“I am a bit of a sweep, no doubt, but you can give me a bath.  The fact is—­well, it’s plaguey difficult to tell it shortly—­but the fact is I picked up this lady—­no, hang it all!  Miss Bunce, please help me out.”

“Mr. Smith picked me up, as he says, from a burning ship in mid-ocean, and was kind enough to bring me here in his aeroplane.”

“Sounds simple, don’t it?” said Smith, as Mr. Daventry looked from one to the other in amazement.

“But—­I don’t understand—­mid-ocean—­an aeroplane?  Mary,” he added to a lady in a dressing-gown who had just entered, “come and listen to this.  You know Charley Smith?  Miss—­Miss—­”

“Margaret Bunce,” said the girl, rising.

“My wife.  Now, let us all sit down and see if we can make this out.  If I understand aright Miss Bunce was in a burning ship in mid-ocean—­”

“Oh, poor thing!” said Mrs. Daventry sympathetically, going to Margaret and taking her hand.

“And—­correct me if I’m wrong—­Smith descended out of the clouds, caught up Miss Bunce, and flew with her to the house of his nearest friend.  Is your aeroplane outside, old man?”

“It’s a mile away, in charge of my chauffeur.  I think I had better tell the whole story from the beginning.”

“I think so, too; it’s rather cloudy at present.  Have a cigar—­if the ladies don’t mind.”

“Well, two days ago I learnt that my father was shipwrecked along with the company of his survey vessel on one of the Solomons, practically unarmed, the report says.  As the news was taken to Brisbane by some of the crew in an open boat, they must have been at the mercy of the savages for a week or more, and probably hard pushed.  Of course a gunboat was to be sent to relieve them, but as every hour was important I decided to try to get to them in my aeroplane and take them some ammunition.  Last night, coming somewhere south of the Andamans, we saw a ship on fire; she was adrift, lost her masts and all boats but one.  The captain asked me to send help as soon as I got here, and Miss Bunce was good enough to accept our escort, and here we are.”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Mr. Daventry.  “But—­I don’t understand yet.  How did you come to be by the Andamans?  Where did you come from?”

“Left London early Friday morning:  came by Constantinople and Karachi.”

“Upon my word, Smith, if I didn’t know you I should be inclined to ask if you are sober.  You have come all the way from London since Friday morning?”

“Exactly.  But I know you’ll excuse me:  I haven’t time to tell you any more.  We are already four hours late, and every hour means nearly two hundred miles.  There are two things I want to do.  First to arrange with the port officer to send help to Captain Bunce; then to get the petrol and lubricating oil ordered for me here.  Van Kloof’s the man.  You know him, of course.”

“Yes, but it’s Sunday.”