"I hope he doesn't try Cicero on Bosambo," he said significantly.
The next day brought the mail—an event.
Usually Sanders was down on the beach to meet the surf-boat that carries the post, but on this occasion he was interviewing two spies who had arrived with urgent news.
Therefore he did not see the passenger whom the Castle Queen landed till she stood on the stoep before the open door of the residency.
Sanders, glancing up as a shadow fell across the wooden stoep, rose and temporarily dismissed the two men with a gesture.
Then he walked slowly to meet the girl.
She was small and pretty in a way, rather flushed by the exertion of walking from the beach to the house.
Her features were regular, her mouth was small, her chin a little weak. She seemed ill at ease.
"How do you do?" said Sanders, bewildered by the unexpectedness of the vision. He drew a chair for her, and she sank into it with a grateful little smile, which she instantly checked, as though she had set herself an unpleasant task and was not to be conciliated or turned aside by any act of courtesy on his part.
"And exactly what brings you to this unlikely place?" he asked.