it was too late to commence unloading that day. peter, having notified the authorities of the arrival of the consignment, and having arranged for the government surveyor to inspect the steelwork on the following afternoon, made his way to the davis's bungalow.
so far all was well. the time-limit fixed for the delivery of the brocklington ironworks company's contract was still forty-eight hours off, and there was no apparent reason why the stipulated conditions should not be complied with.
olive greeted him warmly. mr. and mrs. davis made him welcome with typical overseas sincerity, and he spent a most enjoyable evening.
at daybreak gangs of natives were set to work to clear the quilboma's hold. by noon the bulk of the steelwork lay upon the quayside. at four in the afternoon the material was examined, tested, and passed by the representative of the kilba protectorate government, and an hour later peter sent another cablegram to his father:
"contract completed o.k. official confirmation follows."
this pleasurable duty performed, mostyn went to pay mahmed a visit. he found his boy progressing favourably, his many wounds having healed without any sign of complications.
"we'll soon be able to send you back to india, mahmed," said peter.
"me no want go india, sahib," protested mahmed. "me stay all one-time with you. me good cook, me wash-brush sahib's clothes. me do eb'rything."
"but i'm going back to england," announced his master. "there i don't know what will happen. i may not get another ship for a very long time."
"no matter," rejoined mahmed, with sublime optimism. "me stay with sahib. me make char for sahib."
peter left it at that. he little knew that mahmed spoke with the tongue of prophecy.
later on in the evening the head commissioner sent for him.
"are you in a pressing hurry to get home, mr. mostyn?" he inquired, after congratulating him upon the successful voyage and happy termination of his trip on the s.s. quilboma.
peter thought not. providing that he was not detained to give evidence in the skeets case, he was in no immediate hurry. apart from the pleasure of meeting his parents again, he was not particularly keen upon returning to england.
he was well aware of the state of affairs in the wireless service at home; how hundreds of skilled operators were "on the beach" through no fault of their own, and that the prospect of immediate re-engagement was very remote. wireless officers were just now much in the same position as tommy atkins. while there was a war on, and wireless men were in great demand for sea-service, the various shipping companies were almost falling over each other and themselves in their efforts to secure skilled operators. now that the war is ancient history, and sea risks are falling to pre-1914 level, the services of wireless officers are no longer in great demand. the slump in shipping has dealt a severe blow to radio-telegraphists.
"quite so," agreed the head commissioner, when mostyn had stated his views. "as a matter of fact we are developing wireless communication in the protectorate as we find it far cheaper than and quite as efficient as ordinary telegraphy. setting up telegraph posts for elephants and rhinos to butt into is an expensive game. so i sent for you. i can offer you a really good government appointment, with free quarters, and splendid prospects of rapid promotion. you're just the type of fellow i want; so what do you say?"
peter did not reply. he was thinking deeply, struggling with a very complex proposition.
"and six months leave in england on full pay every two years, with free passage out and back," added the head commissioner, as an extra inducement—a bait that had often beforetimes turned the scale.
"thanks awfully, sir," said peter, "but i'd like to have some time to think things over."
"certainly," agreed the official, but at the same time he felt rather disappointed. he had been fully prepared to find that mostyn would jump at the tempting offer. according to what he had heard, mostyn was a man of action. it rather puzzled him that the wireless officer should hesitate to close with the offer of a rattling good post. "take a day to think things over and then let me know."
as soon as the interview was at an end peter hurried round to consult his older and, perhaps, more experienced chum preston.
he found the acting chief sitting in a deck-chair under the veranda of the club-house. preston, like mahmed, was making a rapid recovery, and already he was able to walk for a few yards with the aid of a stick.
"you silly young blighter!" he exclaimed, when peter told him of his interview with the head commissioner. "why on earth didn't you jump at it? the pay they're offering you is equal to a cool ￡800 a year at home, to say nothing of extras chucked in. by jove! if it had been me—— i suppose there aren't any more plums knocking around for a has-been shellback of forty like me?"
"i didn't jump at it, old man," replied peter slowly. "i couldn't."
"why not?"
"on miss baird's account," explained mostyn. "you know i promised to see her safely back to england, and i simply couldn't go back on my word."
preston grunted.
"is she so very keen on going?" he demanded. "from what i've heard and seen i don't think she is. look here, mostyn, old son. i'm going to be the grand inquisitor for once, being almost old enough to be your father. are you fond of the girl?"
"yes," replied peter without hesitation. he was sure on that point.
"and is she fond of you?" continued the grand inquisitor.
"think so," was the non-committal reply. "not so sure about it, though," he added.
"i think i am," rejoined preston, with a dry chuckle. "i've been keeping my eye upon the pair of you for some considerable time back. look here, old son; you're a decent sort of fellow with a clean run an' all that. that's what counts with a girl, after all's said and done. you've been offered a rattling good berth with nothing of the 'blind alley' touch about it. all you want now is a sheet-anchor—a jolly sensible girl as a life-partner; one with whom you're not likely to part brass-rags in less than a twelvemonth. bit of a mixed metaphor, isn't it; but you know what i mean? that girl is miss baird; so don't stand hanging on to the slack. ask her to be your wife."
peter said nothing. he was very agreeably surprised to hear the hitherto matter-of-fact acting chief launching out upon such a subject.
"for goodness sake don't think that i'm starting a matrimonial agency stunt, old thing," continued preston. "i know many a young fellow who's run aground on the rocks 'cause he's been a fool to get spliced without looking ahead. you're different. there, i've had my say. full speed ahead and you'll win. and good luck to you."
thanking his old chum, mostyn went off feeling considerably elated. preston's views completely coincided with his own, and the acting chief's words of encouragement helped to fill up the gap in peter's resolution.
the ordeal in front of him was a trying one, he expected; far more stupendous and momentous than he had ever experienced. his adventures while on the books of the s.s. donibristle and the s.s. west barbican were light by comparison.
"no use putting things off," he decided; and, acting upon this resolution, he presented himself at the davis's bungalow.
not the shadow of a chance did he have to broach the momentous subject to olive. davis and his wife were so hospitable that they never left peter and olive alone for one moment.
at eleven, with his mind still unburdened, mostyn returned to his quarters.
at dawn, after a restless night, he arose, bathed, shaved, and dressed, and went out.
he was by no means the only early riser. the white population of pangawani make a point of getting exercise before the heat of the tropical day. watching from afar peter saw signs of activity at the davis's bungalow. native grooms were leading three ponies round to the front of the veranda.
five minutes later peter strolled, outwardly unconcerned, past the house, just as olive and her host and hostess were coming out.
"hello, old man!" exclaimed davis. "topping morning, isn't it? we're off for a canter through the orange groves. come along."
"yes, do," added the two ladies.
"delighted," replied peter.
davis shouted to a native groom to saddle another pony.
mostyn eyed the mount with a certain degree of misgiving. he would have been perfectly at home in the saddle of a motor-bicycle at anything up to fifty miles an hour. there the control was entirely in his own hands. a pony, he reflected, isn't a machine; it is an animal possessing brains and possibly an obstinate will. if the brute took it into his head to exceed ten miles an hour peter wouldn't guarantee to keep his seat. he didn't profess to be a horseman, but in the circumstances he simply had to risk it and take his chance.
his horsemanship was far better than he had expected it to be, although olive gave him points on the management of a pony. it was an exhilarating canter along the stretch of broad, white sands, followed by a steady climb to the summit of mohollo head.
"pull up for a minute, olive," suggested peter. "my pony is a bit winded, i think. let's admire the view."
quite naturally the girl fell in with the suggestion. davis and his wife were still riding on ahead.
it was an ideal morning. the sun was still low in the eastern sky. a fresh breeze stirred the broad leaves of the coco-palms. the foam lashed itself upon the distant reef, while within the rocky barrier the water was as calm as a mill-pond.
"isn't this topping!" exclaimed peter, with a comprehensive sweep of his arm.
"delightful," agreed olive. "i shall be very sorry to have to say good-bye to pangawani."
the girl's whole-hearted admiration gave mostyn the looked-for opening. with sailor-like alertness he seized the opportunity.
"then why leave pangawani?" he asked.
olive looked at him wonderingly.
"what do you mean, peter?" she asked. "when do you think you will be going home?"
"in two years time, i hope," he replied. "but that depends upon you."
"upon me?" rejoined the girl, a faint colour stealing across her half-averted face, as she suddenly realized the point of her companion's remarks.
"well, you see," explained mostyn, "i've been offered a government post out here—a jolly good one. i couldn't accept it because i hadn't spoken to you about it. we agreed, i think, that i should be your guardian—'guardian' is a rotten term, isn't it?—until i saw you safely home."
"don't, please, let that stand in your way," said olive.
"it will," declared peter, "unless——"
*****
five minutes or so later davis exclaimed to his wife: "hello! where are the others?"
"i don't know," was the reply. "i quite thought they were following. trot back and see; i'll wait here."
another five minutes and davis rejoined his wife. deliberately he dismounted, charged a pipe, and lit it.
"there's no hurry," he reported. "they're quite all right. i saw from a distance that i was de trop, so i beat a strategic retreat."
davis finished his pipe, filled up and lit another.
at length the sound of the now walking ponies' hoofs upon the soft ground announced the arrival of the laggards. then into the glade rode peter and olive, both looking radiantly happy.
"congratulate me, old man!" said peter excitedly he did not need to explain.
davis rammed his still-burning pipe into his pocket—he had good cause to remember it later—and extended a sun-burnt hand.
"you lucky dog!" he exclaimed.
