And just then Brogger was sitting up in his bunk, chewing his fingers and trying to reconstruct the lost days. He had elusive visions of strange interviews, he tasted strange drinks, his head ached with horrid drugs, he recalled strange snatches of talk by strangers. And out of the phantasmagoria of his jumbled vision there came sometimes the powerful and brutal face of Lant, of the firm of Lant and Gulliver.
"Someone hit me!" he said aloud. And Jack Eales, who was wide awake, heard him.
"Where am I? I'm in a dirty fo'c'sle!"
He seemed to remember vaguely that he had been out on deck in the night. He looked up and saw Eales' face dimly.
"What ship's this?" he asked.
"It ain't a ship," said Eales; "this is hell!"
Brogger shook his head dismally.
"It ain't—you're jokin' with me! What am I doin' here? Is this my ship?"
"You was shipped in her," said Eales. "You came aboard in Astoria. Your name's Juggins."
"I'm Brogger—Captain William Brogger!" said Brogger.
"Hush, hush!" said Eales. "Don't say it.
