Thus while Dermot thought far seldomer of Noreen, whom he acknowledged to himself he liked more than any other woman he had ever met, she, who assured herself every day that she hated and despised him, could not keep him out of her mind.  And all the more so as she began to have doubts of the truth of Ida’s story.  For the girl, who could not resist watching her friend’s post every day, much as she despised herself for doing it, observed that no letter ever came to Mrs. Smith in Dermot’s handwriting.  And, although Ida had talked much and sentimentally of him for days after his departure, she appeared to forget him soon, and before long was engrossed in a good-looking young civilian from Calcutta.  Bain had long since left Darjeeling.

Could it all have been a figment of the woman’s imagination and vanity?—­for Noreen now realised how colossally vain she was.  Had she misunderstood or, worse still, misrepresented him?  But that thought was almost more painful to the girl than the certainty of his guilt.  For if it were true, how cruelly, how vilely unjust she had been to the man who had saved her at the peril of his life, the man who had called her his friend, who had trusted in her loyalty!  No, no; better that he were proved worthless, dishonourable.  That thought were easier to bear.

Sometimes the girl almost wished that she could see him again so that she might ask him the truth.  She could learn nothing now from Ida, who calmly ignored all attempts to extract information from her.  Yet how could she question him, Noreen asked herself.  She could not even hint to him that she had any knowledge of the affair, for her friend had divulged it to her in confidence.  If only she were back at Malpura!  He might come to her again there and perhaps of his own free will tell her what to believe of him.  But when in a letter she broached the subject of her return to her brother, Fred bade her wait, for he hoped that he might be able to join her in Darjeeling for a few days during the Puja holidays.

During the great festival of Durga-Puja, or the Dussera, as it is variously called, no Hindu works if he can help it, especially in Bengal.  As all Government and private offices in Calcutta are closed for it, every European there, who can, escapes to Darjeeling, twenty-four hours away by rail, and the Season in that hill-station dies in a final blaze of splendour and gaiety in the mad rush of revelry of the Puja holidays.  And Fred hoped that he might he there to see its ending, if Parry would keep sober long enough to let his assistant get away for a few days.  When he returned, Daleham wrote, he would bring Noreen back with him.

Dermot’s activities on the frontier were not passing unmarked by the chief conspirators in Lalpuri.  His measures against their messengers focussed attention on him.  The Dewan, a far better judge of men and things than Chunerbutty, did not make the mistake of despising him merely because he was a soldier.  The old man realised that it was not wise to count British officers fools.  He knew too well how efficient the Indian Military Intelligence Department had proved itself.  So he began to collect information about this white man who might seriously inconvenience them or derange their plans.  And he came to the conclusion that the inquisitive soldier must be put out of the way.