"Then make those blacks look at once," ordered the lady peremptorily. Peter pretended not to have heard the strident, imperious command. It would have been waste of breath to point out that the boat could not be searched without disturbing Preston, and that the awkwardly placed bottom-boards could not be removed while the boat was under way. With a parting shot at the young officer for his incivility, Mrs. Shallop retired to the tent and began to nag Miss Baird, who had shown no disposition to assist in the search. "Thanks, Mr. Mostyn," said the girl, when Peter warned her of the heat of the sun. "I'm quite all right. You see, I took the precaution of wearing a topee when we were ordered into the boat. May I steer?" For a second time that morning Mostyn relinquished the helm. Then, having seen that Preston was as comfortable as possible, he sat on one of the side-benches and chatted to the helmswoman. Even then he was not idle, for, on the principle that "you never know when it may be wanted", he took his automatic pistol to pieces and carefully cleaned the mechanism, sparingly oiling the working parts with a few drops of oil from the lamp. "Do you know how this thing works?" inquired Peter casually. "Yes," replied the girl promptly. "You have to pull back the hammer for the first shot, and as long as the trigger is pressed the pistol goes on firing until the magazine is empty." "I wonder how you know," thought Mostyn. He shook his head. "This pistol doesn't," he explained. "Some simply act automatically as long as the trigger is pressed. That's rather a drawback if a fellow's a bit jumpy. He's apt to let fly a hail of bullets indiscriminately. No! This pistol of mine cocks itself after every shot, and it requires another pull on the trigger to fire each of the succeeding cartridges." "The one I saw was different," rejoined the girl. "It was my brother's. He was killed at Ypres in '18." Peter politely murmured regrets, but inwardly he felt relieved that the fellow who had instructed Olive into the mysteries of automatic pistols was only a brother. Just then Preston roused slightly and asked for water. "Better, old man?" asked Mostyn, as he poured a few precious drops into the baler, and held the rim to the Acting Chief's dry lips. "Hocussed an' sandbagged, that's what's happened to me," mumbled Preston thickly. "Where the hooligan Harry am I?" And, with a sudden movement, he jerked the baler out of Peter's hand. The man was obviously still delirious. Before Mostyn could decide what to reply, Preston shut his eyes and went to sleep again. Mostyn picked up the baler from where it had fallen under the stern-bench. A couple of spoonfuls of fresh water had been wasted. "Is that land?" suddenly inquired Olive, pointing away on the port bow, where a low, dark line was just visible on the horizon, looking very much like a chain of serrated mountains.