"Your dog, I presume?" explained the destroyer's Lieutenant-commander. "Well, take the brute; he's been a regular nuisance to us for the last two months. Of course, I only say this because I don't mean it, Mr. Osborne. If it were of any use I'd offer you a tenner on the spot."
It was quite evident from Laddie's appearance that he had been well cared for. His coat, in spite of the wetting, was in excellent condition. He had, in fact, been "adopted" by the ship's company, and, although their regret at his departure was undoubted, officers and men realized that Osborne had the higher claim.
"He was discovered trapped in a coal bunker of the captured torpedo-boat," explained the Lieutenant-commander. "Goodness only knows what he was doing there! We thought he was a Turkish dog, so we didn't trouble to report the circumstance. We just adopted him. It was only this morning that Captain M'Bride happened to mention the matter; and, when we told him, he was off on shore like a young hurricane."
"I'm awfully grateful," began Osborne.
"Yes, yes, and we are very, very modest. We don't like being overwhelmed with thanks, my dear fellow. Well, s'long! If you have a chance, bring Laddie on board while we're here. By the by, we called him Mustapha, and we rather wondered why he didn't cotton to it."
"Shows your rotten ignorance, Sefton," said Captain M'Bride in mock reproof. "A fellow who tries to give a Turkish name to a respectable, thoroughbred English sheep-dog deserves to be cashiered. Come along, Osborne; you hardly look dignified in those saturated togs."
"Come and have lunch with us, sir," said Osborne as the gig returned to the quay. "We've fairly snug shore quarters, and I think there's something going."
Captain M'Bride consented, and the three officers set off towards the low, rambling stone building in which Osborne and Webb had taken up their temporary abode.
Their way lay along a narrow and somewhat crowded street of the native quarter. In places the three officers had to make their way in single file, Captain M'Bride leading, Webb coming next, and Osborne bringing up the rear, with Laddie sticking closely to his heels.
Suddenly Webb was jostled violently, his head coming in contact with his former skipper's back. Turning, he found Osborne still staggering from the effect of a blow, while Laddie was at the throat of a ruffianly Greek whose outstretched hand was grasping a glittering knife.