Judging by appearances, Brian Strong was in well-to-do circumstances. He had quite a large house with extensive grounds. There were plenty of menservants. The establishment was run on well-ordered lines. To Peter, who had imagined his relative to be roughing it, the display of luxury took him by surprise and in a way damped his spirits. Somehow, he found himself convinced that there was something mysterious behind it all, although he could not offer any suggestion as to why it should be so. When coffee was served and the two men lighted their cigarettes, Uncle Brian's conversation took a different turn. "You'll have to learn the language, Peter," he began abruptly. "Of course," agreed his nephew. "I did think of investing in a Spanish manual before I left England." "It's as well you didn't," rejoined his uncle, with a grim smile. "You'd have a lot to unlearn if you did. A Spaniard would hardly be able to understand the Rioguayan dialect, although the bulk of the white inhabitants are of Spanish descent. Indian words, which largely make up the language, tend to render the Latin elements unintelligible. But you'll be able to pick up a decent smattering in three months.... I understand you gave up your commission in the navy. Why?" "Had to--reduction of _personnel_," replied Peter laconically. "Feel as if I've been on the beach for centuries," he added feelingly. "Keen on your work, of course?" "Rather." "What did you specialize in?" "Gunnery." "H'm," commented Uncle Brian, as if the announcement did not interest him very much. For nearly half a minute he lay back in a lounge-chair, regarding his nephew through half-closed eyes. "What's your opinion about the big-ship controversy?" he asked at length. "Do you think that the battleship is a back number?" "No, I do not," replied Peter, for this was a topic that always aroused his professional enthusiasm. "It's the capital ship all the time that will count. History proved that. In the 'eighties the French thought that a horde of torpedo-boats would replace battleships. Destroyers formed the antidote. In the last war the Huns were going to wipe out the British capital ships with their submarines--a sort of attrition process. Did they? They never sunk a single dreadnought or super-dreadnought by means of a submarine attack. The nearest they did was to torpedo the _Marlborough_ at Jutland, and she got home under her own steam. Then there's the aerial menace----" "Ah!" ejaculated Uncle Brian. "Wash out," declared Peter. "There's no instance of a warship being destroyed in action by aerial attack." "But that form of warfare has developed tremendously since the Armistice," remarked his uncle.