Which was exactly what had happened. As far as the authorities at Pangawani were concerned Benjamin Skeets had vanished, seemingly into thin air. Although the daily train from Pangawani up-country had been rigorously searched at every intermediate station, soon after the flight of the much wanted man was made known, no one unable to give a good account of himself or herself had been discovered. With the exception of the _Quilboma_ no vessel had left the port during the previous twenty-four hours. Native police and trackers had scoured the bush for miles in the vicinity of Pangawani without picking up any traces of the fugitive. * * * * * Meanwhile Peter Mostyn was speeding south on board the S.S. _Quilboma_. From the moment the harbour launch had placed him on the deck of the tramp outside Pangawani bar, he was entirely cut off from news of the rest of the world. The _Quilboma_ was not fitted with wireless, her owners, since the relaxation of Board of Trade regulations on the termination of the war, having dispensed with what they considered to be an unprofitable, expensive, and unnecessary outfit. The tramp was only of 1500 tons gross register, and with a speed of nine knots. Her engines were of an antiquated, reciprocating type, while her coal consumption was out of all proportion to her carrying capacity. Had she been plying in home waters she would never have passed the official re-survey; consequently her owners, one of whom was her skipper, took good care to confine the _Quilboma's_ activities to the Red Sea and Indian Ocean. In fine weather, and aided by the current constantly setting southward through the Mozambique Channel, the _Quilboma_ was actually making between eleven and a half and twelve knots "over the ground". Three days after leaving Pangawani she arrived at the entrance to Bulonga Harbour. Six hours elapsed before she was berthed alongside the rotting wharf, to dry-out in a bed of noxious mud as the tide left her. Mostyn got to work promptly, and with his accustomed enthusiasm. He had the good luck to find the Portuguese agent on the spot. The preposterous storage charges were discussed, haggled over, and settled; gangs of native workmen were hired, and the task of loading up the _Quilboma_ with her bulky but precious cargo began. It was now that Peter met with a sudden and unexpected check, for, on inspecting the metalwork, he found that even in a comparatively short time the moist, tropical atmosphere had attacked the steel in spite of the coating of oxide it had received before leaving England. To deliver it in this state meant a possible, nay, probable rejection by the consignees; but fortunately the skipper of the _Quilboma_ rose to the occasion. "I've a couple o' kegs of oxide aboard," he announced. "Put the niggers on to it, and let 'em give the stuff another coat." "Over the rust?" queried the conscientious Peter, The Old Man winked solemnly.