"Either—or both."
"Couldn't," was the exasperating reply.
"Why not, dash it all?"
"Simply because I wasn't equal to the job. Neither are all the marine servants nor the best part of the carpenter's crew. The Bloke's (commander) gone to inspect the place, so all the fat's in the fire."
"Is Bruno showing temper, then?" asked his master anxiously.
"No; he's as quiet as the proverbial lamb."
"Look here, Banger!" exclaimed Farrar. "Can't you pitch a straightforward yarn without my having to drag it all from you in bits?"
"All right," replied Sefton. "It's like this. By some means—possibly Bruno rubbed against the door—the door's bolted on the inside. The padre won't muster up courage to let himself out, and the mob outside can't get in. The carpenter's mate is going to take out the jalousie—and the door's made of steel, remember. I have an idea—— Hullo, here's the Owner. I'm off."
Catching sight of the oak-leaved cap as the captain ascended the starboard ladder, Sefton promptly dived down the ladder on the port side, while Farrar, smartly saluting, awaited the approach of the controller of the destinies of nine hundred officers and men forming the "Tantalus's" ship's company.
"Where's the officer of the watch, Mr. Farrar?" asked the skipper. "In the chartroom, eh? Very good, carry on. Inform Mr. Sitwell that a wireless has just come through from the Admiral, Trecurnow Base. The escorting destroyers are to return; we are to shape a course for Queenstown and await further orders. What are we making?"