His next step was to produce his watch. To all outward appearances it was an ordinary silver timekeeper, but minute examination would reveal the presence of two small holes drilled through the back. Into these holes he inserted metal plugs attached to two insulated wires from the battery. One of the plugs projected beyond the face sufficiently to impede the progress of the hour hand, while the minute hand could clear it by a fraction of an inch. At four o'clock the hour hand would come in contact with the terminal, the circuit would be completed, and then——
"Nearly finished there?" inquired the leading stoker, shouting through the oval aperture. "Just about done," replied Jorkler. "How goes it?"
"Close on eight bells," was the reply. "Buck up and don't keep me hanging about all the blessed day."
With the perspiration pouring off him and his clothes daubed with red lead and iron rust, Jorkler emerged from the compartment to find that the rest of the D.B. party had already completed their respective tasks.
Lowering an electric inspection lamp into the compartment, the leading stoker made a perfunctory examination of Jorkler's legitimate handiwork.
"You ain't half slapped it about," he remarked casually. "Guess you knew it was his Majesty's stores you were using and not your own gear."
After inspection by the ship's surgeon, who superintended the issue of a glass of lime-juice (in which sulphuric acid was a component part) to each man to ward off the injurious effect of the red lead, the men washed and changed. After dinner they were at liberty to do practically what they liked, it being Thursday, or "Make and Mend Day."
Just before five bells the liberty men fell in on the quarter-deck for critical inspection before going ashore. As Jorkler had expected, he had no difficulty in passing under the borrowed name of Flanaghan, for the M.A.A. took it without question.
Packed like sardines, the boat pushed off. Halfway to the staith they passed the "Pompey's" steam pinnace with a couple of officers and a small party of ladies and children in the stern-sheets.
"What's the game?" inquired the pseudo-Flanaghan, indicating with a jerk of his head the passing craft.