"Left my best pipe behind," was the dejected reply. "No, don't put back—'tis beastly unlucky."
He faced aft, then using his sound hand as a speaking trumpet he shouted to another assistant engineer.
"I say, Smithers, I've left a presentation pipe in my cabin. You might look to it, old man."
"Right-o!" was the reply. "I'll send it off as soon as we arrive at Leith. You can rely upon getting it by Monday morning. So don't get into a tear."
"If I don't, look out for squalls," retorted Kenneth.
Smithers shouted something in reply that was evidently intended to be facetious, but by this time the distance between the "Strongbow" and the receding boat was too great for the words to be understood.
"I'll never forgive old Hardiman for having me sent ashore," declared Raeburn. "It isn't as if I were properly crocked. I could do a trick in the engine-room even with a damaged hand. It's hard lines on Smithers and the others: they'll have to put in extra time."
Terence did not reply. He knew that it would be a long time—perhaps never—before Kenneth Raeburn would be on duty in the engine-room of a British warship, or even on a merchantman.
By the time the boat came alongside the "Roldal" those of the "Strongbow's" crew who had been left on board the prize had cleared away and lowered the accommodation-ladder. The Norwegians had stood sullenly aside, not a man stirring a finger to help. The skipper had made up his mind to adopt an attitude of passive resistance, and his crew took their cue from him.
As soon as the rest of the prize crew boarded the ship and their scanty gear and provisions hoisted up, the boat returned to the "Strongbow."