One would not readily associate the party of top-booted sewermen who descend nightly to the subterranean passages of London with the stout viceconsul at Durazzo.

Yet it was one unimaginative man who lived in Lambeth and had no knowledge that there was such a place as Durazzo who was responsible for bringing this comfortable official out of his bed in the early hours of the morning causing him--albeit reluctantly and with violent and insubordinate language--to conduct certain investigations in the crowded bazaars.
At first he was unsuccessful because there were many Hussein Effendis in Durazzo.

He sent an invitation to the American Consul to come over to tiffin and help him.
"Why the dickens the Foreign Office should suddenly be interested in Hussein Effendi, I cannot for the life of me understand." "The Foreign Department has to be interested in something, you know," said the genial American.

"I receive some of the quaintest requests from Washington; I rather fancy they only wire you to find if they are there." "Why are you doing this!" "I've seen Hakaat Bey," said the English official.

"I wonder what this fellow has been doing?
There is probably a wigging for me in the offing." At about the same time the sewerman in the bosom of his own family was taking loud and noisy sips from a big mug of tea.
"Don't you be surprised," he said to his admiring better half, "if I have to go up to the Old Bailey to give evidence." "Lord! Joe!" she said with interest, "what has happened!" The sewer man filled his pipe and told the story with a wealth of rambling detail.