Dust covered everything, while the absence of fresh air, owing to the scuttles having been secured for months, was distressingly noticeable.
"Phew! What a reek!" exclaimed Peter, stepping backwards into the open and nearly colliding with the impassive Mahmed.
"Char, sahib."
Mostyn gulped down the hot beverage, and literally girded up his loins for direct action.
"Nip below," he ordered, addressing the still torpid Partridge. "Get hold of a bucket of hot water, a squeegee, and some swabs. Look lively, Plover; get busy with those scuttles. Open all of them. Scuttles, man; those round glass windows, if you like."
Watcher Plover tackled his allotted task with a zest that rather surprised his superior officer, but it was not until five minutes later that Peter found the Watcher trying to unbolt the brass rims instead of unthreading the locking screw.
"Belay there," exclaimed Mostyn. "Don't take the whole of the cabin down. Let me show——"
His words were interrupted by a metallic clatter followed by sounds of falling water. Watcher Partridge's hob-nailed boots had slipped on the brass treads of the ladder, and he had finished up ingloriously upon the deck, sprawling upon his back in a puddle of coal-grimed water.
While the unlucky Partridge was making a prolonged change and refit, Mostyn with his other assistant tackled the demon dirt in his lair. Not until the dust was removed and the paint-work and floor well scrubbed and dried did Peter begin to overhaul the "set".
The dull daylight faded and gave place to night, but still the indefatigable wireless operator carried on, until the bell summoning the officers to dinner warned him that it was time to knock off.