Pyecroft and
I, at attention, studied the paintwork opposite. Captain Panke had dropped
into his desk chair, and scribbled nervously at a blotting-pad.
Just before the tension became unendurable, he looked at his junior for a
lead. "What--what are you going to do about it, Johnny--eh?"
"Well, if you don't want him, I'm going to ask this young gentleman to
breakfast, and then we'll make and mend clothes till the umpires have
decided."
Captain Panke flung out a hand swiftly.
"Come with me," said Captain Malan. "Your men had better go back in the
dinghy to--their--own--ship."
"Yes, I think so," said Moorshed, and passed out behind the captain. We
followed at a respectful interval, waiting till they had ascended the
ladder.
Said the sentry, rigid as the naked barometer behind him: "For Gawd's
sake! 'Ere, come 'ere! For Gawd's sake! What's 'appened? Oh! come '_ere_
an' tell."
"Tell? You?" said Pyecroft. Neither man's lips moved, and the words were
whispers: "Your ultimate illegitimate grandchildren might begin to
understand, not you--nor ever will."
"Captain Malan's galley away, Sir," cried a voice above; and one replied:
"Then get those two greasers into their dinghy and hoist the blue peter.
We're out of action."
"Can you do it, Sir?" said Pyecroft at the foot of the ladder. "Do you
think it is in the English language, or do you not?"
"I don't think I can, but I'll try.
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