The whaler was manned, Captain Restronguet, the skipper of the "Iticaba," and Hythe sitting in the stern sheets. There was no wind, so the men had recourse to their oars, and a five mile pull under a blazing sun was no light task. Nevertheless, within an hour and a quarter of leaving the "Aphrodite" the whaler ran alongside the landing-slips at Zanzibar. A crowd of Arabs, Zanzibaris, and negroes, with a sprinkling of Europeans, awaited the arrival of the boat, for since there was no large vessel lying outside the Western Pass, it was rightly conjectured that the men were survivors from some disaster. Loyally the seamen maintained silence, and stolidly refused to be questioned by several of the seamen from other ships that happened to be lying in the roadstead, and in a body they marched to the British Consulate, where Captain Restronguet asked to be shown into the presence of His Majesty’s representative. "What name, sir?" asked the stalwart sergeant of marines, who was in charge of the guard. "That I wish to withhold," replied the Captain. "At the same time I am convinced that the Consul will be more than willing to see me." The sergeant demurred, but just then a dapper little man, whose snow-white hair and closely trimmed grey beard contrasted vividly with his brick-red complexion, came across the courtyard. "What’s this? Shipwrecked men?" he asked, scanning the somewhat dishevelled crowd of seamen, some of whom bore traces of hard knocks received in the struggle with the Somalis. "These men are," replied Captain Restronguet. "I have not had that misfortune. Neither has my friend here. At the same time I wish to make an important communication to you in private." "By all means," said the Consul. "This way. Simmons, will you please bring whisky and soda into the small study. I presume, gentlemen, you would like a peg?" "Now," he continued, as Captain Restronguet, Captain Rees, and Hythe followed him into the room, "what can I do for you? Do you wish to make a statement on oath? If so, I must send for my secretary." "The necessity for making a statement upon oath rests with you," replied Captain Restronguet. "Allow me to introduce myself as Captain John Restronguet, commanding the submarine ’Aphrodite,’ which is now lying off the port." The Consul stared at his informant for quite ten seconds, then recovering himself said stiffly, "This, sir, is neither the place nor occasion for a senseless joke." "I agree with you." "Then, why? The ’Aphrodite’ was destroyed by that villain Karl von Harburg in the Red Sea more than a week ago." "On whose authority did you hear this, might I ask?" "On the word--if word it can be called--of Karl von Harburg himself." "The report was false. I am he whom I claim to be. This gentleman, Mr. Arnold Hythe, an officer of the Royal Navy, will corroborate my statement."