Again the lad had a surprise. El Toro was quite a substantial affair of white stone, standing amidst picturesque surroundings in extensive grounds, surrounded by a high stone wall much after the style of an English country seat. The house itself was neither high nor impressive, being of only one story on account of the danger from earthquakes; but it was well built and the grounds were in splendid order. There was a lodge by the entrance gate, whence a sweeping drive, bordered with dwarf palm trees, led up to the porticoed house. At one side of the main building was a range of stables, while farther away, and with their rounded roofs only just visible over a slight ridge, were numerous sheds that looked as if they might be workshops. The motor drew up. Peter alighted and offered the driver a half-dollar piece, which the mulatto refused with a superb gesture worthy of a real Spanish grandee. Before Peter had recovered from his rebuff, the double doors of the house were flung open by a pair of negro servants. Even as he was ascending the steps of the portico, Peter heard the clatter of heavy boots upon the tiled floor of the hall. The next instant, his hand was grasped by his Uncle Brian. "Glad you've got here, Peter!" he exclaimed. "Say, ever been up in an aeroplane? Ever flown at all?" "No," replied his nephew, too taken aback with the unusual and eccentric greeting to reply except in a monosyllable. "That's a pity," rejoined Uncle Brian, "a great pity. I wanted a chance to bring you down." CHAPTER III Uncle Brian Brian Strong gave a deprecatory gesture. "Explanations can wait," he replied. "You must be hungry. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, I'll show you the bathroom. Where's your kit?" Peter had to admit that he was hungry. The fact that he needed a bath required no verbal confirmation. He was covered with dust. The absence of his baggage was explained. "If you had only let me know," commented Uncle Brian, "I'd have met you at the landing-stage and saved a lot of bother. What did they rush you for custom dues?" His nephew told him, at the same time thinking ruefully that his ready capital had already shrunk to three hundred dollars. "H'm. I think I'd have got you passed through for less than that," commented Mr. Strong. "We'll go into the matter later." Peter made his way to the bathroom, puzzling his brains over Uncle Brian and his sayings. He had not seen his uncle for about fifteen years, and impressions at the age of five are apt to be somewhat distorted. Then he remembered Uncle Brian as a tall, gruff-voiced man of great age. Now his uncle looked quite small--hardly up to Peter's shoulder. His voice was still gruff. He usually spoke in short, crisp sentences, until he warmed up to any topic that interested him. His actual age was forty-eight, but his fresh complexion and athletic build made him look much younger.