"Harrigan?" queried Henshaw.
"Aye. He didn't pass a shovelful of coal in the hole yesterday."
"Tut, tut," answered the other with a wave of the hand. "I sent orders to Campbell, and told him what sort of a man he could expect to find in Harrigan."
"I've just talked to the firemen. They say that Harrigan didn't handle a single pound of coal. That ought to be final."
Henshaw went black.
"It may be so. I've given more rope to old Campbell than to any man that ever sailed the seas with White Henshaw, and it may be he's using the rope now to hang himself. We'll find out, McTee; we'll find out! Where's Harrigan now?"
"Gone below a while ago after he finished scrubbing down the bridge."
"We'll speak with Douglas. Come along, McTee. There's nothing like discipline on the high seas."
He went below, murmuring to himself, with McTee close behind him. Strange sounds were coming from the room of the chief engineer, sounds which seemed much like the strumming of a guitar.
"He's playing his songs," grinned Henshaw, and he chuckled noiselessly. "Listen! We'll give him something to sing about—and it'll be in another key. Ha-ha!"