When he and the Deb Zimpun had left the bungalow she said to the two officers: 

“I’m so glad you didn’t let that awful man come near me.  He makes me afraid.  There’s something so evil about him that I shudder when he looks at me.”

“The curse av the crows on the brute!” exclaimed Burke hotly.  “Don’t ye be afraid.  We won’t let the divil come next or nigh ye, will we, Wargrave?”

And on the following day when the visitors were entertained by athletic sports of the detachment on the parade ground and an interesting archery competition between excited teams of the Deb Zimpun’s followers and of local Bhuttias, they allowed the Amban no opportunity of approaching her.  During the sports Wargrave noticed on one occasion that he seemed to be speaking of her to the commander of his escort of Chinese soldiers, a tall, evil-faced Manchu, pock-marked and blind of the right eye, who stared at her fixedly for some time.  At the dinner at the Mess that night the two ladies wore frocks that were very little decollete.  Burke, as Mess President, had arranged the table so that the Amban was as far away from them as possible; and Wargrave and he mounted guard over Miss Benson when the meal was ended.

The Deb Zimpun had fixed his departure for an early hour on the following morning and was to be accompanied by the Political Officer, who was going to visit the Maharajah of Bhutan.  In the course of the day the Chinese Amban had announced to Colonel Dermot that he did not wish to leave so soon and desired to remain longer in Ranga Duar; but the Political Officer courteously but very firmly told him that he must go with the Envoy.

Early next morning, while Noreen Dermot was occupied with her children, and her husband was completing his preparations for departure, Muriel Benson went out into the garden.  Badshah, pad strapped on ready for the road, was standing at one side of the bungalow swinging his trunk and shifting from foot to foot as he patiently awaited his master.  The girl greeted and petted him, then went to gather flowers and cut bunches of bright-coloured leaves from high bushes of bougainvillea and poinsettia that hid her from view from the house.

Suddenly a harsh voice sounded in her ears.

“I have tried to speak to you alone, but those fools were ever in my way.  Do not cry out.  You must listen to me.”

She started violently and turned to find the Amban, dressed in khaki and ready to march, behind her.  Courageous as she usually was the extraordinary repulsion and terror with which he inspired her kept her silent as he continued: 

“I want you, and I shall take you sooner or later.  Listen!  I am one of the richest men in all China.  One day I shall be President—­and then Emperor the next; and when I rule my country shall no longer be the effete, despised land torn with dissension that it is now.  I can give you everything that the heart of a woman, white or yellow, can desire—­take you from your dull, poverty-stricken life to raise you to power and immense wealth.  I shall return for you one day.  Will you come to me?”