“Nothing important, sir. It can wait. But I was wondering about altering course, sir. We can head for Scotchman’s Bay now and waste no time.”
“I suppose we can.” Buckland knew as well as any officer in the navy that the whims of wind and weather were unpredictable, and that action upon any decision at sea should in consequence never be delayed, but he was likely to forget it unless he were prodded. “Oh, very well. We’d better get her before the wind, then. What’s the course?”
After the bustle of wearing the ship round had died away Buckland led the way back to his cabin and threw himself wearily into his chair again. He put on a whimsical air to conceal the anxiety which was now consuming him afresh.
“We’ve satisfied Mr. Hornblower for a moment,” he said. “Now let’s hear what you need, Mr. Bush.”
The discussion regarding the proposed expedition proceeded along normal lines: the men to be employed, the equipment that was to be issued to them, the rendezvous that had to be arranged for next morning. Hornblower kept himself studiously in the background as these points were settled.
“Any suggestions, Mr. Hornblower?” asked Bush at length. Politeness, if not policy as well, dictated the question.
“Only one, sir. We might have with us some boat grapnels with lines attached. If we have to scale the walls they might be useful.”
“That’s so,” agreed Bush. “Remember to see that they’re issued.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
“Do you need a messenger, Mr. Hornblower?” asked Buckland.