Everyone was not deceived. After the performance had been repeated through many watches a Warrant Officer said suddenly:
“You’ll be gettin’ the hang o’ them pipes before long, Mr. Lynwood?”
“Yes,” said John. “Just a few sketches in case Aggett asks questions.”
“But always the same pipes?”
“Oh no.”
The Warrant Officer seemed to smile. “Makin’ a speciality like o’ the condenser connections?”
“No. Why?”
“You’ve been payin’ ’em partickler attention these last watches you’ve had with me.”
John wondered how much was known. He went away to feel the crank-head bearings, leaning far over the guard-rail, his hand stretched out so that the warm, revolving brasses swept against his fingers. As his eyes stared down into the crank-pit, where a dark liquid slushed to and fro with the rolling of the ship, he wondered how many men, engaged as he now was, had slipped, lost their hold on the guard-rail, and fallen below the crank to be mashed instantly to death. Would a man so falling have time to cry out? The engines would be stopped, not because the stopping of them was of any use, but because some drastic unusual action is demanded by the sudden entry of death. There would be momentary commotion. Stokers would stare, their shiny, sweating faces lurid beneath the electric light; and, as they recovered from stupefaction, a wave of pity would pass over them all as they stood transfixed among the steel. The auxiliary engines would rattle more loudly in the main engines’ silence. Water would trickle down the gleaming rods from the piston glands. And presently the engines, with a little hiss and groan, would start again, and the blood be pumped out with the bilge.
Overpowered by this dreadful vision, John screwed up his eyes as if to shut it out. He walked towards the Warrant Officer, intending to ask if ever in his experience this thing had happened.