step
below and we'll look into the matter."

They turned toward the cabin, leaving the Portuguese still gazing over
the rail.

At the foot of the steps the captain stopped.

"Why, what's this?" he said, stooping down and pulling from under the
lowest step a bunch of papers.

"The stolen despatches!" cried Guy wildly. "But look! The seals have
been broken."

Together they inspected the documents. Each envelope had been opened,
but the contents appeared to be all right. The thief had plainly been
satisfied with their perusal.

"Whoever stole them," said the captain, "was afraid to retain them lest
a search should be made, and as he had no way to destroy them he tossed
them down here where they could easily be found."

"Who else had a key to my cabin?" Guy asked sternly.

"The key to Torres' cabin will open yours," replied the captain, "and
several of the crew also have keys."

"Then Torres is the man," said Guy. "The scoundrel looks capable of
anything."

"I wouldn't advise you to accuse him," said the captain gravely. "He may
cause trouble for you on shore. You must remember that British influence
is little felt at Berbera. Your best plan is to say nothing, but relate
the whole affair to the governor at Zaila. And now, as we may lie in the
harbor here all day, you had better go on shore. You will see a strange
sight."

Guy put the recovered documents away in an inner pocket, and followed
the captain on deck, in a very angry frame of mind. Torres had
disappeared, but Guy felt that he had not seen the last of him.

He half forgot his anger in the strange sight that now met his eyes, for
the steamer was just approaching the wharf, and in a moment the
gang-plank was dropped over the side.

He waited until the eager, jostling crowd of Arabs had passed over, and
then he made his way to shore. The spectacle before him was marvelous
and entrancing.

Extending apparently for miles up and down the yellow stretch of sand
that fringed the coast was one great sea of canvas that fluttered under
the African breeze.

There were tents of every description, some old and dingy, some
spotlessly white and shining, and others brilliant in many colors,
barred with red and green and yellow, while here and there, from their
midst, rose the sun-baked walls and towers of the original Berbera, for
all this floating canvas belonged to the nomadic population who flock
hither from the interior during the fair, and add twenty thou