During the rest of the day the West Barbican rolled before the following wind, to the no small discomfort of the majority of the passengers. It was a cold wind, too, and few of the passengers who had withstood the attacks of mal de mer ventured on deck.

"Have you found out who that loud-voiced female passenger is?" inquired Peter of Anstey, as the two paced the almost deserted boat-deck.

He put the question with ulterior motives, masking the main point of his curiosity.

"That queer specimen?" rejoined the Third Officer. "No, I haven\'t, beyond the fact that she\'s a Mrs. Shallop, and her husband, that red-faced man, is a horse-dealer, who made a pile in the war by stopping at home and selling broken-down hacks to Government inspectors who hardly knew the bow of a gee-gee from the stern. Yes, we\'re going to have some fun out of Mrs. Shallop before long, old son. She\'s had a row with the purser, two with the chief stewardess, and a few with the stewards thrown in as make-weights."

"What about?\' asked Mostyn.

"Goodness knows," replied Anstey. "The purser was talking to the Old Man about it after breakfast. She\'s rather got on the poor chap\'s nerves. Apparently she\'s an imaginary grievance that they don\'t treat her like a \'lydy\', so she\'s been ramming it down their throats that she\'s a naval officer\'s daughter—a captain\'s daughter."

"Well, isn\'t she?" asked Peter.

The Third Officer sniffed scornfully. Evidently Mrs. Shallop had fallen foul of him already.

"Naval captain\'s daughter!" he exclaimed. "Might be. Sub-lieutenants become captains, or at least some of them do; and subs have been known to do rash acts when they are young. But when a woman, whose accent, manners, and grammar are decidedly rocky, goes out of her way to assert that she\'s a naval officer\'s daughter, well then, snap goes the last thread of your credulity. My dear old thing, we\'re going to have some fun this trip, so get busy."

"Who is the girl—the girl who was almost the last on board?" asked Mostyn, broaching the long-deferred question at last. "Has she no friends on the ship?"

"Goodness only knows!" ejaculated the Third Officer fervently. "She\'s a Miss Baird, and I think she\'s by herself. We\'ll find out in due course. Hark! Yes, at it again! It\'s poor old Selwyn getting it this time."

Through a partly open skylight came the now familiar voice of Mrs. Shallop, almost ear-piercing in its intensity and raucous in its tone. Mingled with the strident outbursts of the woman came short, incompleted protests from the doctor, who apparently was not able to hold his own.

"At it again," reiterated Anstey. "She\'s trying the naval captain stunt on the doc. I guess—by Jove! Wait till she tackles the Old Man."

Just then Dr. Selwyn appeared on the boat-deck. He was a dapper little man with the reputation of being a skilful and rapid surgeon. He could have commanded a large practice in town, but, preferring the country to city life, was content with a moderate income and plenty of hard work in congenial surroundings. In manner he was affable, and possessed an old-world courtesy that made him extremely popular. He was mild in speech, and rarely lost his temper; but when he came on deck it was obvious to both Peter and Anstey that he was labouring under suppressed anger.

"Morning, Doc," was the Third Officer\'s greeting. "Up for a breather?"

Selwyn braced his shoulders and gazed out to starboard. Nine miles to the nor\'ard the white cliffs of the Isle of Wight stood out clearly against the dark grey clouds.

"Yes," he agreed. "A breather. Had a fairly stiff time with sundry patients. Sort of thing one must expect in the early days of a voyage. What\'s that land over there?"

"St. Catherine\'s," replied Anstey. "If it\'s clear enough we may sight the Isle of Purbeck, but I doubt it. So take your last look at Old England for a while, Doctor."

The three men remained in conversation for several minutes, but Anstey failed hopelessly in his attempt to "draw" Selwyn with reference to his encounter with the "tartar".

"I\'d like to see your wireless-cabin," remarked the doctor.

"Certainly," agreed Mostyn. "As a matter of fact I\'m about to take over the watch."

Anstey, to whom the wireless-room was no novelty, "sheered off" and shaped a course for the smoking-room, while Peter and the doctor made their way for\'ard to the former\'s post of duty.

Suddenly Peter stopped. From the open door of the wireless-cabin came the deep bass voice of Captain Antonius Bullock. He was "letting rip" vigorously, and there was anger in his tone. Then, trembling like a leaf, Watcher Plover appeared.

The Old Man, paying an unexpected visit, had found the Watcher fast asleep.

Already the skipper was "fed up to the back teeth" (to use his own words) with the two birds. Coming on top of the disconcerting incidents of the night, when both Watchers had severally dislocated the electric-lighting service, Plover\'s delinquency, serious enough in any circumstances, completely upset the Old Man\'s equilibrium.

By this time he was fully convinced that the Watcher system was rotten to the core. On his previous voyage Captain Bullock had fallen foul of his wireless officers, but that was over technical matters. Otherwise he had had no cause for complaint, and, generally speaking, the relations between skipper and radiographers were harmonious if not exactly cordial. Now, thanks to a misguided attempt at economy, the Old Man could put no dependence upon Mostyn\'s assistants, and, in fact, he was ............