This was the brief conversation between the Captain and the Wireless Officer. The Old Man had by some unaccountable intuition fostered the idea that the code-book was the object of the intruder's presence. Mostyn had a right to make use of it, and, before probing deeper into the problem, Captain Bullock had questioned him. The skipper had a keen insight into human nature. In his official capacity he had come into contact with hundreds, nay thousands, of human beings for whose safety and welfare he, under Providence, was responsible. Some were notables, the majority common-place individuals, and not a few persons with unenviable reputations. He had had on board escaping murderers, defaulting company promoters, fraudulent trustees, absconding cashiers, and a variety of other criminals from the "flash" cracksman to the common "lag". Professional gamblers, sharpers, and pickpockets had passed his way on the broad highway between Great Britain and the Dominion of South Africa. Captain Bullock was generally very quick in "knowing his man". Rarely was he mistaken in his speedy yet calculating judgment. Already he had his Wireless Officer "sized up", and the verdict was favourable. Hence Peter Mostyn's "No, sir," was sufficient. The Old Man knew that he had spoken the truth and that he was not the mysterious intruder. Anstey, the officer of the watch, was likewise questioned. He, too, was emphatic that he had not entered the Captain's cabin, nor had he seen anyone doing so during the middle watch. For some days Captain Bullock pondered over the incident, blaming himself for not having challenged the intruder. Then he began to let the matter dwindle in importance, and by the time the ship reached Las Palmas he had practically forgotten all about it. In fine, excessively hot weather the _West Barbican_ approached the Line. No tropical storm greeted her as she entered the once dreaded Doldrums, that belt of calms which has yielded its powers of holding ships captive for days on end, to the all-conquering steam and internal-combustion engines. Rarely now is there a sailing-ship to be sighted wallowing helplessly in the Doldrums, her decks and topsides opening with the terrific heat, and her crew driven almost mad with the torturing glare of the tropical sun. Auxiliary power has changed all that, and even the huge, square-rigged ship engaged in trading round the Horn is now equipped with a semi-Diesel capable of pushing her along at a modest four or five knots in a calm.