guide accompanied us. We avoided the village, on
whose outskirts the lamasery lay, and made straight for the valley. By
six o'clock, we were well out of sight of the clustered houses and
the pyramidal spires. But I did not breathe freely till late in the
afternoon, when we found ourselves once more under British protection in
the first hamlet of the Maharajah's territory.

As for that scoundrel, Ram Das, we heard nothing more of him. He
disappeared into space from the moment he deserted us at the door of the
trap into which he had led us. The chief Lama told me he had gone back
at once by another route to his own country.

CHAPTER XI

THE EPISODE OF THE OFFICER WHO UNDERSTOOD PERFECTLY

After our fortunate escape from the clutches of our too-admiring Tibetan
hosts, we wound our way slowly back through the Maharajah's territory
towards Sir Ivor's headquarters. On the third day out from the lamasery
we camped in a romantic Himalayan valley--a narrow, green glen, with a
brawling stream running in white cataracts and rapids down its midst.
We were able to breathe freely now; we could enjoy the great tapering
deodars that rose in ranks on the hillsides, the snow-clad needles of
ramping rock that bounded the view to north and south, the feathery
bamboo-jungle that fringed and half-obscured the mountain torrent, whose
cool music--alas, fallaciously cool--was borne to us through the dense
screen of waving foliage. Lady Meadowcroft was so delighted at having
got clear away from those murderous and saintly Tibetans that for a
while she almost forgot to grumble. She even condescended to admire the
deep-cleft ravine in which we bivouacked for the night, and to admit
that the orchids which hung from the tall trees were as fine as any at
her florist's in Piccadilly. "Though how they can have got them out here
already, in this outlandish place--the most fashionable kinds--when we
in England have to grow them with such care in expensive hot-houses,"
she said, "really passes my comprehension."

She seemed to think that orchids originated in Covent Garden.

Early next morning I was engaged with one of my native men in lighting
the fire to boil our kettle--for in spite of all misfortunes we still
made tea with creditable punctuality--when a tall and good-looking
Nepaulese approached us from the hills, with cat-like tread, and stood
before me in an attitude of profound supplication. He was a well-dressed
young man, like a supe