"I'm out on a commission," the Hon. George went on. "As you've doubtless heard, my governor is the proprietor of the _Courier and Echo_, and so he thought I'd better go out and see the thing for myself. I've no doubt the whole thing is exaggerated----" "Hold hard," said Sanders, a light dawning on him. "I gather that you are a sort of correspondent of a newspaper?" "Exactly." "That you have come to inquire into----" "Treatment of natives, and all that," said the Hon. George easily. "And what is wrong with the treatment of the native?" asked Sanders sweetly. The hon. gentleman made an indefinite gesture. "You know--things in newspapers--missionaries," he said rapidly, being somewhat embarrassed by the realisation that the man, if any, responsible for the outrages was standing before him. "I never read the newspapers," said Sanders, "and----" "Of course," interrupted the Hon. George eagerly, "we can make it all right as far as you are concerned." "Oh, thank you!" Sanders' gratitude was a little overdone, but he held out his hand. "Well, I wish you luck--let me know how you get on." The Hon. George Tackle was frankly nonplussed. "But excuse me," he said, "where--how----Hang it all, where am I to put up?" "Here?" "Yes -- dash it, my kit is on shore! I thought----" "You thought I'd put you up?" "Well, I did think----" "That I'd fall on your neck and welcome you?" "Not exactly, but----" "Well," said Sanders, carefully folding his napkin, "I'm not so glad to see you as all that." "I suppose not," said the Hon. George, bridling. "Because you're a responsibility--I hate extra responsibility. You can pitch your tent just wherever you like--but I cannot offer you the hospitality you desire." "I shall report this matter to the Administrator," said the Hon. George ominously. "You may report it to my grandmother's maiden aunt," said Sanders politely. Half an hour later he saw the Hon. George rejoin the ship that brought him to Isisi Bassam, and chuckled. George would go straight to the Administrator, and would receive a reception beside which a Sahara storm would be zephyrs of Araby. At the same time Sanders was a little puzzled, and not a little hurt. There never had been a question of atrocities in his district, and he was puzzled to account for the rumours that had brought the "commissioner" on his tour of investigation--could it be a distorted account of Olari's punishment? "Go quickly to the ship, taking a book to the lord who has just gone from here," was his command to a servant, and proceeded to scribble a note:-- "I am afraid," he wrote, "I was rather rude to you--not understanding what the devil you were driving at. An overwhelming curiosity directs me to invite you to share my bungalow until such time as you are ready to conduct your investigation." The Hon. George read this with a self-satisfied smirk.