Luncheon over, the party dispersed themselves abroad according to taste--in pairs or in squads. Others preferred taking things easy where they were. Besides those named, there were half a dozen other people who are not specially concerned with this history. "Hallo! Who are these chaps, I wonder?" suddenly exclaimed Eustace, who was having a quiet weed with his brother-in-law, in a snug, sunny corner of the ruin. Two men were strolling leisurely towards them, stopping every now and then, as if admiring the view to seaward. The foremost had a telescope slung round him, while the other carried a butterfly-net and specimen box. They might have been a brace of well-to-do tradesmen. "Where? Oh! The advance-guard of a cheap trip, most likely. Two waggonettes of hooraying yahoos to follow," was the somewhat dissatisfied reply. "Beg pardon, sir," said the foremost of the new arrivals. "Excuse my asking, but is there any objection to me and my friend going over the castle." "None whatever, as far as I know," answered Roland good-naturedly. "By the way, is there a trip behind you?" The men looked mystified for a moment, then the naturalist replied. "Oh, no, gentlemen, only we two. We walked over from Wandsbro', we two did, just to look at the view from here, and catch a few butterflies." "Caught any?" "Not to speak of, sir. Just these two or three," opening his green box. A tortoiseshell of dissipated aspect, and a couple of orange tips stood displayed. "H'm! Well, as far as I know you'll find nothing to prevent you going where you like. Only I should advise you to be careful in walking about the walls, because they're unsafe in parte." The men thanked him and walked away. Eustace and Roland, grateful that the invasion took so mild a form, puffed their cigars lazily, and straightway forgot all about it. Had they been aware of it, what matter to them that the strangers, exploring round the ruins, should light upon the Cranston footman, lunching on the relics of the spread, and that the said strangers, being of an engaging manner after their kind, should, in a trice, find themselves on the best of terms with James, resulting in much friendly consumption of Cranston ale, all round. "That your governor, up there?" said he of the telescope presently, jerking a thumb in the direction he had just left. "Which?" asked James laconically. "Tall gent--light clothes--talks like God Almighty." "Yes, that's him." "Good governor?" said the butterfly-catcher. "So, so. Too much shirt, though--rather." "Hey?" "Too shirty, for them as doesn't like it," explained James.