"Rather unusual, isn't it?" he remarked, playing for time. Already a scheme was hatching in his ready brain. "We've bought R 81, lock, stock and barrel."
"But you must bear in mind that the Admiralty has an undisputed right to supervise the breaking up of these craft until the clearing certificate has been granted."
"The engines have been removed," announced Trevorrick. "One minute: I'll turn up the name of the purchaser."
He went to a safe behind his desk. Mr. Chamfer went to the window overlooking the creek.
"You haven't wasted much time over her," he remarked, noting as he thought the meagre remains of R 81.
After that, things were decidedly hazy as far as the Admiralty inspector was concerned. He was conscious of a powerful hand thrust over his face and a sickly, smelly object pressed tightly over his nose and mouth; a desperate attempt to breathe, a sort of wild resentment at being thrown off his balance. Then, oblivion.
"Pengelly!" shouted his partner.
"Good heavens, man!" exclaimed Pengelly, when he entered the room and stood aghast at Trevorrick's temerity; "what have you done now! You've spoilt everything."
"Spoilt nothing, except the train of this fellow's thoughts," retorted Trevorrick coolly. "He's our first haul. Thirty thousand you said—or was it fifty? We'll get a tidy slice of that, Pengelly. We'll take him on board. It will interfere with previous arrangements, I fear."
"How about the chauffeur? He'll be suspicious."