For once the Bay of Biscay was as smooth as a mill-pond, and after a pleasant run down the coast of Portugal Madeira was reached on time.
As some hours were to be spent here, Oscar went ashore, took a look about the quaint old town, feasted on fruits, and dined sumptuously at the hotel.
When the vessel again turned her prow seaward it was for a voyage of twenty-three days. She was not to touch land again until she reached the Cape, unless she was blown ashore.
The last object of interest she passed was the Peak of Teneriffe, and when that had been left out of sight the long voyage was fairly begun.
On the second day out from Madeira Oscar became aware that he was an object of interest to a passenger whom he had not seen before since leaving Gravesend. He was a dapper little fellow, apparently about thirty years of age, with a haughty, imperious face, and long, wavy whiskers, which he stroked with an air of the greatest complacency.
He wore a gold eyeglass and the most ridiculous little skull-cap imaginable. Why he should adopt that style of head-piece under that broiling sun (they were now beginning to experience tropical weather, and the fruits they had taken on board at Madeira were most acceptable) Oscar could not imagine.
He was seated under an awning, attended by his servant, who, having just handed him an "ice" which he had brought from the bar, took his stand behind his master's chair, and awaited further orders.
The latter took a sip at his glass, and then he looked at Oscar.
"Where in the world have I seen that man before?" said the boy to himself, closing his book and fixing his eyes on a Portuguese man-o'-war which had just spread its tiny sail to the breeze. "His face is certainly familiar, but where I have—— I wonder if I didn't camp near him the second night after I left Ike Barker's ranch? I did!" said Oscar, slapping his book upon his knee. "It's Colonel Dunhaven. Hallo!"