Then, in Peter's eyes at least, a radiant vision arrived, as Olive Baird, simply yet daintily dressed in one of Mrs. Davis's evening frocks, and escorted by her host and hostess, was ushered into the ante-room.
Her introduction to the Head Commissioner took a very considerable time—at least Peter thought so—while others of the Pangawani community flocked up to the girl like flies round a honey-pot.
At length the Head Commissioner suggested that it was time to adjourn to the dining-room.
"We're all here, I take it?" he inquired.
"Mrs. Shallop hasn't arrived yet," replied one of his colleagues, who, although deputed beforehand to take the lady into dinner, was in total ignorance of what she was like or of her rather outstanding mannerisms. "We sent a rickshaw to her hotel an hour ago, sir."
Before the Commissioner could make any remark upon the lady's absence a native servant approached, salaamed, and offered a silver plate upon which was a pencilled note.
"Excuse me a moment," said the Commissioner to his guests.
He pulled aside the bamboo chik that separated the ante-room from the foyer. As he strode out Peter noticed that there was a tall man in a drill uniform standing in front of a couple of native policemen.
Mostyn was not in the least curious. He was aware that the leisure time of a highly-placed official is hardly ever free from interruptions upon matters of state. But he was considerably surprised when a couple of minutes later the Head Commissioner pulled aside the curtain and said:
"Mr. Mostyn, may I speak to you for a few moments?"