Mostyn hurried away to carry out his instructions.
"Good sort, the Old Man," he soliloquized. "And at one time I thought I'd hate him like poison. It just shows a fellow that it's not wise to judge by first impressions."
Promptly the serang and half a dozen lascars came upon the scene and began to cast off the lashings that secured the motor-boat to No. 2 hatch. The little craft was Captain Bullock's private property. She was about twenty-five feet in length, carvel-built of teak, and had a 12-horse-power paraffin engine installed under the fore-deck. 'Midships was a well, fitted with a wheel and motor controls, while the spacious cockpit aft was provided with a folding hood, as well as double awnings spread between tall brass stanchions.
In less than ten minutes the boat had been swung out by means of a derrick, and was straining at her painter alongside the accommodation ladder.
With Senhor Aguilla's letter in the breast-pocket of his drill tunic and his automatic in his hip-pocket, Mostyn waited at the head of the ladder until Olive appeared, wearing a light, linen skirt and coat and a topee with a gold-edged pugaree.
It was "stand easy". Notwithstanding the tremendous heat the officers were spending their leisure in a manner followed by Britons all the world over. They were playing cricket, with the netted promenade-deck as the field, and stumps precariously supported by a small wooden base. Yet the thrill of deck-cricket paled into insignificance when Olive Baird appeared. One and all the players flocked to the side to watch her departure in the Old Man's motor-boat.
From the top of the accommodation ladder Peter signed to the native engineer, and by the time Olive stepped agilely into the stern-sheets, without taking advantage of Mostyn's proffered hand, the motor was purring gently.
"Let go aft—let go for'ard!" ordered Peter. "Touch ahead."
By a gentle movement of the wheel Mostyn got the boat clear of the ship's side without the risk of hitting the propeller. He knew from experience that the effect of helm is to swing a boat's stern round and not her bows. Then, with a sign to the native engineer to "let her all out", Peter steadied the boat on her course.
The Old Man's private launch was no sluggard. She could do a good nine knots, but her progress against the formidable ebb seemed tediously slow. She was slipping through the coffee-coloured water quickly enough, as her bow-wave and clear wake denoted; but she seemed to be crawling past the low river banks at less than a slow walking pace.