Mostyn promptly obeyed the summons. He too was rather surprised at the alteration effected by the removal of the skipper's beard, the newly shaven portion contrasting forcibly with the brick-red tan of the rest of his face. "Tell me," began the Captain, "what was that old barge doing in the wireless-cabin?" Peter explained. The Old Man nodded eagerly. "You did the right thing, my boy," he remarked "I've had enough--more than enough--of that impossible woman. I told her that in future she is not to come on the bridge on any pretext whatsoever. If she wants to send a message, let her; but she must do so in writing and submit it to me before it is passed. That'll clip her wings. All right, Mr. Mostyn, carry on." Peter carried on until relieved by Watcher Plover. The latter was improving considerably, although he could never become an operator. He lacked the education and intelligence necessary for the work, but by this time he was able to discriminate between various signals and to know the Morse call for the ship. Consequently Peter's watch below was not subject to numerous and unnecessary interruptions. "Hello, Sparks!" exclaimed Preston, as Mostyn blew into the smoking-room. "So you've been up against it this time. Tell us all about it." There were about half a dozen passengers, the Acting Chief Officer, and two of the engineers off duty passing a pleasant hour. All seemed eager to know full particulars of the encounter. "She's an unmitigated nuisance," declared an artist, proceeding to Natal in order to paint some frescoes for one of the important buildings. "We'll all be reduced to nervous wrecks before we see the last of her. Can't we choke her off?" "For Heaven's sake don't, old chap," protested Comyn, his cabin-mate, a tall, lean-faced, literary man. "I bear the brunt of it. Every morning I get a dose of it until I know every shred of her personal history in spite of the fact that the details vary as consistently as does the ship's position. It is priceless. I revel in it. Wouldn't miss it for worlds; I encourage her, in fact." "'Tany rate," interposed Alderton grimly, "she called you a lanky reptile." "Perhaps," rejoined the unruffled author. "If it comes to that, she said you were a little worm. There's no end of fun making out that you believe all Mrs. Shallop tells you. It's a little gold mine." "For you, perhaps," added Preston. "However, I guess the Old Man has upset her apple-cart. We won't hear her bell-like notes again in a hurry." But he was mistaken. Into the smoke-laden atmosphere wafted the strident voice of the lady under discussion. She was venting her wrath upon Olive Baird. CHAPTER XVI Hot Work in No. 1 Hold The S.S. _West Barbican_ was within a couple of days of Cape Town. The weather, although still warm, had lost much of the sweltering heat, thanks to the influence of the Trades.