"And one for me, old thing, while you are about it," added a bass voice from the stern-sheets. "By Jove, Preston, I thought you were sound asleep," remarked Peter, as he placed a cigarette to the Acting Chief's lips. "Keeping an eye on you, old thing," retorted Preston, with brutal candour, then in a lower tone he added. "Don't say a word to the girl, but I believe we've sprung a leak. Hear that? It's not the water lapping the boat's sides. It's water trickling in fairly fast. Put a lascar on with the baler. That ought to keep it under until we can see what's wrong." "Right-o," rejoined Mostyn. He began to make his way for'ard, moving cautiously past the tent in which Mrs. Shallop was breathing stertorously. But before he could get to the nearest of the three Indians a wild shriek rent the air. For the moment Peter was under the mistaken impression that he had trodden upon the sleeping form of Mrs. Shallop, but his fears on that score were corrected by the lady exclaiming: "We're sinking. I'm in the water. Let me out! Let me out!" It was some time before the Wireless Officer could release the woman. She had laced the flap of the improvised tent from the inside, finishing up with a wondrous and intricate knot. In the darkness the task was even more difficult. Peter solved it by wrenching one side of the canvas away from the gunwale, and was rewarded by being capsized by the impact of Mrs. Shallop's ponderous and decidedly moist figure. Meanwhile Mahmed, acting upon his own initiative, had lighted the lamp. By the uncertain light Peter found that his fears were realized. Water was spurting in through a rent in the canvas patch on the gar-board strake. A long, pointed object attracted his attention. It was the beak of a large sword-fish. The creature had come into violent contact with the boat, driving the formidable "sword" completely through the temporary planking, two thicknesses of heavy canvas, and the intervening padding of clay. The bone had broken off short, but the worst of the business was that the sudden wrench had split the piece of elm forming the outside of the patch, and through the long narrow orifice thus made, gallons of the Indian Ocean were pouring into the boat. Desperately Peter strove to wrench the sword clear of the hole. It swayed easily enough, but no amount of force at the Wireless Officer's command enabled him to remove the long, tapering horn. "Bale away!" he exclaimed to the lascars, who were inertly watching their sahib's efforts to free the swordfish's formidable spike. "Bale, or we'll sink." "If you can't pull it out, push it back, old son," exclaimed Preston. Glancing up, Peter found the Acting Chief in a sitting position, supporting himself with one hand grasping the after thwart.