The Maori shrugged his broad shoulders.
"Manners, Malcolm, or the lack of them," he remarked. "This evening I hope to teach him a lesson. There's a boxing-match fixed up, and I hear that this fellow is the champion of his battery. I'll do my best to take him down a peg."
The two men separated, Te Paheka going to his mess, while Malcolm made his way to his quarters, where he informed Selwyn of his chance meeting with the Maori.
"And," he added, "although I'm not absolutely sure about it, I have an idea that the blighter who let us down on the train from Muizenberg is on board."
"A transport officer?" enquired Fortescue.
"No; in khaki--an Afrikander artilleryman."
Fortescue whistled softly.
"Sure?" he asked.
"No, I said I wasn't," declared Malcolm. "I only caught sight of him as he passed. The blighter looked a bit sheepish, and didn't want to catch my eye."
"Golly!" ejaculated Selwyn. "That's fishy! We'll keep a look-out for him. Wonder if he'll put in an appearance at the boxing-match?"