I opened my eyes as I saw these, and still more when he led me through some roughly-designed earthworks, evidently meant for protection. Then we came to the big barrack-like telegraph buildings themselves, with a line of iron telegraph posts running from them down the peninsula and then along the edge of the shore to the east’ard as far as my eye could see. My guide led me to a building surrounded by a strong stone wall, with loopholes through it, and at the entrance a short cheery man with a round red face and a scrubby, yellow moustache was waiting to welcome me. He was the political agent—Fisher by name. He introduced me to his wife, who came out to join us—a tired-looking little woman—and on the veranda, in the shade, which we hurriedly sought, was my little lady friend from the steamer, talking to a tall, good-looking chap. The political agent explained that this was Borsen, his right-hand man, the only other European there, and that she, his sister, had come out to keep house for him and be some company for Mrs. Fisher. "They are the only two women here, and it is very noble of them to come to such a place as this," he said, speaking as though it might be jolly unselfish of them but that he wished they were not there. "What do you think of your new ship?" he asked, smiling. "You won’t know her in a month’s time," I smiled back. "Shan’t have the chance," he answered. "I have a very pretty job for you along the coast—keep you busy for the next three months." I brightened up and wanted to hear more; but the head "boy"—a "perfect" old chap in a yellow silk turban—announced breakfast, and until we had finished there was no chance of my learning. Then Mr. Fisher took me into his work-room, brought out charts, and explained things to me. "Look," he said, pointing to the Arabian coast at a place called Jeb, some forty miles to the north’ard of Muscat. "I have information that several thousand rifles have been brought down there. The Arabs will be bringing them across at the first opportunity, and it was only yesterday that I heard that camels are being collected in two villages not far from here. It is fairly certain that somewhere between those two villages they mean to land them. You see that headland jutting out—look—close to Kuh-i-Mubarak—thirty miles to the west’ard. There are two creeks; one just to the south’ard of it, the other about eleven miles to the north’ard. They are favourite places for landing arms, and those camels—a hundred or more—are somewhere close by. "The chart does not show it properly. I’ll draw you a rough sketch-map." He drew a sketch and explained it. A hill named Sheikh Hill (there was a sheikh’s house or fort on its summit) and the cliffs opposite it made an anchorage safe from any wind, but the creek leading from a little inlet past the village of Bungi (where half those camels had been collected) was very shallow indeed.