Gradually a fuller consciousness returned to Aaron Rodd. He was able to walk along the deck of the ship they boarded, to grope his way, unaided, down the narrow stairs into the small cabin below, where a man was seated at a table with a chart before him. He pushed it away as the two men were ushered in.
"Hullo, what's this?" he exclaimed.
The officer who had brought them made a brief report. The Commander nodded.
"Fetch them some hot whisky, quick," he directed. "Now tell us your story."
The tug-master got in first, but after a few sentences the Commander stopped him.
"I think I'll get at the truth quicker from you," he decided, nodding to Aaron. "Quick, please."
Aaron pulled himself together and took a long gulp of the hot whisky which was at that moment brought in.
"May I enquire if this is an English man-of-war?" he asked, as he set the glass down.
"His Majesty's destroyer, Flying Fox," was the brief reply. "Now tell me what you two men are doing on barrels in the North Sea?"
Aaron Rodd found a few terse and explicit words.