The cap was removed. Webb poured a small quantity of the liquid into the palm of his hand. The spirit evaporated with remarkable quickness.
"Petrol right enough, sir," he announced.
"And there are dozens of cans here, sir," declared one of the men. "Sort of garidge for the Sahara General Omnibus Company, I'll allow."
"Wot's a garidge, Bill?" enquired his pal. "You means a gayrage, don't ye?"
The skipper, who had overheard the conversation between the two seamen, smiled grimly.
"Carry on, Mr. Webb," he said, "and dig up the lot. We've stumbled upon a German petrol depot—that's my belief—and before long we'll have an unterseeboot putting in an appearance."
"What shall I do with them, sir?" enquired Tom.
"Oh! reserve a couple," was the reply. "They'll come in handy for flares. Empty the others on the sand."
"One moment, Captain M'Bride," interposed Major Pane, who, noticing the excitement, had strolled up to satisfy his curiosity. "It's a pity to waste good stuff."
"Better to do that than allow it to fall into the hands of the enemy," remarked Captain M'Bride. "But what suggestion have you to make, Major?"