"Ye ken ye tauld me to do three things, sir," resumed McBride. "Firstly, to discover the fault, secondly, to remedy it, an' lastly, to prevent it from occurring again? We'll take case the furrst: here 'tis."
The chief engineer extended a black greasy hand. In the outstretched palm was an oily mass of metal chippings.
"This is a sample from the high-pressure slide valves. They're badly scored. It's nae fair play, for as sure as ma name's Jock McBride, this muck has been put in the gear deliberately. I'll hae ye to ken that both port and starboard engines are damaged."
"While we were in Table Bay?"
"Of course, sir, when we took down the high-pressure cylinders."
"The work was performed by our own staff?"
"Aye, wurrst luck, by one of our ain people."
McBride's lean, tanned face was purple with ill-suppressed anger. "If I could discover the mon I'd not wait for the law to wurrk its course; I'd lay him oot an' stand the consequences. The remedy, sir, is simple, but 'tis the prevention that troubles me. If it is done wance, 'twill most likely occur again—unless I lay my hand on the mon."
"How many of the staff know of this?" asked Captain Ramshaw, pointing to the steel filings.
"Only Meester Raeburn, sir, and he's as guid a lad as ever I hope to have under me. It was he who removed the stuff an' showed it me."