"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 a.s.sertion that there would be but little time lost finally dispelled Peter's misgivings. He would have foregone the doubtful pleasure of the lush-up ash.o.r.e rather than have risked the chance of still further delaying the delivery of the Brocklington Ironworks Company's contract; but now, with these rea.s.surances, Mostyn felt that he could accept the hospitality of the new-found friends without any pinp.r.i.c.ks 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, a.s.sisted 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 s.e.x of Mrs. Shallop?"

"None whatever."

"Had he any money when he came ash.o.r.e?"

"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."

CHAPTER x.x.xVII

How the Steelwork Arrived

There was no doubt about it: Mr. Benjamin Skeets was a very crafty fellow. By adopting the disguise of a woman, and acting up to the part of a vulgar parvenue, he had completely covered his tracks, and had thrown dust into the eyes of everyone with whom he had come in contact--up to a certain point and then only with one exception.

Messrs. Skeets and Shale were no mere novices in crime, and their daring _coup_ of defrauding the United Trusts Banking Company of the round sum of 30,000, and their subsequent disappearance, had both mystified and astonished the British public by its audacity, and had completely baffled the greatest detective experts of Scotland Yard.

Skeets had lived up to his disguise very thoroughly. Even the subsequent engagement of Miss Olive Baird had been undertaken solely with the idea of elaborating the smaller but by no means unnecessary details of his disguise. Since there was no reliable description of Mr. Joseph Shales, who was the unseen partner in the deal with the banking firm, it was a fairly simple matter for him to get out of the country under the guise of the husband of "Mrs. Shallop".

It had been the intention of the precious pair to leave the _West Barbican_ at Cape Town; hence Mrs. Shallop's anxiety to get a wireless message through as soon as the ship came within radio range of Table Bay. But the absence of a reply from Skeets's confederate at Cape Town had so startled the fugitives that they decided to go on until they found a convenient port, preferably in India, where they could lie low and live on their ill-gotten plunder.

The foundering of the _West Barbican_ had upset their calculations.

Practically the whole of the pair's booty went down with the ship. Mr.

Shallop, otherwise Shales, having no further use for his dest.i.tute partner, went off in one of the ship's boats which was eventually picked up. Arriving at Cape Town he took the ill-advised step of looking-up a pal. The latter was already languishing in a South African penal establishment, and Mr. Shales, upon making inquiries, was enlightened by an acquaintance of the convict, who chanced to be an astute detective.

The outcome of this meeting was that Mr. Shallop, under the mellow influence of strong waters, said more than he would have done had he been in his sober senses. Recovering from his maudlin state he found himself in custody.

Having no belief in the worn proverb concerning honour amongst thieves, and perhaps fully convinced that his partner in crime had been lost in the disaster to the _West Barbican_, Joseph Shales confessed to a minor part in the United Trusts Bank frauds, at the same time laying the blame upon the missing Benjamin Skeets.

The immediate result was that directly the news was cabled that more survivors from the _West Barbican_, including Mrs. Shallop, had been landed at Pangawani, the Kilba Protectorate Police were instructed to arrest the much-wanted Benjamin.

Before Mostyn left to go on board the _Quilboma_ he had an opportunity of saying farewell to Olive, and at the same time telling her of the astounding news.

"And to think that she--or, rather, he--bluffed the whole jolly lot of us," he added. "Even the Old Man and Doctor Selwyn were taken in completely."

"Not all of us, Peter," rejoined the girl softly. "I knew--but not at first."

"By Jove!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the astonished Mostyn. "You did? When did you?"

"Not until the _West Barbican_ was sinking," replied Olive. "I found it out then: I couldn't help it. Of course, I didn't know exactly what to do, and I knew nothing whatever of the crime she--I mean, he--had committed. But I meant to tell you some day, Peter."