of duty to perform, Osborne had made a tempting suggestion to his chum Tom Webb.

"Rather, I'm on," replied the Sub. "There's leave for officers till eight bells, I believe."

"Yes, but we'll have to be back well before that time," observed Osborne. "The gates of the fortress close at sunset, remember."

Tom Webb during the last few days had made good use of his time at Gib., but, he argued, being ashore on that bold, rocky promontory was not exactly being abroad. He was still on British territory. Hence his eagerness to set foot upon foreign soil.

Soon the two chums, in undress uniforms, were picking their way through the narrow streets of Gibraltar, dodging among the motley crowd that comprises the populace of the place—Spaniards, Greeks, Moors, Arabs, and "Rock Scorps", with a liberal leavening of British seamen, marines, and soldiers.

"That fellow seems to take a lot of interest in us," remarked Webb as the two officers found themselves on board the little steamer bound for Algeciras.

"Let him," declared Osborne inconsequently. He had had too long an acquaintance with foreign ports to trouble about the curious looks and attentions of the inhabitants. "Which one do you refer to? That Spaniard with the piebald side-whiskers?"

"No, the johnny leaning against the ventilator," replied the Sub. "Looks as if he wants a permanent prop, and his hands seem sewn up in his pockets."

Osborne glanced over his shoulder. Instantly the individual in question feigned interest in the smoke issuing from the steamer's funnel, until the effort of craning his neck was too much of a physical strain, and he again looked curiously at the two naval officers.

He was a man of about thirty, full-faced and of a sleek and oily complexion. His dark chestnut hair was closely cropped. He sported a tuft of side-whiskers on each cheek and a heavy moustache. His costume consisted of a dirty white shirt, ill-cut trousers, and straw-plaited shoes round his waist was a gaudily coloured scarf that might or might not have hidden a knife. On the back of his head he wore a broad-rimmed straw hat with a band of vivid yellow, into which was stuck a bunch of peacock's feathers.

"A picturesque-looking villain!" commented Webb.

"A typical Spaniard, that's all," Osborne reassured him. "We'll have a few dozen of 'em crowding 

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