In his quietly masterful way he placed his hand on the baronet’s shoulder.

“What did Lord Ventnor mean?” he asked.

Sir Arthur Deane answered, with a calm smile—­“It is difficult to talk openly at this moment.  Wait until we reach the hotel.”

The news flew fast through the settlement that H.M.S. Orient had returned from her long search for the Sirdar.  The warship occupied her usual anchorage, and a boat was lowered to take off the passengers.  Lieutenant Playdon went ashore with them.  A feeling of consideration for Anstruther prevented any arrangements being made for subsequent meetings.  Once their courteous duty was ended, the officers of the Orient could not give him any further social recognition.

Lord Ventnor was aware of this fact and endeavored to turn it to advantage.

“By the way, Fitzroy,” he called out to the commander as he prepared to descend the gangway, “I want you, and any others not detained by duty, to come and dine with me tonight.”

Captain Fitzroy answered blandly—­“It is very good of you to ask us, but I fear I cannot make any definite arrangements until I learn what orders are awaiting me here.”

“Oh, certainly.  Come if you can, eh?”

“Yes; suppose we leave it at that.”

It was a polite but decided rebuff.  It in no way tended to sweeten Lord Ventnor’s temper, which was further exasperated when he hurt his shin against one of Robert’s disreputable-looking tins, with its accumulation of debris.

The boat swung off into the tideway.  Her progress shorewards was watched by a small knot of people, mostly loungers and coolies.  Among them, however, were two persons who had driven rapidly to the landing-place when the arrival of the Orient was reported.  One bore all the distinguishing marks of the army officer of high rank, but the other was unmistakably a globetrotter.  Only in Piccadilly could he have purchased his wondrous sola topi, or pith helmet—­with its imitation puggri neatly frilled and puckered—­and no tailor who ever carried his goose through the Exile’s Gate would have fashioned his expensive garments.  But the old gentleman made no pretence that he could “hear the East a-callin’.”  He swore impartially at the climate, the place, and its inhabitants.  At this instant he was in a state of wild excitement.  He was very tall, very stout, exceedingly red-faced.  Any budding medico who understood the pre-eminence enjoyed by aq. ad in a prescription, would have diagnosed him as a first-rate subject for apoplexy.

Producing a tremendous telescope, he vainly endeavored to balance it on the shoulder of a native servant.

“Can’t you stand still, you blithering idiot!” he shouted, after futile attempts to focus the advancing boat, “or shall I steady you by a clout over the ear?”

His companion, the army man, was looking through a pair of field-glasses.