"Peter!" gasped Mrs. Mostyn.
Her husband was thunderstruck. The gravity of the news had taken him completely aback. He gave no thought to the precious steelwork. His whole concern was for his son.
The bald announcement was serious enough in all conscience. Reading between the lines it gave scant hope that there might be other survivors. Was it possible that Peter had in his prime fallen a victim to the remorseless sea?
"There's nothing very definite, my dear," he remarked as calmly as he could. "Perhaps to-morrow we'll hear that some more boats have been picked up. Strange things happen at sea."
Mrs. Mostyn shook her head. After Peter's almost miraculous return when given up for dead, after the S.S. Donibristle had been reported "overdue, missing, and believed a total loss", she could hardly hope for a second intervention of Providence.
"Tut, tut," said Captain Mostyn, his forced manner belying the doubts that assailed him. "Why shouldn't he turn up trumps a second time? Why, I know an old pensioner at Portsmouth who, during his twenty-one years' sea life, was reported killed four times. And he's hale and hearty to-day at eighty-five, or he was when I heard of him a fortnight ago. I'll see my friend Parsons at Lloyd's to-morrow. He'll keep me posted as to the latest news. Peter will be all right, never fear."
But Captain Mostyn had his doubts. He knew enough about the sea to realize the possibility of his son going down with the ship. He argued that the disaster must have been sudden, since there was no mention of the ill-fated West Barbican having sent out wireless messages for aid. That pointed to the vessel foundering in a few minutes; in which case there had not been time to lower all the boats. Quite likely the one containing the eighteen lascars was the only one successfully lowered. Again, the absence of an officer in the boat pointed to a complete disorganization of discipline. On the face of Lloyd's telegraphed report things looked very black indeed.
Captain Mostyn spent a sleepless night, but he hardly gave another thought to his financial losses. Over and over again he tried to reconstruct the scene on board the sinking liner, with the object of convincing himself that his son had escaped with his life. Throughout the long night he was building up suggestions and immediately demolishing them on account of an incontestable flaw in the theory.
Next day Captain Mostyn went up to town by his usual train, but, instead of proceeding to the offices of the Brocklington Ironworks Company, he went straight to Lloyd's. Here he was informed that no further news of the loss of the S.S. West Barbican had been received, but the detailed report of the Master of the S.S. Maréchal Foch was expected by cable that day.
The same afternoon there was a hurriedly convened meeting of the directors of the Company. None of them had noticed the announcement concerning the West Barbican in the papers, and Captain Mostyn's bald statement came as a complete surprise. No definite steps could be taken until the ship was officially reported lost, and then only would the underwriters pay the 66-2/3 per cent of the value of the steel-work.