He glanced at his watch.
"One o'clock," he announced. "There's a steamboat from the Customs Landing at two. You'll be able to do the honours to my little packet, and I'll put you alongside your respective ships by eight bells."
About half way to the landing-place the three officers found that their progress through the already crowded street was impeded by a mob of Maltese—the men in sombre garments that contrasted with the motley attire usually sported by the natives; the women in black, with the characteristic head-dress that somewhat resembled the Spanish mantilla. Surging up the steps of the steep strada the "Malts" were importuning every one they met, holding out metal cups for the expected reception of coins.
"What's the move, I wonder?" remarked Holcombe, as the two friends stood aside to let the throng sway past.
"Dunno," replied Barcroft. "It reminds me of Barborough Wakes."
"I can tell you," said a civilian, a dockyard official, who had overheard Holcombe's query. "Do your remember that case of Angelo Zurrico? No; you have not been long in Malta? Zurrico shot another Maltese—sort of vendetta business. He was taken red-handed and sentenced to death. His friends, unable to save his life by obtaining a reprieve, are doing the next best thing according to their lights. They are collecting money to pay for masses and a new silk rope."
"Eh?" ejaculated Billy incredulously.
"Fact," continued his informant. "Custom of Malta, you know. Every condemned criminal is provided with a silk halter if his pals can raise the wind. Also, another quaint idea, the fellow selected to do the hangman's job is at once put under arrest—partly for his own protection in case the relatives of the about-to-be executed man should take it into their heads to knife him, and also to prevent him running away. But to see the Malts at their best I'd advise you to be here for Carnival, if you are able."
The officers thanked their informant, and, the crowd having passed by, resumed their interrupted walk. At the Custom House steps a launch attached to the seaplane base was in attendance, and the run up the Grand Harbour began.
"There she is!" exclaimed Barcroft proudly, pointing to a dark-grey object lying on the surface of the water of a sheltered creek.