The man looked up quickly. "What are you here," he asked--"a clerk or something?" Bones did not so much as flush. "Oh, no," he said sweetly. "I am an officer of Houssas--rank, lieutenant. My task is to tame the uncivilized beast an' entertain the civilized pig with a selection of music. Would you like to hear our gramophone?" The new-comer frowned. What brilliant effort of persiflage was to follow will never be known, for at that moment came Sanders. The stranger rose and produced a pocket-book, from which he extracted a card and a letter. "Good morning, Commissioner!" he said. "My name's Corklan--P. T. Corklan, of Corklan, Besset and Lyons." "Indeed," said Sanders. "I've got a letter for you," said the man. Sanders took the note, opened it, and read. It bore the neat signature of an Under-Secretary of State and the embossed heading of the Extra-Territorial Office, and it commended Mr. P. T. Corklan to Mr. Commissioner Sanders, and requested him to let Mr. Corklan pass without let or hindrance through the Territories, and to render him every assistance "compatible with exigencies of the Service" in his "inquiries into sugar production from the sweet potato." "You should have taken this to the Administrator," said Sanders, "and it should bear his signature." "There's the letter," said the man shortly. "If that's not enough, and the signature of the Secretary of State isn't sufficient, I'm going straight back to England and tell him so." "You may go to the devil and tell him so," said Sanders calmly; "but you do not pass into these Territories until I have received telegraphic authority from my chief. Bones, take this man to your hut, and let your people do what they can for him." And he turned and walked into the house. "You shall hear about this," said Mr. Corklan, picking up his baggage. "This way, dear old pilgrim," said Bones. "Who's going to carry my bag?" "Your name escapes me," said Bones, "but, if you'll glance at your visitin' card, you will find the name of the porter legibly inscribed." Sanders compressed the circumstances into a hundred-word telegram worded in his own economical style. It happened that the Administrator was away on a shooting trip, and it was his cautious secretary who replied-- "Administration to Sanders.--Duplicate authority here. Let Corklan proceed at own risk. Warn him dangers." "You had better go along and tell him," said Sanders. "He can leave at once, and the sooner the better." Bones delivered the message. The man was sitting on his host's bed, and the floor was covered with cigar ash. Worst abomination of all, was a large bottle of whisky, which he had produced from one of his bags, and a reeking glass, which he had produced from Bones's sideboard. "So I can go to-night, can I?" said Mr. Corklan. "That's all right. Now, what about conveyance, hey?"