“Who could that be?” I said.
“Well, sir, when a man blows his words down through a slit in a tarpaulin—”
“You think it came down through the hole you cut?”
“Yes, sir, sure on it; but as I was a-saying, when a man blows his words down like that he might just as well be whistlin’ a hornpipe for all you can tell who it is. But if I was put upon my oath afore a judge I should swear as it were Plum Duff.”
“What do you mean?” I said.
“Well, sir, old Byled Salt Pork.”
“The cook?”
“That’s him, sir.”
“But he whispered ‘Friend,’” I panted excitedly.
“Yes, and that’s what bothered me. If it had been any one else it would ha’ been all right, but one can’t quite believe in a cook being your friend at any time. After what has taken place just lately I should say he was the worsest enemy we ever had.”