They went up into the bungalow. Peter the Great glided forward like a magnificent genie and presented a scrap of paper on a salver to Monck.
He took it, opened it, frowned over it.
"The messenger arrived three hours ago, sahib. He could not wait," murmured Peter.
Monck's frown deepened. He turned to Stella. "Go and have tea, dear, and then rest! Don't wait for me! I must go round to the Club and get on the telephone at once."
The grimness of his face startled her. "To Kurrumpore?" she asked quickly. "Is there something wrong?"
"Not yet," he said curtly. "Don't you worry! I shall be back as soon as possible."
"Let me come too!" she said.
He shook his head. "No. Go and rest!"
He was gone with the words, striding swiftly down the path. As he passed out on to the road, he broke into a run. She stood and listened to his receding footsteps with foreboding in her heart.
"Tea is ready, my mem-sahib" said Peter softly behind her.