“I think when the rains come the wet heat oozes into one’s bones somehow. You will have to go up to Victoria if you feel limp.”
“We ought to make up a party,” said Captain Gilderoy. “Mrs. Clayton would join with pleasure, I am sure, and Miss Denver. They had great games there last year—some of the men from ‘By-Jovey’ got leave and went too. Have you had your mail yet? We can sit here in comfort while Wray goes and gets them for us, if you like.”
“Thanks. Don’t bring my husband’s, though, please, Captain Gilderoy. He likes to fetch his mail himself.”
The post-office was close to the wharf, behind a block of store-houses, where the big firms received their imports and placed them for unpacking. Captain Gilderoy disappeared behind a wall of coal, and Mrs. Gilderoy and Mrs. Lewin sat still on their ponies in the shade, now chatting to some acquaintance who had joined them, now watching the cargo being dumped down into the grit and dirt of the quay.
“We can go on board as soon as that mess is cleared off!” said Mrs. Gilderoy, with a nod towards the bales that would feed her during the next month. “But it is so uncomfortable while they are all running about and falling over each other round the hatches. Mrs. Ritchie Stern is on board. Her husband’s boat is coming in to-day to coal, she says, and she followed him in the mail. They will be here for some days. Captain Nugent is bursting with excitement, and planning a ball for every night that they spend here!”
“Heaven help them!” said Chum, laughing. “What is Captain Stern’s boat?”
“The Greville, I think.” She dropped her voice a note lower, and leaned over her saddle. “Have you heard that there is trouble on the East Coast, up at Port Cecil?”
“No!” Something in the tone startled Chum, though the words meant nothing to her. “Port Cecil!” she repeated vaguely. “Is that——”
“No, not in Key Island at all—on the African coast, in British East Africa, and dangerously near the German frontier. I believe it never has been rightly settled as to whether Port Cecil is British or German territory. I wish they had handed it over with Mafia. It would be so much more sensible! There is nothing officially stated, but a rumour of trouble has leaked out. The Capetown authorities have cabled through to our man to send some one up at once. You see, it is so much nearer than it would be for them, and it’s a very delicate kind of mission. Wray calls it handling a meerkat with boxing-gloves on! We can’t offend the natives, and we won’t offend Germany for some reason just now. It’s to be all tact and no soldiers this time.”
“Then Mr. Halton is the right man to go.”