The officer passed on through the square where the forward cable tank was situated, then down to the cable deck.
Here the first thing he spotted was the infernal spar gun.
He smelled round it, and inquired its use.
“I don’t know,” said Blood. “It was on the ship when I joined—some truck left over from the last voyage, I believe.”
This suddenly recalled the inquisitor to something he had forgotten—Blood’s Board of Trade certificates.
Blood produced them, having to go back to his own cabin for them. They told their tale of long unemployment.
The lieutenant was a gentleman, and having glanced them over returned them without comment. Then he left the ship with the log and the papers under his arm, and was rowed back to the Minerva.
“What’s up?” asked Harman.
“We are,” said Blood. “There’s no war; the whole thing was a lying rumour those two guys sucked in over the cable. There was a good chance of war, but it was patched up, and it’s now peace, perfect peace, with us perched on top of it like a pair of blame fools.” He told the whole tale that we know. Then suddenly light broke upon him.
“The Sea Horse,” said he. “I see the whole thing now—when we fired those two blighters off the ship and shoved them on the Spreewald it was their interest not to give the show away. We were nose on to the Spreewald, so she couldn’t see our name. Shiner and Wolff would be the last men to give their own names, considering what they’d been doing and the latitude they were found in. They’d be sure to pose as innocents taken off some other ship by us. They’d fake up a yarn, and they’d fake up a new name for the old Penguin.”