fingering his eyeglass. For the first time he felt that the clerk was
better than a confounded dog, after all. He surprised every one, his
wife most of all, by coolly interfering, not particularly in defence of
the clerk but in behalf of the Deppingham dignity.

"My dear," he said, waving Saunders into the background, "I think it was
an accident. The dog had no business going to sleep--" he paused and
inserted his monocle for the purpose of looking up the precise spot
where the accident had occurred.

"He wasn't asleep," cried his wife.

"Then, my dear, he has positively no excuse to offer for getting his
tail in the way of the bag. If he was awake and didn't have sense
enough--"

"Oh, rubbish!" exclaimed her ladyship. "I suppose you expect the poor
darling to apologise."

"All this has nothing to do with the case. We're more interested in
learning where we are and where we are to go. Permit me to have a look
about."

His wife stared after him in amazement as he walked over to the canvas
awning in front of the low dock building, actually elbowing his way
through a group of natives. Presently he came back, twisting his left
mustache.

"The fellow in there says that the English agent is employed in the
bank. It's straight up this street--by Jove, he called it a street,