The _Tarlington_ slowly approached the precipitous coast-line and changed her course to pass around to the lee of the island. As the deeply indented shore opened to view, and one bold headland after another slid by, a comparatively sheltered anchorage was disclosed. There, to the amazement of Captain O’Shea, rode two small cruisers. One of them flew the red ensign of England, the other the green and yellow colors of the navy of Brazil. He guessed their errand before a British lieutenant came alongside the _Tarlington_ in a steam-launch and climbed the gangway which had been dropped to receive him. Gazing curiously at the silent company and the half-masted flag of Trinadaro, he was conducted into the saloon, where Captain O’Shea waited for him to state his business. “This steamer belongs to Colonel Sydenham-Leach, I presume,” said the visitor. “I should like to see him, if you please. Sorry, but I have unpleasant news for him.” “If it is King Osmond of Trinadaro ye mean, he is dead, God rest his soul! He went out last night.” “You don’t say! Please express my sympathy to the ship’s company,” exclaimed the lieutenant. “How extraordinary! We received orders by cable at Rio to proceed to Trinadaro in time to intercept this vessel of yours.” “And what were the orders, and why is that Brazilian man-of-war anchored alongside of you?” asked O’Shea. “It is all about the ownership of the island,” the lieutenant explained. “Nobody wanted it for centuries, and now everybody seems keen on getting hold of it. The English government suddenly decided, after you sailed from London, that it might need Trinadaro as a landing-base for a new cable between South America and Africa, and sent us to hoist the flag over the place. Brazil heard of the affair and sent a ship to set up a claim on the basis of an early discovery. The Portuguese have presented their evidence, I believe, because their people made some kind of a settlement at Trinadaro once upon a time.” “And the forsaken island was totally forgotten until poor King Osmond got himself and his project into the newspapers,” slowly commented O’Shea. “That is the truth of the matter, I fancy.” The naval lieutenant paused, and commiseration was strongly reflected in his manly face. “Tell me,” said he, “what was the opinion at home about this King of Trinadaro? He was a bit mad, I take it.” “No more than you or me,” answered O’Shea. “He had a beautiful dream, and it made him very happy, but it was not his fate to see it come true. And no doubt it is better that he did not live to know that the scheme was ruined. His island has been taken away from him. It will be wrangled over by England and Brazil and the rest of them, and there is no room for a king that hoped to enjoy himself in his own way. The world has no place for a man like Colonel Osmond George Sydenham-Leach, my dear sir.”