"Your lordship," said Mr. Saunders, three minutes later, "this is Mr.
Bowles, his Majesty's agent here. He is come with me to--"

It was then and not until then that his lordship turned his stare from
the sea to the clerk and his companion.

"Aw," he interrupted, "glad to see you, I'm sure. Would you be good
enough to tell us how we are to reach the--er--château, and why the
devil we can't get anybody to move our luggage?"

Mr. Bowles, who had lived in Japat for sixteen years, was a tortuously
slow Englishman with the curse of the clime still growing upon him. He
was half asleep quite a good bit of the time, and wholly asleep during
the remainder. A middle-aged man was he, yet he looked sixty. He
afterward told Saunders that it seemed to take two days to make one in
the beastly climate; that was why he was misled into putting off
everything until the second day. The department had sent him out long
ago at the request of Mr. Wyckholme; he had lost the energy to give up
the post.

"Mr.--er--Mr. Saunders, my lord, has told me that you have been unable
to secure assistance in removing your belongings--" he began politely,
but Deppingham interrupted him.

"Where is the château? Are there no vans to be had?"

"Everything is transferred by hand, my lord, and the château is two
miles farther up the side of the mountain. It's quite a walk, sir."