The message was characteristic of Mostyn. He did not believe in paying for two words when one would do, especially at the rates charged by the cable company. It was simply: "O.K. Peter". Having discharged this act of filial duty, Mostyn suffered himself to be led into the presence of the Head Commissioner of the Kilba Protectorate, who happened to be on official duty at Pangawani. With the Commissioner was the Director of Contracts. Both were under thirty-five years of age--Britons of the forceful and energetic type to which colonial development owes so much. They were sitting at a large teak table littered with papers and documents. The Director of Contracts was reading a typed cablegram. "Infernal cheek, Carr," he exclaimed to his colleague. "We've no use for cheap German stuff in the Protectorate. We'll turn it down." The subject of his righteous wrath was a tender from the Pfieldorf Company offering to supply steelwork "exactly according to the plans and specifications of a contract that has unfortunately failed to be executed", delivering the material at Pangawani within thirty-six days of receipt of telegraphic order, for the sum of L55,000. "Good!" ejaculated the Commissioner. "Tick the blighters off while you are about it. I'd rather see the Kilembonga Gorge unbridged till the crack of doom than have the place disfigured--yes, dishonoured, if you like--by a Hun-made structure. It was a bad stroke of luck when the Brocklington people's stuff went to the bottom of the sea." The walls and doors of the official buildings were far from soundproof. Peter, standing with Comyn outside the door, heard the words distinctly. To him they conveyed only one explanation: that in transport from Bulonga to Pangawani the vessel chartered for the conveyance of the steelwork had met with disaster. Comyn tapped at the door and was bidden to enter. "I've brought Mr. Mostyn to report to you, sir," he explained. "Mr. Mostyn was in charge of the dhow that landed seven survivors of the _West Barbican_ this morning." "We've just been talking of the _West Barbican_, Mr. Mostyn," said the Commissioner. "We were saying how unfortunate it was that an important consignment for us was lost in the ship. By the by, are you any relation of Captain Mostyn, one of the managing directors of the Brocklington Ironworks Company?" "He's my father, sir," replied Peter. "I'm afraid, though, that I fail to understand your reference to the loss of the steelwork." "Hang it, man," interposed the Director of Contracts, "surely you ought to know. You were on the ship when she went down." "And I know it," agreed Peter grimly. "That she went down, I mean. As for the steelwork, that was landed at Bulonga a day or so before the disaster occurred." "What?" demanded the Commissioner and Director of Contracts in one breath. Peter repeated his assertion.