Which resulted in the tip of another cigarette glowing in the darkness.

"I feel a jolly sight better for that," declared Preston gratefully, when the cigarette was finished. "Think I'll have another caulk.

S'pose you don't mind?"

"Not at all," replied Peter. "Carry on. It will do you good. Are your bandages comfortable?"

In a few minutes the Acting Chief was slumbering more peacefully than he had done since his accident. Mostyn, left to commune with his own thoughts, squatted on the weather side of the stern-sheets so that he could give an occasional glance at the compa.s.s, and keep an eye on the lascar at the tiller.

It was a long trick. It seemed as if the eastern sky would never pale to herald the dawn of another day.

At 4 a.m. the boat was put on the starboard tack, the wind still heading her as before. Then, having trimmed sheets, Mostyn took the tiller and ordered the lascar into the bows.

At length the dawn broke--not a pale grey, as Peter had hoped for, but with far-flung lances of vivid scarlet. That indicated rain and wind before the day was done.

There was a movement of the canvas awning, and, somewhat to Peter's surprise, Miss Baird emerged cautiously, crawling, since there was no other means of negotiating the narrow gap that served as a door.

She was bareheaded, her hair trailing over her shoulders in two long plaits. The outward and visible signs of her costume consisted of a yellow oilskin. Silhouetted against the red glow of the sky she looked as if she were outlined in deep gold.

"Good morning, Miss Baird," observed Peter politely. "You're out early."

"I simply couldn't sleep any longer," replied the girl. "I hope you don't mind my intruding upon you? What a glorious sunrise."

"From an artistic point, yes," agreed Mostyn. "But I'm afraid we'll get it before very long."

"She's a safe boat," said Olive with conviction. "She isn't exactly a yacht, but, personally, I'm rather enjoying it."

"Even on short rations?" inquired Peter.

"Up to the present, yes," was the reply. "It's rather a novelty being served out with biscuits, but I'm not looking forward to the sun-dried herrings."

"Perhaps," said Peter, producing the box of Turkish delight, "these will prove a welcome subst.i.tute for the herrings. No, don't thank me.

Preston's the fellow."

With her eyes sparkling, Olive proceeded to count the luscious squares.

Mostyn looked on, wondering at the reason of her act.

"Sixty-three, sixty-four," concluded the girl. "That's thirty-two for Mrs. Shallop. You'll be witness, Mr. Mostyn, that it's a fair divide?"

The Wireless Officer had said nothing about sharing the sweetmeats.

Olive's generosity and fairness were all the more apparent.

"I'm out of a post, Mr. Mostyn," she continued, with a light-hearted laugh. "Mrs. Shallop and I are not on speaking terms."

"That rather gives you a free hand. I'm very glad," said Peter gravely.

"Yes," admitted the girl. "She has certainly been a bit trying of late. Do have a piece of Turkish delight?"

Mostyn shook his head.

"No, thanks," he declined. "Your share won't go very far. Besides, I'm in luck too. Preston had a big box of cigarettes in his pocket.

So you're pleased to be free of Mrs. Shallop?"

"Rather," replied the girl whole-heartedly. "The only thing that troubles me is how I am to get home again, if we come through this adventure safely."

"Don't worry about that, Miss Baird," declared Peter boldly. "I'll see you safely home. You can be quite independent of that woman."

"Thank you so much," said Olive gratefully, and almost unconsciously she laid her hand lightly upon Peter's arm.

A thrill of pleasure swept across the Wireless Officer's mind. Then, as if to seal the compact, the tropical sun in all its glory appeared above the rim of the horizon.

"I'm not a woman," exclaimed a strident voice from inside the tent.

"I'm a lady. I am really. My father was a naval officer--a captain."

The man and the girl looked at each other. Olive's face was wreathed in smiles. Peter actually winked. In the Eden that he had created the presence of the Serpent was of no account.

CHAPTER XXVII

Aground

The rest of the day until four in the afternoon pa.s.sed almost uneventfully. The breeze still held, but blew steadily from the same quarter with hardly a point difference in eighteen hours. With one reef in the mainsail the boat had all she could carry with comfort, and, save for an occasional fleck of foam over the weather bow, was dry and fairly fast.

The disconcerting doubt in Peter's mind was whether the boat was making good to wind'ard. Apparently she was, but whether the leeway counter-balanced the distance made good, or whether the boat was actually losing on each tack remained at present an insolvable problem.

During the greater part of the day the heat of the sun was tempered by the cool breeze, but late in the afternoon more indigo-coloured clouds began to bank up to the east'ard. The roseate hues of early morn were about to vindicate themselves as harbingers of boisterous weather.

"Sea-anchor again, I suppose," soliloquized the skipper of the boat.

"Beat and beat and beat again, then drift to lee'ard all we've made.

We'll fetch somewhere some day, I expect."

He rather blamed himself for not having put the helm up directly the previous gale had blown itself out. Running before the easterly breeze would have brought the boat within sight of the Mozambique coast before now. On the other hand, how was he to know that the easterly breeze would hold for so many hours? It rarely did.

"It's a gamble," he thought philosophically. "I've backed the wrong horse. I've got to see this business through."

Once more the tent was struck. This time Mrs. Shallop, who had taken possession when Olive came out, made no audible protest. Possibly she was too busy eating Turkish delight. In that respect she acted upon the principle of "Never leave till to-morrow what you can eat to-day".

The sea-anchor was prepared ready to heave overboard. Loose gear was secured, and the baler placed in a convenient spot to commence operations should a particularly vicious sea break into the boat.

Darkness set in. No stars were visible to mitigate the intense blackness of the night. The candle-lamp of the boat-compa.s.s had to be lighted in order to enable the helmsman to keep the craft on her course. Its feeble rays faintly illuminated Peter's face as he steered. Beyond that it was impossible to distinguish anybody or anything in the boat, the bows of which were faintly silhouetted against the ghostly phosph.o.r.escence of the foam thrown aside by the stem.

So far there was no necessity to ride to the sea-anchor. The wind, slightly increasing in force, demanded another reef in the mainsail.

No doubt the boat would have stood a whole mainsail, but Peter was too cautious and experienced to risk "cracking on" in a lightly trimmed craft unprovided with a centreboard or even a false keel.

The two lascars were told off to tend the halliards, Mahmed stood by the mainsheet, while Peter steered. The latter, his senses keenly on the alert, was listening intently for the unmistakable shriek that presages the sweeping down of a squall. In the utter darkness the sense of hearing was the only means of guarding against being surprised by a violent and overpowering blast of wind.

"It may not be so bad after all," he remarked to Olive, who had insisted on keeping by him at the tiller. "There's rain. I expected it. Luckily it's after the wind, so the chances are we've seen the worst of it."