The Wireless Officer

  CHAPTER XXXVI

  A Round of Surprises

  During the rest of the day the picking up of dropped threads was acontinual source of astonishment to Peter Mostyn, although it was notthe first time that he had been cut off from the outside world.

  The dhow was berthed alongside the newly constructed wharf, frontingthe modest building which housed the customs and port officials ofPangawani. The two lascars were sent to a native merchant seamen'scompound, until they could be shipped back to Bombay in accordance withthe terms of their engagement. Mahmed, greatly against his wish, wastransferred to a native hospital, on the promise given by Mostyn Sahibthat he would be allowed to accompany his master as soon as he was ableto do so. Mrs. Shallop, declining offers of hospitality from the wifeof a Customs officer, betook herself to a small hotel close to therailway station from which the line, broken only at the as yetunspanned Kilembonga Gorge, starts on its eight-hundred-mile run to theprovisional capital of the Kilba Protectorate.

  Olive Baird, on the other hand, gratefully accepted Davis's offer tostay with his wife until an opportunity occurred for her to takepassage home--the opportunity being determined by Peter's ability toaccompany her, and thus carry out his promise.

  Dick Preston sturdily declined to go into hospital. Already he hadarranged to share rooms with Peter at the Pangawani branch of theImperial Mercantile Marine Club of which both officers were members.

  Before Peter relinquished his command, certain formalities had to begone through, amongst which was the examination of the vessel by theport officials.

  The dhow's cargo was small and comparatively worthless. There were nopapers to prove her identity or of where she came.

  "What's in that chest, Mr. Mostyn?" inquired the official, pointing tothe 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 itashore, but I'll put a seal on it for our mutual safeguard.'"

  In fact he affixed three seals bearing the impression of the arms ofthe Protectorate of Kilba.

  "One more thing," continued the port official. "You'll have to make adeclaration before the Head Commissioner. I'll come along with you.We may catch him before dinner."

  "Not in these trousers," objected Mostyn, indicating his disreputablegarments. "And I must go to the post office."

  "Right-o," agreed the official cheerfully. "Nothing like killing threebirds with one stone. You and I are about the same build. Let me fityou up. Comyn is my tally."

  In a very short time obvious deficiencies in Peter's wardrobe were madegood. Then, accompanied by his newly found friend and benefactor, hecalled in at the post office and dispatched a cablegram to his parents.

  The message was characteristic of Mostyn. He did not believe in payingfor two words when one would do, especially at the rates charged by thecable company. It was simply: "O.K. Peter".

  Having discharged this act of filial duty, Mostyn suffered himself tobe led into the presence of the Head Commissioner of the KilbaProtectorate, who happened to be on official duty at Pangawani.

  With the Commissioner was the Director of Contracts. Both were underthirty-five years of age--Britons of the forceful and energetic type towhich colonial development owes so much.

  They were sitting at a large teak table littered with papers anddocuments. The Director of Contracts was reading a typed cablegram.

  "Infernal cheek, Carr," he exclaimed to his colleague. "We've no usefor cheap German stuff in the Protectorate. We'll turn it down."

  The subject of his righteous wrath was a tender from the PfieldorfCompany offering to supply steelwork "exactly according to the plansand specifications of a contract that has unfortunately failed to beexecuted", delivering the material at Pangawani within thirty-six daysof receipt of telegraphic order, for the sum of L55,000.

  "Good!" ejaculated the Commissioner. "Tick the blighters off while youare about it. I'd rather see the Kilembonga Gorge unbridged till thecrack of doom than have the place disfigured--yes, dishonoured, if youlike--by a Hun-made structure. It was a bad stroke of luck when theBrocklington 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 wordsdistinctly. To him they conveyed only one explanation: that intransport from Bulonga to Pangawani the vessel chartered for theconveyance 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 theCommissioner. "We were saying how unfortunate it was that an importantconsignment for us was lost in the ship. By the by, are you anyrelation of Captain Mostyn, one of the managing directors of theBrocklington Ironworks Company?"

  "He's my father, sir," replied Peter. "I'm afraid, though, that I failto understand your reference to the loss of the steelwork."

  "Hang it, man," interposed the Director of Contracts, "surely you oughtto know. You were on the ship when she went down."

  "And I know it," agreed Peter grimly. "That she went down, I mean. Asfor the steelwork, that was landed at Bulonga a day or so before thedisaster occurred."

  "What?" demanded the Commissioner and Director of Contracts in onebreath.

  Peter repeated his assertion.

  "Glorious news!" exclaimed the Commissioner. "Bless my soul, whatpossessed them to dump the stuff in a miserable backwater in Portugueseterritory?"

  "That's for you to say, sir," replied Mostyn. "I took in the wirelessmessage when we were a few hours out from Durban. It came from theCompany's agent, and obviously must have emanated from here."

  "Obviously fiddlesticks!" interrupted the Director of Contracts. "Ifit had I would have been responsible for it. Fire away, let's have thewhole yarn."

  For the best part of an hour Mostyn kept his listeners deeplyengrossed. The Commissioner completely forgot that there was a mealwaiting for him. Here was an enthralling narrative with an unsolvedmystery attached.

  "Have you any available funds, Mr. Mostyn," he demanded bluntly, whenPeter had brought his story to a close.

  "Precious little, sir."

  "Then let me make an offer. If you accept you will be rendering apublic 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 asrepresentative to the Brocklington Ironworks Company, and deliver thegoods 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 makeyour arrangements for chartering a vessel to bring the consignmentround from Bulonga. As a matter of fact there's the _Quilboma_ lyingin harbour at the present time, waiting for cargo. She'd do admirably,and you can get quite reasonable terms. Once the jolly old stuff isplanked down on the wharf here your father's firm has carried out itsobligation, you know."

  It did not take long for Peter to accept the offer. He metaphoricallyjumped at it.

  "Right-o," said the Commissioner, as he dismissed his newly accreditedagent of the Brocklington Ironworks Company. "Get a move on. Over yougo and the best of luck."

  Still feeling considerably mystified, Mostyn left the building.Outside he parted with Comyn, the latter impressing on him that hewould be only too pleased to be of assistance to him in any matter andat any time during his stay at Pangawani.

  Peter went to the post office a second time. Again he cabled to hisfather, but with a reckless disregard of the money he was putting intothe cable company's exchequer. He did not even wait to put the messageinto code, but stated that the consignment of steel-work had not beenlost in the _West Barbican_, but had been landed at Bulonga. Heproposed chartering a tra
mp and bringing the consignment to Pangawani.

  "That'll buck the governor up, I reckon," he soliloquized, as he handedin 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 ofa cargo agreed to undertake the run to Bulonga and back at a veryreasonable 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 beingheld up and interviewed by the local representative of the _KilbaProtectorate Gazette_, who was also a correspondent to one of theprincipal London dailies, he found out Olive and told her of his latestplans.

  "It won't take much more than a week--perhaps less," he explained. "Idon't think that in any case you will be able to find a homeward-boundvessel by that time."

  "I won't trouble to do so," declared the girl. "Mr. Davis and his wifeare 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 youthrough with it. Keep your eyes open, old man, and see if you can findout anything about the _West Barbican_. It seems to me that somebodyin Bulonga might be able to throw out a good hint as to the cause ofthe explosion. I may be wrong, but those are my sentiments. When doyou sail?"

  Peter told him.

  "That's unfortunate, my lad," rejoined the Acting Chief. "These peoplehere are giving us a lush-up to-morrow evening. Couldn't wait, Isuppose?"

  Mostyn shook his head.

  "Tide time," he replied briefly.

  "Any time between six and nine," added Preston. "Ask the Old Man--he'snot your boss, you're employing him--to put it off say till a quarterto nine. Then you'll be able to have most of the fun; Miss Baird andMrs. Shallop will be there, of course, although I guess neither of usis 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. "Itwill 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 mego, 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'scutting 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 seveno'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 directlyyou come aboard. Make it four bells, if you like. There won't be muchtime 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 lostfinally dispelled Peter's misgivings. He would have foregone thedoubtful pleasure of the lush-up ashore rather than have risked thechance of still further delaying the delivery of the BrocklingtonIronworks Company's contract; but now, with these reassurances, Mostynfelt that he could accept the hospitality of the new-found friendswithout 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 towelcome their guests.

  A little later a rickshaw trundled up to the entrance, and Preston putin an appearance, assisted by a couple of the club servants.

  Then, in Peter's eyes at least, a radiant vision arrived, as OliveBaird, simply yet daintily dressed in one of Mrs. Davis's eveningfrocks, and escorted by her host and hostess, was ushered into theante-room.

  Her introduction to the Head Commissioner took a very considerabletime--at least Peter thought so--while others of the Pangawanicommunity flocked up to the girl like flies round a honey-pot.

  At length the Head Commissioner suggested that it was time to adjournto 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 totalignorance 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 anative servant approached, salaamed, and offered a silver plate uponwhich 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 thefoyer. As he strode out Peter noticed that there was a tall man in adrill uniform standing in front of a couple of native policemen.

  Mostyn was not in the least curious. He was aware that the leisuretime of a highly-placed official is hardly ever free from interruptionsupon matters of state. But he was considerably surprised when a coupleof minutes later the Head Commissioner pulled aside the curtain andsaid:

  "Mr. Mostyn, may I speak to you for a few moments?"

  Peter went out. The uniformed officer and the two policemen werestanding stiffly at attention.

  The Commissioner without any preamble plunged into facts.

  "This is Inspector Williams of the Kilba Protectorate Police Force," heannounced. "He holds a warrant for the arrest of Mrs. Shallop, or, togive her--or, rather, him--his correct name, Benjamin Skeets. He isvery badly wanted at home for extensive frauds on the United TrustsBanking Company. His partner in crime, Joseph Shales, whom probablyyou know under the name of Mr. Shallop, is already in the hands of theUnion 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, "thatMr. Benjamin Skeets has given us the slip; although, we hope, we maypossibly lay hands on him before long. He can't get very far away.All right, Williams, carry on. Keep me informed directly you hearanything of a definite nature. Come along, Mostyn; we'll rejoin theothers. Not a word about this till after dinner."