Olive shook her head.
"I never possessed a fairly accurate watch," she replied. "Mine gains about a minute a day, and every time I wind it I put it back a minute. It was set by ship's time on the day the West Barbican sank."
"Why so anxious to know the time, old man?" inquired Mostyn. "You haven't to go on watch."
"Never you mind, old son," rejoined the Acting Chief. "In due course I'll enlighten your mind on the subject, but until then—nothin' doin'."
For the next ten minutes conversation drifted into other channels. Peter had almost forgotten about the mysterious inquiries of Mr. Preston, when the latter inquired abruptly:
"What do you think is our position, Sparks?"
"About fifty miles west of Madagascar," replied Peter.
The Acting Chief shook his head.
"Wrong, my festive. Absolutely out of it," he stated with conviction. "Say a hundred and fifty miles to the south'ard of Cape St. Mary—that's the southern-most point of Madagascar—and you won't be far out."
"But, why——?" began the astonished Wireless Officer.