When we arrived at Nairobi I presented myself at the Government headquarters, which were then in a little tin shanty, now used by some Indian coolies as a wash-house, while the remainder of the party sat down outside whilst I went in to see the official. The Goanese clerk who inquired my business told me that the Sub-Commissioner was very busy just then and I could not see him. It was quite remarkable how very busy these officials always were when any one, not of the official or missionary class, wanted to see them. I had always experienced the same difficulty in getting an interview, and no doubt the clerk thought that I had come to make one of my usual complaints. On this occasion I did not happen to be in a hurry, so telling the clerk that I would call back in about an hour’s time, I went for a stroll round the town, and took the opportunity of having a look at Nairobi. On my return I was received by the Sub-Commissioner, who asked me what I wanted, so I handed him the packet containing the statement of evidence, and when he had looked through it he said that he would make arrangements at once to have me sent down to Mombasa. Things were done in a different way here, and I quickly realized the change when I got outside the office and found myself surrounded by a guard of six Indian soldiers with fixed bayonets. That same day I was taken by the afternoon train to Mombasa, under charge of the escort of Indian soldiers, with a white officer in command, and on arriving there I was handed over to another white official. After some considerable delay, the papers apparently not being in order in some respect, I was duly admitted to the Mombasa jail, which was the old Portuguese fort—a massive building, whose frowning walls rise sheer above the cliff commanding the entrance to Mombasa. Many a time, in days gone by, has the tide of battle rolled around these grim walls, the many sanguinary conflicts in which it has figured having earned for Mombasa the title of the “Isle of War.” Looked at from the outside, the fort is a gloomy-looking place, with its huge entrance gates guarded by sentries; but its extent is best judged from the inside, and I found that there was plenty of room within its massive walls; while the apartment allotted to my use proved to be much more comfortable than I had expected—being, in fact, quite on a par with, if it did not surpass, the accommodation which the only hotel in Mombasa at that time could provide. I found that I was perfectly free to roam about the fort at will, though, of course, I was not allowed to pass outside the gates.