"Scotty, have you been discharged?"
"No, siree; I never was fired in me life," said he, stoutly, his natural caution oozing away.
"But you are thinking of quitting and going back to the Royal Navy?"
"That I am. The Old Highland is attacked, and I'm afraid by such people as this very scum that's paying me now. I'm going to chance telling ye. I begin to think there's something rotten here," said he grimly, with the stoic anger of a Highlander examining his weapons before a mêlée chancing his life. I pushed the bottle his way again.
"Scotty, are you willing to open up?"
"Yes—try me."
"Well, it's important for me to know the movement and cargo of all Bulow and Company's ships, tugs and launches. Doing that is a thousand times more valuable than watching steam gauges in His Majesty's Navy."
A shrewd look came over Scotty's face. He placed a bony forefinger solemnly alongside his nose and his small eyes danced in anticipation.
"Have you got a wireless on your launch?" I began.