Colonel Dermot was anxious to investigate the activities of the Chinese Amban, reputed to reach their height in the territory just across the Indian border ruled by the Tuna Penlop and lying west of the Black Mountain range that divides Bhutan.  This great feudal chieftain was reputed to be completely under the influence of Yuan Shi Hung and both anti-British and disloyal to his overlord the Maharajah or Tongsa Penlop.  The close watch that his myrmidons kept on the stretch of frontier between his territories and India prevented Dermot from learning what went on behind the screen; for the spies of the Political Officer’s Secret Service could not penetrate it and bring back news.

Wargrave was present when the last sturdy-limbed Bhuttia emissary reported his failure to cross the line.  As the man withdrew the Colonel turned to Frank and said: 

“We’ll go ourselves.  I wanted to avoid it if possible; for it wouldn’t do for me to be caught.  Not only because it would cause political complications, for I’m not supposed to trespass on Bhutanese territory uninvited, but also because fatal accidents might happen to us if Yuan Shi Hung and his friends get hold of us.  I’m not anxious to die yet.  Be ready to start at midnight.”

“Do you really think we’ll be able to get through, sir?” queried the subaltern.  “How shall we do it?”

“Wait and see,” was the curt reply.

Before the sun rose next day Badshah was deep in the forest, bearing the two officers and Tashi on his back.  He moved rapidly along animal paths through the jungle in a direction parallel with the mountains.  Jungle fowl whirred up from under his feet, deer crashed away through the undergrowth as he passed; but never a shot was fired at them, though rifles and guns were in the riders’ hands.  Little brown monkeys peeped down at them from the tree-tops or leapt away along the air lanes among the leafy branches, swinging by hand or foot, springing across the voids, the babies clutching fast to their mothers’ bodies in the dizzy flights.

In the afternoon a distant crashing, which told of trees falling before the pressure of great heads and the weight of huge bodies, made Wargrave ask: 

“Wild elephants, sir?”

Dermot nodded.

“Sounds as if they were right in our path.  Shall we see them?”

“Yes.  Don’t touch that!” said the Colonel sharply; for the excited subaltern, who had never yet seen a wild herd, was reaching for his rifle.  Wargrave obeyed, remembering Miss Benson’s remark on the Political Officer’s love of the great animals.