This way of putting it, addressing Dave in the third person, is quite in keeping with the custom of the service.
“You may ask the question,” Dave nodded.
“Then I would like to ask the lieutenant-commander, sir, if I would have done better to have reported my suspicions last night?”
“It is impossible to answer that question for every case that might arise,” Dave told him. “Navy men, whether enlisted or commissioned, dislike tale-bearers. In war-time, however, and under peculiar conditions where extreme peril always lurks, and where the act of a spy may destroy a ship’s company in a twinkling of an eye, it is usually permissible to report even vague suspicions. The officer to whom such a report is made will quickly discover that it is probably only a vague suspicion, and then he will not be unduly prejudiced against the suspected man.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Do not talk this over with your mates, Ferguson. The less that is said about the matter for the present the better I shall like it. That is all for the present. You have done a good bit of work, Ferguson.”
“I thank the lieutenant-commander.”
At a nod from Darrin the seaman saluted and withdrew.
For the next five minutes Dave sat, alternately scanning the message and studying the appearance of the bottle. At last he looked up at his brother officers.
“Mr. Phelps, you will make it your next duty to search Jordan’s effects. In his duffle bag or hammock space you may find more of these bottles. If you do not, you will extend your search further, as your judgment dictates. If there are any more of these bottles on board I wish them found and turned over to me.”