"Here he comes!" shouted the valet, joyously forgetting his station. His lordship still stared at the sea. Lady Deppingham's little jaws were shut tight and her fingers were clenched desperately in the effort to maintain the proper dignity before her servants.
"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."
"Do you mean to say we are to walk?"
"Yes, my lord, if you expect to go there."