of the oil tender. The other man used perfect English.

"They would not be likely to select a man too obviously German for a big
part in any plot," thought Whistler. "And that Blake looks like a suave,
well educated fellow."

The latter man spoke low, too. The other had a bluff and coarse voice.
He was a typical old sea-dog in his way. Only, a German sea-dog!

"Are you going back there yet?" Whistler heard him ask.

"For just one thing. You know what that is, Braun."

"_Ach!_ Yes."

"My work is done there," said the man, Blake, with pride in his voice.
"Oh, it will be taken note of, don't fear."

"I bet you!" growled the other, in evident admiration. "Undt so she goes
oop, yes? Boom!"

"Sh!" warned the other. "Never mind any talk about it."

But the other was inclined to be voluble. Whistler thought the skipper
of the oil tender, Braun, had been drinking. "And when alcohol is in
the brain wit is very likely to move out," he muttered.

"Grand work!" he ejaculated. "_Ach_, yes! Undt there will be more grand
work when two-fifty is joined by the others."