“Good-night!” I retraced my steps, wandered in the dark till I found a shop, and there purchased, of sardines, canned tongue, lobster, and salmon, not less than half a hundredweight. A belated sausage-shop supplied me with a partially cut ham of pantomime tonnage. These things I, sweating, bore out to the edge of the wharf and set down in the shadow of a crane. It was a clear, dark summer night, and from time to time I laughed happily to myself. The adventure was preordained on the face of it. Pyecroft alone, spurred or barefoot, would have drawn me very far from the paths of circumspection. His advice to buy a ham and see life clinched it. Presently Mr. Pyecroft—I heard spurs clink—passed me. Then the jersey voice said: “What the mischief’s that?” “’Asn’t the visitor come aboard, Sir? ’E told me he’d purposely abandoned the _Pedantic_ for the pleasure of the trip with us. Told me he was official correspondent for the _Times_; an’ I know he’s littery by the way ’e tries to talk Navy-talk. Haven’t you seen ’im, Sir?” Slowly and dispassionately the answer drawled long on the night; “Pye, you are without exception the biggest liar in the Service!” “Then what am I to do with the bag, Sir? It’s marked with his name.” There was a pause till Mr. Moorshed said “Oh!” in a tone which the listener might construe precisely as he pleased. “_He_ was the maniac who wanted to buy a ham and see life—was he? If he goes back to the _Pedantic_—” “Pre-cisely, Sir. Gives us all away, Sir.” “Then what possessed _you_ to give it away to him, you owl?” “I’ve got his bag. If ’e gives anything away, he’ll have to go naked.” At this point I thought it best to rattle my tins and step out of the shadow of the crane. “I’ve bought the ham,” I called sweetly. “Have you still any objection to my seeing life, Mr. Moorshed?” “All right, if you’re insured. Won’t you come down?” I descended; Pyecroft, by a silent flank movement, possessing himself of all the provisions, which he bore to some hole forward. “Have you known Mr. Pyecroft long?” said my host. “Met him once, a year ago, at Devonport. What do you think of him?” “What do _you_ think of him?” “I’ve left the _Pedantic_—her boat will be waiting for me at ten o’clock, too—simply because I happened to meet him,” I replied. “That’s all right. If you’ll come down below, we may get some grub.” We descended a naked steel ladder to a steel-beamed tunnel, perhaps twelve feet long by six high. Leather-topped lockers ran along either side; a swinging table, with tray and lamp above, occupied the centre. Other furniture there was none. “You can’t shave here, of course. We don’t wash, and, as a rule, we eat with our fingers when we’re at sea. D’you mind?”