He told her that although her abrupt departure had puzzled him and he could not understand why she had tried to conceal her whereabouts from him, he wished her to realise that if it were an attempt to escape from him it was useless.  He could bide his time, for sooner or later he would get her.

Violet smiled as she read his confident words, although they caused a little shiver of fear to run through her.  Then she rose, locked the letter away and put on her hat.

Not until after lunch next day was Wargrave able to find time to go to the Oriental Hotel, not to see Muriel, he sternly told himself, but to pay a visit to Mrs. Dermot.  When he was shown up to her sitting-room he had to wait for some time before Noreen entered; and he was struck at once by the coldness of her greeting.  It was evident that she was very displeased with him.  She said no word about Muriel; and Wargrave felt curiously averse to mentioning her name.

At last he summed up courage to ask her.  With as near an approach to frigidity of manner as she could show to a man to whom she was so indebted Noreen replied: 

“Muriel has left Darjeeling.”

“Left Darjeeling?  Where for?  Where has she gone?” he exclaimed in surprise.

“To her father.”

“But why?  She wasn’t to have left for weeks yet,” said Wargrave.

Mrs. Dermot looked at him angrily.

“Why?  Need you ask?  I should have thought commonsense would have told you.  I don’t think we’ll talk about it, please.  As I said before, I’ve washed my hands of the whole affair.”

Further conversation on the subject was rendered impossible by the irruption of her children, who rushed at Wargrave and reproached him for not being to see them lately.

During the next few days Violet baffled every attempt that Frank made to discuss their future course of action.  The constant succession of gaieties, the balls, theatricals, concerts, races, gymkhanas, that filled every afternoon and evening of the Darjeeling Season, took up all her time.  Whenever he tried to talk matters over with her she invariably replied that there was no hurry, even when he pointed out that Major Norton might arrive any day in consequence of her letter.  That he had not already done so was inexplicable to Wargrave; and the subaltern could only believe her assurance that her husband accepted her loss with equanimity.  It never occurred to Frank to doubt that she had written the letter.

But one morning matters came to a crisis.  When Violet and Wargrave returned to the hotel from their ride before breakfast a telegram was handed to the latter.  He found it to be an official message from Colonel Dermot, which ran: 

    “Please return forthwith to Ranga Duar.  I start for Europe on sick
    leave to-day.”

Frank stared at it in surprise.  He had heard nothing of his superior officer being ill.  It must be something very serious to necessitate his being sent to Europe.  The news was an unpleasant shock to him; for he genuinely liked and respected the Political Officer.