“What is it, Father?” she asked anxiously.

“Nothing to be scart about, my girl.  Neighbours, this gentleman has come all the way from London in an aeroplane.”

The announcement was received in dead silence.  Smith stood like a statue as he listened to Mr. Martin’s hurried explanation, resigning himself to be the target of all eyes.  Everybody crowded about him, silent no longer, but all asking questions at once.  Mrs. Martin went to the table and brought from it a dish of chicken patties, which she pressed upon him.

“Do’ee eat now,” she said, in the broad accent of Devonshire.  “I made ’em myself, and you must be downright famished.”

“Not quite so bad as that,” said Smith, with a smile, “I had a good breakfast at Penang, and have nibbled some biscuits and things on the way.”

“Biscuits are poor food for a hungry man.  Eat away now, do.”

Other members of the family brought ale, cider, fruit, cakes, enough for a dozen men, and for some minutes Smith’s attention was divided between eating and drinking and answering the questions which poured upon him in a never-ending flood.  Conscious of the lapse of time, he at last said that he must go and obtain the fuel for his engine.  The men rose in a body, prepared to accompany him.

“I don’t think we had better all go, neighbours,” said Mr. Martin.  “I’ll take Mr. Smith to the Resident; we shall have to see him about the petrol, you know.”

“There’s one thing your friends can do for me,” said Smith.  “I want ten or a dozen rifles, and a lot of ammunition.  Can you provide them at such short notice?”

“I should just think we can,” said Mr. Martin.  “Neighbours, get together what Mr. Smith wants, and take ’em out along to the aeroplane.  It’s just a step or two beyond the railway, from what he says.  Mother, send out some eatables, too, something better than biscuits, to Mr. Smith’s man, who’s looking after it.  Now, Mr. Smith, come along.  The Residency isn’t far off:  we’re only a small town.”

The two set off, and in a few minutes arrived at the Residency, a stone building of more pretensions than the wood and iron erections of which the town mostly consisted.  The Resident was at home.  Once more Smith had to tell his story, once more to listen to exclamations and reply to questions, grudging every moment that kept him.  The Resident had heard of the wreck of the Albatross, in which he had been particularly interested, because he had some slight acquaintance with its commander.

“I heard by wire only yesterday, Mr. Smith, that a gunboat had been sent from Brisbane to the relief of your friends.  She started three days ago, and can’t possibly reach the wreck until to-morrow at earliest.  But surely she will be there before you?”

“Not if I can get off soon, and don’t meet with an accident on the way.  It’s nearly two thousand miles from here to Ysabel Island, I think?”