"But you haven't told me what has happened yet," cried Audrey, in a fever of impatience.
He answered her, still running by her side "The Waris have got him; rushed his camp at night and bagged everything. The coolies were in the know, no doubt. Only his shikari got away. He has just come in wounded with the news. I'm on my way to tell the Chief, though I don't see what good he can do."
"You mean you think he is murdered?" gasped Audrey, through white lips.
He nodded.
"Afraid so, poor beggar! Well, so long, Mrs. Tudor! We must hope for the best as long as we can."
He put his hand to his cap, and ran on, while Audrey, with a set, white face, was borne to her bungalow.
Her husband was sitting on the veranda. He rose as she alighted and gave her his hand up the short flight of steps to his side.
"You are rather late," he said in his grave way. "I am afraid you will have to hurry."
They were dining out that night, but Audrey had forgotten it. She stared at him as if dazed.
"What is it?" he asked. "Nothing wrong?"