"Lord," he said, "it is done. When will it please my Lord to see his dwelling place?"
"'Ave you took a 'ouse already?" asked Alf, aghast.
"Verily, the dwelling is unworthy that the Lord of the Button should inhabit it; yet is it not less in appearance than the dwelling of thy bride's father, and assuredly in the magnificence of its interior it doth far outshine his."
Alf turned despairingly to Bill.
"There 'e goes again. Slapdash an' 'olesale. 'Ow do we know what 'arm 'e's done? 'E's probably mucked up the 'ole show now. I'm getting fed up."
"Lord," said the djinn, "the dwelling is lacking in nothing that the most extravagent of monarchs could desire."
"You read the book, Alf," advised Bill. "It'll be all right. If there's one thing Eustace does know all about, it's 'ouse-furnishin' an' decoratin'. You wait a week, an' you'll...."
He broke off in the middle of his sentence and listened intently. Voices were heard above, and then the sound of feet descending the stairs. Eustace vanished without waiting for orders—he was quickly becoming accustomed to his new routine. The two men, pocketing their pipes, retreated to the farthest depths of the dug-out. The footsteps grew louder, till three figures, dimly silhouetted against the light from the stairway, entered the dug-out.
"This is the place, sir," said Lieutenant Donaldson's voice. "I noticed it the other day. It runs quite a long way back, and if Finlay cares to put his stuff here I'll put a sentry over it."
"Seems all right," said another voice, at the sound of which Bill clutched Alf's arm. "Let's have a look at it."