He tossed uneasily on his bed, unable to sleep, and presently a slight noise on the verandah outside caught his ear.  He lay still and listened; and it seemed to him that soft footfalls of a large animal’s pads sounded on the wooden flooring.  Then suddenly he heard a beast sniffing at his closed door.  “A stray dog,” he thought.  But suddenly he remembered Burke’s account of the panther that haunted the Mess; and a thrill of excitement ran through him and drove all his unhappy thoughts away.  He sprang out of bed and rushed across the room to get his rifle, but in the darkness overturned a chair which fell with a crash to the ground.  This scared the animal; for there was a sudden scurry outside, and by the time Wargrave had found the rifle and groped for a couple of cartridges there was nothing to be seen on the verandah when he threw open the door.  It was a brilliant star-lit night.  Burke called to him from his room and when Wargrave went to him said that he too had heard the animal, which was undoubtedly the panther.

Returning to bed Frank was dropping off to sleep half an hour later when he was startled by a shrill, agonised shriek coming from a distance.  Rifle in hand he rushed out on to the verandah again and heard faint shouts coming from a small group of Bhuttia huts on a shoulder of the hills hundreds of feet above the Mess.  He called out but got no answer; and after listening for some time and hearing nothing further he returned to bed and at last fell asleep.  In the morning he learned that the panther had made a daring raid on a hut and carried off a Bhuttia wood-cutter’s baby from its sleeping mother’s side, and had devoured it in the jungle not two hundred yards away.

The Durbar, or official ceremony of the public reception of the Bhutan Envoy and the paying over to him of the annual subsidy of a hundred thousand rupees, was held in a marquee on the parade ground in the afternoon.  There was a Guard of Honour of a hundred sepoys to salute, first the Political Officer and afterwards the Deb Zimpun when he arrived on a mule at the head of his swordsmen and coolies.  The solemnity of his dignified greeting to Colonel Dermot was somewhat spoiled by shrieks of delight and loud remarks from Eileen (who was seated beside her mother in the marquee) at the stately appearance of the Envoy.  He was attired in a very voluminous red Chinese silk robe embroidered in gold and wearing a peculiar gold-edged cap shaped like a papal tiara.

The Political Officer’s official dinner took place that evening at his bungalow.  Besides the officers and the three European visitors the Deb Zimpun and the Amban were present.  The latter wore conventional evening dress cut by a London tailor, with the stars and ribands of several orders.  But the old Envoy in his flowing red silk robe completely outshone the two ladies, although Miss Benson was wearing her most striking frock.

“Sure, don’t we look like a State Banquet at Buckingham Palace or a charity dinner at the Dublin Mansion House?” said Burke, looking around the company gathered about the oval dining-table.  He was seated beside Miss Benson, who was on the host’s right and facing the Amban on his left.