"When can you get under way?" inquired Peter. "Tide time to-morrow night," was the reply. "Say about six o'clock." Peter's peregrinations that day were by no means finished. After being held up and interviewed by the local representative of the _Kilba Protectorate Gazette_, who was also a correspondent to one of the principal London dailies, he found out Olive and told her of his latest plans. "It won't take much more than a week--perhaps less," he explained. "I don't think that in any case you will be able to find a homeward-bound vessel by that time." "I won't trouble to do so," declared the girl. "Mr. Davis and his wife are no end of good sorts." Preston received the news of Peter's venture with considerable envy. "Wish I were fit enough," he remarked; "I'd come along and help you through with it. Keep your eyes open, old man, and see if you can find out anything about the _West Barbican_. It seems to me that somebody in Bulonga might be able to throw out a good hint as to the cause of the explosion. I may be wrong, but those are my sentiments. When do you sail?" Peter told him. "That's unfortunate, my lad," rejoined the Acting Chief. "These people here are giving us a lush-up to-morrow evening. Couldn't wait, I suppose?" Mostyn shook his head. "Tide time," he replied briefly. "Any time between six and nine," added Preston. "Ask the Old Man--he's not your boss, you're employing him--to put it off say till a quarter to nine. Then you'll be able to have most of the fun; Miss Baird and Mrs. Shallop will be there, of course, although I guess neither of us is particularly keen on the old woman's presence." "She turned up trumps when she tackled the Arab," Peter reminded him. "All right, get on with it," interposed Preston good-humouredly. "It will be an ordeal for me, watching you fellows enjoying yourselves, an' the doctor's shoved me on to a light diet. He didn't want to let me go, but I'll be there, even if it snows ink." So back to the harbour Mostyn went to interview the skipper of the _Quilboma_ once more. "'Tain't for me to raise objections," declared the captain, "but it's cutting it mighty fine. Fallin' tide's at nine, d'ye see?" He tilted back his topee and scratched his head. "Tell you what," he continued. "I'll take her over the bar at seven o'clock and drop killick outside, if 'tis as calm as it is to-day. Mr. Davis's launch can put you off, and then we'll get under way directly you come aboard. Make it four bells, if you like. There won't be much time lost, seeing as I haven't to smell my way out on a falling tide."