It appeared that the Arabs failed through a lack of concentration in their initial attack. Instead of four of them dealing with Peter and Preston (one of the crew had to be at the helm) two crept towards the tent in which the Acting Chief and Mahmed were sleeping while a third secured the hatch over the lascars, and the fourth directed his attention upon the cabin in which Mrs. Shallop had taken up her abode. Awakened by the uproar, Olive slipped out of her shelter, and hid in the angle made by the rise of the poop and the adjoining bulwark. The place was not only in shadow; it was hidden from the view of the Arab at the helm. Horror-stricken, the girl watched the drama until she saw that Peter had thrown himself upon the would-be assassins. Up to that moment she had thought that he was struggling under the folds of the overthrown tent. Then horror gave place to a strange fascination as she followed Mostyn's plucky and desperate struggle against the two Arabs. She wanted to go to his aid, but her limbs refused the dictates of her brain, apart from the fact that she was without a weapon of any description. As in a hideous dream she saw the Wireless Officer struggle until he had overcome his antagonists, only to be attacked by the captain of the dhow and the Arab who had returned from his task of securing the lascars. The period of trance-like inaction passed. Olive stole stealthily towards the three combatants with the desperate intention of throwing herself upon the captain, as he manoeuvred for an opening. She saw the iron bar descend and Peter's automatic slither along the deck. The Arabs, too intent upon settling with the Englishman, paid no attention to the little weapon. Swiftly the girl grasped the automatic. Even in her haste she remembered to release the safety-catch and to see that there was a cartridge in the breech. Levelling the pistol she pressed the trigger. The Arab captain threw up his arms and staggered upon the almost exhausted Peter, bearing him to the deck together with the fellow whom he had used as a human shield. Still at a loss as to the outcome of the fight, Olive waited, finger on trigger, watching the writhing forms almost at her feet. Presently the Arab sailor extricated himself and fumbled for the knife in his sash. Again the pistol cracked, and the fellow collapsed in a limp heap across the body of the captain of the dhow. Checking her almost irresistible inclination to ascertain whether Peter was dead or alive, the girl made her way aft, remembering that there were five Arabs and that only four had been accounted for.