However, we were in luck. When I went aboard the _Intrepid_ to report myself, and told Commander Duckworth that, so far, the Bedouins had made no attempt to attack the village, and amused him by describing the results of their rifle practice and the grand appearance of the old sheikh on his walking camel, he said: "Well, Martin, you’ve had a fortnight’s rest, and now I have rather an amusing job for you. There’s a place called Sur on the chart; it’s thirty miles to the south’ard, a deep backwater with two towns—Heija, on the north-east side, belonging to the Beni-Bu-Ali tribe; and, on the west, Shateif-al-Kabira, inhabited by the Beni Janaba. They hate each other like poison, and are always having rows. There is only one decent well for both towns—half-way between them—and the old Sultan has a fort and keeps a garrison there to protect it and keep order. A few months ago he sent a son of his there to command, and the harum-scarum young ass got himself into a mess, enraged both tribes so much that they’ve joined forces—for the first time on record—and surrounded his precious fort. As a personal favour the Sultan has asked the political agent if he will get him out of this trouble; so there’s your job, and off you go as soon as you’re ready. The Sultan is sending off a few thousand rupees, and if you find these won’t do the trick, and the tribes are bent on getting the young scamp’s blood, just bring him back with you. The _Bunder Abbas_ can get quite close in to the fort, and you ought to have no trouble. At any rate, fix things up as best you can." "Thank you very much, sir!" I said, and asked him if there was any more news from Jask. He shook his head. "The political agent is always hearing rumours of trouble—nothing more. They haven’t sent those ladies away. I wish they would." So did I. I stayed on board to lunch with Popple Opstein. He was beginning to find lying off Muscat rather dull work after the exciting times we had had, and almost wished we had not captured all those arms. "The gun-running business has been knocked on the head for the next few months or so," he told me, "and things are as dull as ditch-water." The _Bunder Abbas_ had taken nearly all her coal, water, and provisions on board by the time I went back to her, and I found Mr. Scarlett in another of his nervous saturnine fits. Moore told me he had shut himself in his cabin ever since the coal lighter had come alongside. When he came out to speak to me he was so nervous and shaky that I was more than ever anxious about him.