"What ho, there, Tretheway! Whoever would have thought of meeting you in this dead and alive corner of the globe?"
Hythe naturally thought it was a case of mistaken identity on the part of the little fellow, but to his surprise Captain Restronguet replied in a cordial manner.
"Bless my soul! It's Jenkins. What are you doing here?"
"It is," assented that worthy. "I've been knocking about a bit since I last worked--I mean, slaved--with you in a British dockyard. Fallen on my feet at last though, that is, unless I fall on my precious skull. Just fancy, Tretheway, I am aeroplanist-in-chief to His Highness the Sultan of Zanzibar."
"Better you than me," remarked the Captain with a laugh. "But I was unaware that the Sultan was a devotee of the art of flying."
"He is, and he isn't," replied Jenkins. "He owns a good many air crafts of various types, and I and several others, mostly Frenchmen, by the by, give exhibition flights while he sits in his state chair and watches us. But how goes it? You look jolly fit, and don't appear as if you were hard up for a dollar?"
"No, I cannot complain on that score," said Captain Restronguet quietly.
"Well, come and have a look at my little air-fleet. Really they don't make a bad show. And your friend, of course."
"Sorry," replied Captain Restronguet. "But we're in a regular hurry. I am trying to get a boat to put me off."
"Where to?" asked Jenkins. "One of the liners in the Roads?"