"Mr. Mostyn."

"Sir?"

"Did you by any chance use the owner\'s code-book during the middle watch?"

"No, sir."

"Very good; carry on."

This was the brief conversation between the Captain and the Wireless Officer. The Old Man had by some unaccountable intuition fostered the idea that the code-book was the object of the intruder\'s presence. Mostyn had a right to make use of it, and, before probing deeper into the problem, Captain Bullock had questioned him.

The skipper had a keen insight into human nature. In his official capacity he had come into contact with hundreds, nay thousands, of human beings for whose safety and welfare he, under Providence, was responsible. Some were notables, the majority common-place individuals, and not a few persons with unenviable reputations. He had had on board escaping murderers, defaulting company promoters, fraudulent trustees, absconding cashiers, and a variety of other criminals from the "flash" cracksman to the common "lag". Professional gamblers, sharpers, and pickpockets had passed his way on the broad highway between Great Britain and the Dominion of South Africa.

Captain Bullock was generally very quick in "knowing his man". Rarely was he mistaken in his speedy yet calculating judgment. Already he had his Wireless Officer "sized up", and the verdict was favourable. Hence Peter Mostyn\'s "No, sir," was sufficient. The Old Man knew that he had spoken the truth and that he was not the mysterious intruder.

Anstey, the officer of the watch, was likewise questioned. He, too, was emphatic that he had not entered the Captain\'s cabin, nor had he seen anyone doing so during the middle watch.

For some days Captain Bullock pondered over the incident, blaming himself for not having challenged the intruder. Then he began to let the matter dwindle in importance, and by the time the ship reached Las Palmas he had practically forgotten all about it.

In fine, excessively hot weather the West Barbican approached the Line. No tropical storm greeted her as she entered the once dreaded Doldrums, that belt of calms which has yielded its powers of holding ships captive for days on end, to the all-conquering steam and internal-combustion engines. Rarely now is there a sailing-ship to be sighted wallowing helplessly in the Doldrums, her decks and topsides opening with the terrific heat, and her crew driven almost mad with the torturing glare of the tropical sun. Auxiliary power has changed all that, and even the huge, square-rigged ship engaged in trading round the Horn is now equipped with a semi-Diesel capable of pushing her along at a modest four or five knots in a calm.

Preparations to pay the customary honours to Father Neptune were in full swing on board the West Barbican. For days before the ship was due to cross the Line all the officers and twenty-five per cent of the passengers became temporary inquiry agents. Seemingly casual conversation was entered into with the primary object of discovering who had or who had not "crossed the Line". Within a few minutes of an unguarded remark being made by a passenger to the effect that he had not been in southern latitudes, that fact was duly recorded in a notebook by the indefatigable Acting Chief Officer. Preston was a veritable sleuth-hound in these matters, and already his "bag" was assuming favourable proportions.

Among the names recorded were those of Partridge and Plover. The two Watchers had never heard of the time-honoured ceremony, and were in utter ignorance of the ordeal through which they would have to pass. Their lack of general knowledge, combined with a somewhat surly reticence, had made them no friends on board. They kept to themselves, hardly exchanging a word with anyone else except when duty compelled them to speak.

At length the eventful day arrived when the ship was due to cross the parallel of maximum length. Soon after day-break eager lascars had been employed in spreading a huge tarpaulin over a rectangular frame, so as to form a large bath. At one end, facing the for\'ard portion of the promenade deck, a platform was erected and draped with bunting. Behind locked doors officers off duty lurked in their cabins, contriving weird and startling disguises for the Sea King\'s festival. The donkey-engines were started—not with the idea of ejecting bilge water, but for the purpose of pumping a copious supply of salt water into the improvised tank.

On the bridge Preston was "shooting the sun". Again and again he levelled his sextant, until he was satisfied that the ship was within a few miles of the Line. Then, hastily reporting the fact to the Old Man, he disappeared down the companion-ladder to change with the utmost speed into a wondrous garb comprised chiefly of a bathing-suit, seaweed, and oyster-shells. Next, assisted by an individual who resembled a cross between George Robey and Little Tich, and who was to appear as the doctor, Father Neptune donned flowing locks and beard of picked oakum, assumed a massive crown of tinsel, and grasped his trident.

At that moment the ship\'s siren gave a terrific blast. It was the signal that Neptune\'s cortège had been sighted by the look out for\'ard.

The fo\'c\'sle and foremost shrouds were packed with eagerly gesticulating lascars; native firemen squatted on the decks on either side of the tank, and clung like flies to the stanchion-rails. On the promenade deck all available camp-chairs had been pressed into service and were occupied by excited passengers, trying to keep cool in vain, in spite of the double awnings.

Presently Captain Bullock, resplendent in white tropical uniform with gilt buttons and shoulder-straps, descended from the bridge and took up a position in the centre of the front row of crowded deck-chairs.

"Ahoy!" roared a deep voice for\'ard. "What ship is that?"

"The S.S. West Barbican, of and from London," bawled the Old Man in reply.

"Then harkee, Skipper. Father Neptune demands entrance and the honour due to his exalted rank."

"Come aboard, sir," rejoined the Old Man.

Heralded by a fanfare from hand fog-horns, and a terrific din from a variety of metal implements, begged, borrowed, or stolen from the galley, Father Neptune appeared not exactly over but close to the bows. Brandishing his trident he bellowed a nautical greeting, and proceeded to assist his Queen through the limited space of the hatchway. It was soon evident that the lady was in difficulties and a plainly audible, "Steady on, old man," delivered in a very masculine voice, had the effect of raising a boisterous chorus of laughter from the sightseers.

Amphitrite, disentangled from the embraces of a catch on the hatch-cover, appeared in her lord\'s wake, but the effect of her flowing locks of golden hair and her deeply rouged face were somewhat marred by the display of a pair of unmistakably masculine hands and feet.

The doctor and the barber next struggled for publicity, each questioning the other\'s right of precedence, with the result that each contrived to get his head through the hatchway and no farther.

It was not until the barber had converted the doctor\'s hat into a concertina that the former contrived to make a complete appearance, followed by the doctor, who, in his broad Scotch that betrayed him as M\'Turk the Chief Engineer, requested his companion "not to play the fule beforr your time............