confused babel of sounds, a harsh jabbering of foreign languages that
grated roughly on his ear.

"This is a remarkably fine day, sir."

It was the captain who spoke, a bluff, hearty man, who looked oddly out
of place in white linen and a solar topee.

"It is a grand day," said Guy. "May I ask when we are due at Zaila?"

"At Zaila?" repeated the captain, with a look of sudden surprise. "Ah,
yes. Possibly tomorrow, probably not until the following day."

It was now Guy's turn to be surprised.

"Do you mean to tell me," he said, "that it takes two or three days to
cross the Gulf of Aden?"

"No," replied the captain briskly. "You are surely aware, my dear sir,
that we proceed first to Berbera, and thence up the coast to Zaila."

"Then you have deceived me, sir," cried Guy hotly. "You told me this
morning that this steamer went to Zaila."

"Certainly I did," replied the captain. "You didn't ask for any more
information, or I should have told you that we went to Berbera first.
The great annual fair has just opened at Berbera, and I have on board
large stores of merchandise and trading properties. On other occasions I
go to Zaila first, but during the progress of the fair I always go
direct to Berbera and unload. I supposed that fact to be generally
understood," and, turning on his heel, the captain walked off to give
some orders to his men.

Guy was half inclined to be angry at first, but on reflection he
concluded he was just as well satisfied. Besides, it would give him a
chance to see that wonderful African fair, which he now remembered to
have heard about on different occasions.

But one other person was visible on the deck, a short, chunky man, with
a dark complexion, and crafty, forbidding features.

A Portuguese or a Spaniard Guy put him down for at once, and he
instantly conceived a deep mistrust of him. The fellow, however, was
inclined to be sociable.

"Ah, an Englishman," he said, coming up to Guy and holding out his hand,
an action which Guy professed not to see.

"You are going to Berbera, perhaps," he went on, nowise discomfited by
the rebuff.

"No," said Guy shortly. "To Zaila."

"Ah, yes, Zaila! You have friends there, perhaps? I, too, am acquainted.
I know very well Sir Arthur Ashby, the governor at Zaila."

His keen eyes scanned Guy's face closely, and noted the faint gleam of
surprise at this information.

But Guy was too clever to be thrown off his guard.

"Yes," he said. "I know