"Stand easy!" he ordered. "Mr. Holmes, you might come with me and interview the people tending that fire."
As Burgoyne and the purser approached they found that the fire was burning in the centre of a roofless, three-sided canvas screen. Voices raised in heated argument could be heard above the crackling of the burning logs. The men were evidently unaware that there were new-comers to the compound.
"D'ye call that the proper way?" demanded a deep voice. "You aren't in a land of plenty, sonny, and don't you forget it."
"I've allus cut one up like this afore, sir," replied a rather subdued voice.
"Then you waste half of it," continued the first speaker with asperity. "Seeing we only get one sheep a week 'tween the lot of us, it'll have to go a jolly sight further, Sammy, or you'll be looking for another job."
Warned by a look on the face of the culprit, the deep-voiced man wheeled abruptly and saw Burgoyne and the purser standing by the open side of the screen.
"What, more of them?" he exclaimed, glancing at the marks of rank on the Third Officer's torn and dirty drill uniform. "Glad to meet you, present circumstances notwithstanding. My name's Davis, Cap'n Davis, master of the S.S. Kittiwake. What's your tally?"
Burgoyne told him and introduced the purser.
"Come along to my cabin," continued Captain Davis. "Sorry I can't offer you a drink 'cept water. I'm on the sick list or you wouldn't have found me. I'm usually killing time in these black-bearded rogues' smithy."
"That's where I shall probably be soon," rejoined Burgoyne. "In an hour and three-quarters, I expect. So I'm in a bit of a hurry. I thought you could put me up to a tip as to how to billet my men."