“Everything ready, sir.”
“Very well; up anchor and away.”
The captain went forward and mounted the bridge.
“Draw up your chair, Peter, and let me have your verbal report, and as you drop into the chair, drop also that appellation ‘my lord.’ If you want to be extra respectful at any time, say ‘sir’ as the captain does, and I’ll do the same by you, if you require it.”
Mackeller gave him a full account of his occupation during the last three days, but whether Stranleigh was asleep or not throughout the recital, he could not be sure. At any rate he did not interrupt, but lay back in his chair with closed eyes. Then, without opening them, he remarked:
“You have done very well, Mackeller, and as a reward I will give you the choice of a spot in the Bay of Biscay or the Atlantic Ocean where you may wish your case of rifles and ammunition heaved overboard.”
“Oh, have you been examining my dunnage, sir?” asked Mackeller.
“Dear me, no,” replied Stranleigh languidly. “Your fool of a gunsmith did not understand your instructions, and not knowing where to find you, and supposing you were acting for me, he telegraphed asking which of two rifles named should be sent. Learning that twelve had been ordered, I thought of telegraphing in the old phrase, ‘Six of one and half a dozen of the other,’ but I finally took on a score altogether, ten of each kind with ammunition to match.”
“Why purchase more guns than I did, if you’re going to drop them in the Bay of Biscay.”
“Oh, they’ll make the bigger plump when they go down.”