds of every claim for accident.
Then, having engaged two local men to act as crew, Gordon set sail from Penzance bound up-Channel.
Before the Lizard bore abeam, Gordon had had enough of open sea work. A beat to wind'ard with a strong weather-going tide—conditions under which sailing provides a most exhilarating sensation—proved too much for the financier's internal stability. Not only was he violently sea-sick; the yellow streak, in the form of abject fear, displayed itself conspicuously. From first to last he never was in any danger; but when the Arran Dhu entered the sheltered waters of Falmouth Harbour, Gordon began to abuse his paid hands, alleging that they had deliberately exposed his precious carcase to extreme peril.