If 'e gives anything away, he'll have to go naked."
At this point I thought it best to rattle my tins and step out of the
shadow of the crane.
"I've bought the ham," I called sweetly. "Have you still any objection to
my seeing life, Mr. Moorshed?"
"All right, if you're insured. Won't you come down?"
I descended; Pyecroft, by a silent flank movement, possessing himself of
all the provisions, which he bore to some hole forward.
"Have you known Mr. Pyecroft long?" said my host.
"Met him once, a year ago, at Devonport. What do you think of him?"
"What do _you_ think of him?"
"I've left the _Pedantic_--her boat will be waiting for me at ten o'clock,
too--simply because I happened to meet him," I replied.
"That's all right. If you'll come down below, we may get some grub."
We descended a naked steel ladder to a steel-beamed tunnel, perhaps twelve
feet long by six high. Leather-topped lockers ran along either side; a
swinging table, with tray and lamp above, occupied the centre. Other
furniture there was none.
"You can't shave here, of course. We don't wash, and, as a rule, we eat
with our fingers when we're at sea. D'you mind?"
Mr. Moorshed, black-haired, black-browed, sallow-complexioned, looked me
over from head to foot and grinned. He was not handsome in any way, but
his smile drew the heart. "You didn't happen to hear what Frankie told me
from the flagship, did you? His last instructions, and I've logged them
here in shorthand, were"--he opened a neat pocket-book--"_'Get out of this
and conduct your own damned manoeuvres in your own damned tinker fashion!
You're a disgrace to the Service, and your boat's offal.
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