"Any time between six and nine," added Preston. "Ask the Old Man—he's not your boss, you're employing him—to put it off say till a quarter to nine. Then you'll be able to have most of the fun; Miss Baird and Mrs. Shallop will be there, of course, although I guess neither of us is particularly keen on the old woman's presence."
"She turned up trumps when she tackled the Arab," Peter reminded him.
"All right, get on with it," interposed Preston good-humouredly. "It will be an ordeal for me, watching you fellows enjoying yourselves, an' the doctor's shoved me on to a light diet. He didn't want to let me go, but I'll be there, even if it snows ink."
So back to the harbour Mostyn went to interview the skipper of the Quilboma once more.
"'Tain't for me to raise objections," declared the captain, "but it's cutting it mighty fine. Fallin' tide's at nine, d'ye see?"
He tilted back his topee and scratched his head.
"Tell you what," he continued. "I'll take her over the bar at seven o'clock and drop killick outside, if 'tis as calm as it is to-day. Mr. Davis's launch can put you off, and then we'll get under way directly you come aboard. Make it four bells, if you like. There won't be much time lost, seeing as I haven't to smell my way out on a falling tide."
The Old Man's assertion that there would be but little time lost finally dispelled Peter's misgivings. He would have foregone the doubtful pleasure of the lush-up ashore rather than have risked the chance of still further delaying the delivery of the Brocklington Ironworks Company's contract; but now, with these reassurances, Mostyn felt that he could accept the hospitality of the new-found friends without any pinpricks of conscience.
Punctually at the time stated Peter presented himself at the club. Already the Head Commissioner and the port officials were there to welcome their guests.
A little later a rickshaw trundled up to the entrance, and Preston put in an appearance, assisted by a couple of the club servants.