CHAPTER XVII

Monsieur Raoul

As it was only a distance of thirty-five kilometres, or, roughly, 23 miles, Mr. Armitage decided to bring up on moorings off Duclair until the tide changed. This would enable the crew to make up arrears of sleep, or, at any rate, go a long way towards doing so, while, with the favourable tide, the boat ought to arrive at Rouen early in the afternoon.

The Scoutmaster was dubious as to what would happen when the _Olivette_ did arrive there. It looked as if the cruise would have to terminate abruptly, while to repair the damage would probably eat up the whole of the Troop's finances.

He said nothing of this to the lads under his care.

He was content to let events shape their course, and not to meet trouble half-way. The youngsters were enjoying themselves, and he would not place their pleasures under a cloud by as much as hinting that the cruise of the _Olivette_ would be drastically curtailed.

It was a picturesque stretch of the river that confronted the Sea Scouts when the voyage was resumed. The Seine made a huge U-shaped bend, almost encircling the Forest of Roumare on the port hand, and skirting the Forests of Mauny and du Rouvray to starboard. On either bank were numerous villages, while occasionally small islands were passed.

The _Olivette_ was abreast of the Obelisk at Le Val de la Haye, when her crew noticed a weird sort of craft approaching at tremendous speed. At first the Sea Scouts could not make head or tail of it. There was hardly anything to be seen but a triangular girder appearing above the apex of a double crest of spray, but the noise the quaint craft made was terrific.

"It's driven by an aerial propeller," declared Peter. "I can see the glint on the blades as they revolve."

Approaching at a rate of about forty-five miles an hour, the vessel passed the _Olivette_ "like a streak of greased lightning". That was Hepburn's definition.

As she passed, the Sea Scouts saw that she was a hydro-glisseur, her hull composed of three rectangular floats in line ahead and supporting an aluminium cabin. Right aft was the motor with a triple chain-driven air propeller. In the bows a tiny Tricolour stood out stiffly in the breeze. Her crew consisted of two people--one, a bareheaded mechanic, wearing a blue overall, the other, a youngish man, the outstanding features of his costume being a velour Alpine hat, with a tuft of feathers, and a pair of light-yellow kid gloves.

Noticing the Red Ensign flying on board the _Olivette_, the Frenchman took off his hat and made an elaborate bow. Not to be outdone in politeness, the Scoutmaster gave the order, "Alert!" and while the crew stood to attention he saluted the owner of the glisseur in scout fashion.

"We ought to have dipped our ensign, I suppose," remarked Stratton.

"There wasn't time," rejoined Woodleigh. "He passed before you could count five."

"He's turning!" exclaimed Alan. "I say, what a heel! Oh, look! she's over!"

Hepburn's exclamation directed the attention of all hands aft. Even Flemming, who was in the wheel-house, allowed the _Olivette_ to swing a couple of points out of her course as he looked astern.

The air-propelled craft, extremely sensitive to her helm, had made too sharp a turn, or perhaps the mechanic had not slowed down the motor sufficiently. In any case she capsized. For a moment, quite two-thirds of the under-surface of the floats was exposed. Then, with a rending crash, the rapidly-revolving propeller blades hit the water and were shattered into splinters. The next instant the violently racing engine dipped beneath the surface. A cloud of steam, as the water came into contact with the hot cylinders, momentarily hid the scene of the disaster.

Flemming acted promptly. Spinning the wheel hard over, and shouting to his chum, Roche, to slow down, he brought the _Olivette's_ bows on to the spot where the glisseur had disappeared on an unpremeditated submarine excursion.

The owner of the vanished craft was with difficulty swimming towards his mechanic, who, unable to keep afloat, had sunk for the second time.

The Frenchman was obviously handicapped, because he made no attempt to use his left arm, but, arriving over the place where the air-bubbles marked the presence of the unfortunate mechanic, he dived to the latter's rescue.

The pair reappeared together, the mechanic desperately grasping his master round the neck. With a sudden wrench the latter shook himself partly clear, then, with a short quick jab with his right fist, the Frenchman hit the struggling man a stunning blow on the left temple, grasped him by the collar of his overalls, and waited the arrival of the _Olivette_.

Quickly the pair were hauled on board. Three of the Sea Scouts immediately set to work to resuscitate the half-drowned mechanic, while the others, in their imperfect French, offered their services to the owner of the lost craft.

The Frenchman bowed. He had lost his hat.

"_Permettez-moi, messieurs!_" he exclaimed, and gravely produced a saturated visiting-card on which were the words "Raoul de la Voie, Chevalier de la Légion d'Honneur".

Mr. Armitage suggested to his involuntary guest that perhaps the crew of the _Olivette_ might conduct salvage operations. The boat had stopped, with her engines running well throttled down, close to the place where the hydro-glisseur had disappeared, a ready clue being afforded by the oil rising in a steady, far-spreading stream to the surface.

Monsieur de la Voie listened with perfect gravity to the Scoutmaster's halting attempt to put his thoughts into words in the French language. Mr. Armitage "stuck" badly. His vocabulary was usually good, but at the present time he had the greatest difficulty in finding his words, and his dictionary was in one of his portmanteaux in the after-cabin.

"Excuse me," remarked the Frenchman, with an almost perfect English accent, "but if you will kindly talk in English, no doubt I will be able to follow you better."

"Thanks awfully," replied Mr. Armitage, falling back upon his mother-tongue. Then he added gravely, "I hope you are feeling quite chirpy now."

"Chirpy?" queried the Frenchman.

"Chirpy--bucked," prompted the Scoutmaster.

Monsieur de la Voie's face wore a puzzled expression. But he would not admit defeat, for, producing a saturated pocket-dictionary, he looked up the perplexing words.

"Ah, yes," he continued, with a smile. "I'm feeling absolutely top-hole, thank you, notwithstanding an unusual style of bathing in the Seine. Salvage? Hardly necessary to trouble you, sir; you've done quite enough for us as it is, but if you will buoy the spot, one of my barges will conduct the operations. If you will be good enough to give my mechanic and me a passage to Rouen?"

Monsieur Raoul was little worse for his immersion, but the condition of the luckless mechanic gave rise to grave misgivings. Not only had he swallowed a liberal quantity of water: his knee had been hurt by coming in contact with the girder supporting the aerial propeller, while, to make matters worse, his master had been compelled to stun him in order to free himself from his dangerous clutch.

The owner of the hydro-glisseur was greatly interested in the Sea Scouts and their craft. He plied the lads with innumerable questions, and complimented them upon their sound knowledge of seamanship.

Very little escaped the notice of the mercurial Frenchman, and when he caught sight of the scars upon the _Olivette's_ bows he asked how the damage had been caused.

"And this happened last night, then? It is just possible that I know who is the owner of the barge that caused the mischief."

"He is a careless blighter, sir, whoever he is, to let a barge break adrift," declared Hepburn.

"Yes," assented Monsieur de la Vole solemnly. "He is."