At length Barnard and Marchant were dismissed, and Trevorrick and Pengelly found themselves alone.
"Well?" queried the former abruptly. "What do you think of the yarn I've just been pitching? That got 'em, didn't it?"
Pengelly nodded.
"So far, I admit," he replied. "But——"
"Go on, man; get it off your chest," prompted the senior partner, now in high good humour.
"S'posing we get R 81 under way. How do you propose to switch over from salvaging to piracy? That'll take some doing."
"Possibly," admitted Trevorrick. "But I'll do it. You wait and see. By the bye," he continued, abruptly changing the subject. "What was that yarn you were telling me about Chamfer?—Something about him coming into a pot of money."
"Yes, lucky bounder," replied Pengelly enviously. "Some misguided relative of his shuffled off this mortal coil about two years ago and left him thirty thousand pounds."
"Hanged if I'd stop in the Admiralty service with that little lot," remarked Trevorrick. "Even though he's got a soft billet. I'd blow the lot in a couple of years. 'Easy come, easy go' is my motto."
"He's evidently of a different nature," said Pengelly. "But why do you ask?"