“A gentlemen I’ve been very anxious to meet.  He’s the Chinese Amban—­we call him an Envoy of the Republic of China to Bhutan.  But the Chinese themselves prefer to regard him as a representative of the suzerainty they pretend to exercise over the country.  I’m curious to see him.  He is a product of the times, an example of the modern Celestial, educated at Heidelberg University and Oxford, speaking German, French and English.  He has been specially chosen by his Government to come to a Buddhist land, as he is a son of the abbot of the Yellow Lama Temple in Pekin and so might have influence with the Bhutanese by reason of his connection with their religion.”

“But what have the Chinese to do with Bhutan?”

“Nothing now.  But they’ve been intriguing for years to re-establish the suzerainty they once had over it.  This Amban, Yuan Shi Hung by name, is a clever, unscrupulous and particularly dangerous individual.”

“You seem to know a lot about him, Colonel.”

“It’s my business to do so.  There is no apparent reason for his coming here with the Deb Zimpun, nor has he a right to.  But I won’t object, for I want to study and size him up.  By the way, the Envoy will make his official call on me this morning.  Would you like to be present?”

“Very much indeed.  I’m always interested in seeing the various races of India and learning all I can about them.  I’d love a job like yours, sir, going into out-of-the-way places and dealing with strange peoples.”

“Would you?” The Political Officer looked at him thoughtfully.  “Are you good at picking up native languages?”

“Fairly so.  I got through my Lower and Higher Standard Hindustani first go and have passed in Marathi and taken the Higher Standard, Persian.”

Colonel Dermot regarded him critically and then said abruptly: 

“Come to my office a few minutes before eleven.  That’s the hour I’ve fixed for the Deb Zimpun’s visit.”

Punctually at the time named Wargrave reached the Dermots’ bungalow, on the road outside which, a Guard of Honour of fifty sepoys under an Indian officer was drawn up.  Passing along the verandah he entered the office and saluted the Colonel who, seated at his desk, looked up and nodded for him to be seated and then returned to the despatch that he was writing.

In a few minutes a confused murmur drew nearer down the road and was stilled by the sharp words of command to the Guard of Honour and by the ring of rifles brought to the present in salute.  Over the low wall of the garden appeared the heads and shoulders of the Envoy and his Chinese companion, followed by a train of attendants and swordsmen.  They passed in through the gate.  The Political Officer rose as the Deb Zimpun, removing his cap, entered the office and rushed towards him.  The bullet-headed, cheery old gentleman beamed with pleasure as they shook hands and greeted each other in Bhutanese.  Wargrave marvelled at the ease and fluency with which Colonel Dermot spoke the language.  The Amban now entered the room and was formally presented by the Deb Zimpun.