during the rest of the day the picking up of dropped threads was a continual source of astonishment to peter mostyn, although it was not the first time that he had been cut off from the outside world.

the dhow was berthed alongside the newly constructed wharf, fronting the modest building which housed the customs and port officials of pangawani. the two lascars were sent to a native merchant seamen's compound, until they could be shipped back to bombay in accordance with the terms of their engagement. mahmed, greatly against his wish, was transferred to a native hospital, on the promise given by mostyn sahib that he would be allowed to accompany his master as soon as he was able to do so. mrs. shallop, declining offers of hospitality from the wife of a customs officer, betook herself to a small hotel close to the railway station from which the line, broken only at the as yet unspanned kilembonga gorge, starts on its eight-hundred-mile run to the provisional capital of the kilba protectorate.

olive baird, on the other hand, gratefully accepted davis's offer to stay with his wife until an opportunity occurred for her to take passage home—the opportunity being determined by peter's ability to accompany her, and thus carry out his promise.

dick preston sturdily declined to go into hospital. already he had arranged to share rooms with peter at the pangawani branch of the imperial mercantile marine club of which both officers were members.

before peter relinquished his command, certain formalities had to be gone through, amongst which was the examination of the vessel by the port officials.

the dhow's cargo was small and comparatively worthless. there were no papers to prove her identity or of where she came.

"what's in that chest, mr. mostyn?" inquired the official, pointing to the box containing the money, the lid of which peter had nailed up. "coin, eh? all right, we won't open it yet. i'll wait till we get it ashore, but i'll put a seal on it for our mutual safeguard.'"

in fact he affixed three seals bearing the impression of the arms of the protectorate of kilba.

"one more thing," continued the port official. "you'll have to make a declaration before the head commissioner. i'll come along with you. we may catch him before dinner."

"not in these trousers," objected mostyn, indicating his disreputable garments. "and i must go to the post office."

"right-o," agreed the official cheerfully. "nothing like killing three birds with one stone. you and i are about the same build. let me fit you up. comyn is my tally."

in a very short time obvious deficiencies in peter's wardrobe were made good. then, accompanied by his newly found friend and benefactor, he called in at the post office and dispatched a cablegram to his parents.

the message was characteristic of mostyn. he did not believe in paying for two words when one would do, especially at the rates charged by the cable company. it was simply: "o.k. peter".

having discharged this act of filial duty, mostyn suffered himself to be led into the presence of the head commissioner of the kilba protectorate, who happened to be on official duty at pangawani.

with the commissioner was the director of contracts. both were under thirty-five years of age—britons of the forceful and energetic type to which colonial development owes so much.

they were sitting at a large teak table littered with papers and documents. the director of contracts was reading a typed cablegram.

"infernal cheek, carr," he exclaimed to his colleague. "we've no use for cheap german stuff in the protectorate. we'll turn it down."

the subject of his righteous wrath was a tender from the pfieldorf company offering to supply steelwork "exactly according to the plans and specifications of a contract that has unfortunately failed to be executed", delivering the material at pangawani within thirty-six days of receipt of telegraphic order, for the sum of ￡55,000.

"good!" ejaculated the commissioner. "tick the blighters off while you are about it. i'd rather see the kilembonga gorge unbridged till the crack of doom than have the place disfigured—yes, dishonoured, if you like—by a hun-made structure. it was a bad stroke of luck when the brocklington people's stuff went to the bottom of the sea."

the walls and doors of the official buildings were far from soundproof. peter, standing with comyn outside the door, heard the words distinctly. to him they conveyed only one explanation: that in transport from bulonga to pangawani the vessel chartered for the conveyance of the steelwork had met with disaster.

comyn tapped at the door and was bidden to enter.

"i've brought mr. mostyn to report to you, sir," he explained. "mr. mostyn was in charge of the dhow that landed seven survivors of the west barbican this morning."

"we've just been talking of the west barbican, mr. mostyn," said the commissioner. "we were saying how unfortunate it was that an important consignment for us was lost in the ship. by the by, are you any relation of captain mostyn, one of the managing directors of the brocklington ironworks company?"

"he's my father, sir," replied peter. "i'm afraid, though, that i fail to understand your reference to the loss of the steelwork."

"hang it, man," interposed the director of contracts, "surely you ought to know. you were on the ship when she went down."

"and i know it," agreed peter grimly. "that she went down, i mean. as for the steelwork, that was landed at bulonga a day or so before the disaster occurred."

"what?" demanded the commissioner and director of contracts in one breath.

peter repeated his assertion.

"glorious news!" exclaimed the commissioner. "bless my soul, what possessed them to dump the stuff in a miserable backwater in portuguese territory?"

"that's for you to say, sir," replied mostyn. "i took in the wireless message when we were a few hours out from durban. it came from the company's agent, and obviously must have emanated from here."

"obviously fiddlesticks!" interrupted the director of contracts. "if it had i would have been responsible for it. fire away, let's have the whole yarn."

for the best part of an hour mostyn kept his listeners deeply engrossed. the commissioner completely forgot that there was a meal waiting for him. here was an enthralling narrative with an unsolved mystery attached.

"have you any available funds, mr. mostyn," he demanded bluntly, when peter had brought his story to a close.

"precious little, sir."

"then let me make an offer. if you accept you will be rendering a public service and doing your father's firm a thundering good turn. you are in no immediate hurry, i take it, to be sent home?"

peter thought not.

"good," continued the commissioner. "in that case you can act as representative to the brocklington ironworks company, and deliver the goods before the contract date. you've a good sixteen days clear. i'll give you a credit note for a thousand pounds, and you can make your arrangements for chartering a vessel to bring the consignment round from bulonga. as a matter of fact there's the quilboma lying in harbour at the present time, waiting for cargo. she'd do admirably, and you can get quite reasonable terms. once the jolly old stuff is planked down on the wharf here your father's firm has carried out its obligation, you know."

it did not take long for peter to accept the offer. he metaphorically jumped at it.

"right-o," said the commissioner, as he dismissed his newly accredited agent of the brocklington ironworks company. "get a move on. over you go and the best of luck."

still feeling considerably mystified, mostyn left the building. outside he parted with comyn, the latter impressing on him that he would be only too pleased to be of assistance to him in any matter and at any time during his stay at pangawani.

peter went to the post office a second time. again he cabled to his father, but with a reckless disregard of the money he was putting into the cable company's exchequer. he did not even wait to put the message into code, but stated that the consignment of steel-work had not been lost in the west barbican, but had been landed at bulonga. he proposed chartering a tramp and bringing the consignment to pangawani.

"that'll buck the governor up, i reckon," he soliloquized, as he handed in the cablegram.

his next move was to interview the master of the s.s. quilboma, who, as luck would have it, was also part owner, and being badly in want of a cargo agreed to undertake the run to bulonga and back at a very reasonable figure.

"when can you get under way?" inquired peter.

"tide time to-morrow night," was the reply. "say about six o'clock."

peter's peregrinations that day were by no means finished. after being held up and interviewed by the local representative of the kilba protectorate gazette, who was also a correspondent to one of the principal london dailies, he found out olive and told her of his latest plans.

"it won't take much more than a week—perhaps less," he explained. "i don't think that in any case you will be able to find a homeward-bound vessel by that time."

"i won't trouble to do so," declared the girl. "mr. davis and his wife are no end of good sorts."

preston received the news of peter's venture with considerable envy.

"wish i were fit enough," he remarked; "i'd come along and help you through with it. keep your eyes open, old man, and see if you can find out anything about the west barbican. it seems to me that somebody in bulonga might be able to throw out a good hint as to the cause of the explosion. i may be wrong, but those are my sentiments. when do you sail?"

peter told him.

"that's unfortunate, my lad," rejoined the acting chief. "these people here are giving us a lush-up to-morrow evening. couldn't wait, i suppose?"

mostyn shook his head.

"tide time," he replied briefly.

"any time between six and nine," added preston. "ask the old man—he's not your boss, you're employing him—to put it off say till a quarter to nine. then you'll be able to have most of the fun; miss baird and mrs. shallop will be there, of course, although i guess neither of us is particularly keen on the old woman's presence."

"she turned up trumps when she tackled the arab," peter reminded him.

"all right, get on with it," interposed preston good-humouredly. "it will be an ordeal for me, watching you fellows enjoying yourselves, an' the doctor's shoved me on to a light diet. he didn't want to let me go, but i'll be there, even if it snows ink."

so back to the harbour mostyn went to interview the skipper of the quilboma once more.

"'tain't for me to raise objections," declared the captain, "but it's cutting it mighty fine. fallin' tide's at nine, d'ye see?"

he tilted back his topee and scratched his head.

"tell you what," he continued. "i'll take her over the bar at seven o'clock and drop killick outside, if 'tis as calm as it is to-day. mr. davis's launch can put you off, and then we'll get under way directly you come aboard. make it four bells, if you like. there won't be much time lost, seeing as i haven't to smell my way out on a falling tide."

the old man's assertion that there would be but little time lost finally dispelled peter's misgivings. he would have foregone the doubtful pleasure of the lush-up ashore rather than have risked the chance of still further delaying the delivery of the brocklington ironworks company's contract; but now, with these reassurances, mostyn felt that he could accept the hospitality of the new-found friends without any pinpricks of conscience.

punctually at the time stated peter presented himself at the club. already the head commissioner and the port officials were there to welcome their guests.

a little later a rickshaw trundled up to the entrance, and preston put in an appearance, assisted by a couple of the club servants.

then, in peter's eyes at least, a radiant vision arrived, as olive baird, simply yet daintily dressed in one of mrs. davis's evening frocks, and escorted by her host and hostess, was ushered into the ante-room.

her introduction to the head commissioner took a very considerable time—at least peter thought so—while others of the pangawani community flocked up to the girl like flies round a honey-pot.

at length the head commissioner suggested that it was time to adjourn to the dining-room.

"we're all here, i take it?" he inquired.

"mrs. shallop hasn't arrived yet," replied one of his colleagues, who, although deputed beforehand to take the lady into dinner, was in total ignorance of what she was like or of her rather outstanding mannerisms. "we sent a rickshaw to her hotel an hour ago, sir."

before the commissioner could make any remark upon the lady's absence a native servant approached, salaamed, and offered a silver plate upon which was a pencilled note.

"excuse me a moment," said the commissioner to his guests.

he pulled aside the bamboo chik that separated the ante-room from the foyer. as he strode out peter noticed that there was a tall man in a drill uniform standing in front of a couple of native policemen.

mostyn was not in the least curious. he was aware that the leisure time of a highly-placed official is hardly ever free from interruptions upon matters of state. but he was considerably surprised when a couple of minutes later the head commissioner pulled aside the curtain and said:

"mr. mostyn, may i speak to you for a few moments?"

peter went out. the uniformed officer and the two policemen were standing stiffly at attention.

the commissioner without any preamble plunged into facts.

"this is inspector williams of the kilba protectorate police force," he announced. "he holds a warrant for the arrest of mrs. shallop, or, to give her—or, rather, him—his correct name, benjamin skeets. he is very badly wanted at home for extensive frauds on the united trusts banking company. his partner in crime, joseph shales, whom probably you know under the name of mr. shallop, is already in the hands of the union of south africa police. i suppose this is news to you?"

"it is, sir," replied the astonished mostyn.

"you had no suspicion of the true sex of mrs. shallop?"

"none whatever."

"had he any money when he came ashore?"

"not to my knowledge, sir."

"well, the fact remains," rejoined the head commissioner drily, "that mr. benjamin skeets has given us the slip; although, we hope, we may possibly lay hands on him before long. he can't get very far away. all right, williams, carry on. keep me informed directly you hear anything of a definite nature. come along, mostyn; we'll rejoin the others. not a word about this till after dinner."