There was a babel of voices as the long train came to a stand-still in
the harbour station at Ostend. Selingman, with characteristic
forcefulness, pushed his way down the narrow corridor, driving before him
passengers of less weight and pertinacity, until finally he descended on
to the platform itself. Norgate, who had followed meekly in his wake,
stood listening for a moment to the confused stream of explanations. He
understood well enough what had happened, but with Selingman at his elbow
he assumed an air of non-comprehension.

"It is extraordinary!" the latter exclaimed. "Never do I choose this
route but I am visited with some mishap. You hear what has happened?"

"Fellow's trying to tell me," Norgate replied, "but his Flemish is worse
to understand than German."

"The steamer," Selingman announced, "has met with an accident entering
the harbour. There will be a delay of at least six hours--possibly more.
It is most annoying. My appointments in London have been fixed for days."

"Bad luck!" Norgate murmured.

"You do not seem much distressed."

"Why should I be? I really came this way because I was not sure whether
I would not stay here for a few days."

"That is all very well for you," Selingman declared, as they followed
their porters into the shed. "For me, I am a man of affairs. It is