"Lloyd's agent at East London telegraphs, 'S.S. _Marechal Foch_ arrived here to-day with eighteen lascars, survivors of the S.S. _West Barbican_, which foundered in the Mozambique Channel on the night of the 22nd. No trace has been found of the ship's officers and the remainder of the crew. Survivors cannot give any explanation of how the disaster occurred.'" "Peter!" gasped Mrs. Mostyn. Her husband was thunderstruck. The gravity of the news had taken him completely aback. He gave no thought to the precious steelwork. His whole concern was for his son. The bald announcement was serious enough in all conscience. Reading between the lines it gave scant hope that there might be other survivors. Was it possible that Peter had in his prime fallen a victim to the remorseless sea? "There's nothing very definite, my dear," he remarked as calmly as he could. "Perhaps to-morrow we'll hear that some more boats have been picked up. Strange things happen at sea." Mrs. Mostyn shook her head. After Peter's almost miraculous return when given up for dead, after the S.S. _Donibristle_ had been reported "overdue, missing, and believed a total loss", she could hardly hope for a second intervention of Providence. "Tut, tut," said Captain Mostyn, his forced manner belying the doubts that assailed him. "Why shouldn't he turn up trumps a second time? Why, I know an old pensioner at Portsmouth who, during his twenty-one years' sea life, was reported killed four times. And he's hale and hearty to-day at eighty-five, or he was when I heard of him a fortnight ago. I'll see my friend Parsons at Lloyd's to-morrow. He'll keep me posted as to the latest news. Peter will be all right, never fear." But Captain Mostyn had his doubts. He knew enough about the sea to realize the possibility of his son going down with the ship. He argued that the disaster must have been sudden, since there was no mention of the ill-fated _West Barbican_ having sent out wireless messages for aid. That pointed to the vessel foundering in a few minutes; in which case there had not been time to lower all the boats. Quite likely the one containing the eighteen lascars was the only one successfully lowered. Again, the absence of an officer in the boat pointed to a complete disorganization of discipline. On the face of Lloyd's telegraphed report things looked very black indeed. Captain Mostyn spent a sleepless night, but he hardly gave another thought to his financial losses. Over and over again he tried to reconstruct the scene on board the sinking liner, with the object of convincing himself that his son had escaped with his life. Throughout the long night he was building up suggestions and immediately demolishing them on account of an incontestable flaw in the theory.