Both day and night come quickly in the East. Jan got up, had her bath, dressed, and by half-past six she was on deck. The dark-blue curtain was rolled up, and the scene set was the harbour of Bombay. Such a gracious haven of strange multi-coloured craft, with its double coast-line of misty hills on one side, and clear-cut, high-piled buildings, domes and trees upon the other. A gay white-and-gold launch, with its attendants in scarlet and white, came for certain passengers, who were guests of the Governor. The police launch, trim and business-like with its cheerful yellow-hatted sepoys, came for others. Jan watched these favoured persons depart in stately comfort, and went downstairs to get some breakfast. Then came the rush of departure by the tender. So many had friends to meet them, and all seemed full of pleasure in arrival. Jan was just beginning to feel rather forlorn and anxious when the Purser, fussed and over-driven as he always is at such times, came towards her, followed by a tall man wearing a pith helmet and an overcoat. "Mr. Ledgard has come to meet you, Miss Ross, so you'll be all right." It was amazing how easy everything became. Mr. Ledgard's servants collected Jan's cabin baggage and took it with them in the tender and, on arrival, in a tikka-gharri--the little pony-carriage which is the gondola of Bombay--and almost before she quite realised that the voyage was over she found herself seated beside Peter in a comfortable motor-car, with a cheerful little Hindu chauffeur at the steering-wheel, sliding through wide, well-watered streets, still comparatively empty because it was so early. By mutual consent they turned to look at one another, and Jan noted that Peter Ledgard _was_ thin and extremely yellow. That his eyes (hollow and tired-looking as are the eyes of so many officials in the East) _were_ kind, and she thought she had never before beheld a firmer mouth or more masterful jaw. What Peter saw evidently satisfied him as to her common sense, for he plunged _in medias res_ at once: "How much do you know of this unfortunate affair?" he asked. "Very little," she answered, "and that little extremely vague. Will you tell me has Hugo come to total grief or not?" "Officially, yes. He is finished, done for--may thank his lucky stars he's not in gaol. It's well you should know this at the very beginning, for of course he won't allow it, and poor Fay--Mrs. Tancred (I'm afraid we're rather free-and-easy about Christian names in India)--doesn't know the whole facts by a very long way. From what she tells me, I fear he has made away with most of her money, too. Was any of it tied up?" Jan shook her head. "We both got what money there was absolutely on my father's death." "Then," said Peter, "I fear you've got the whole of them on your hands, Miss Ross." "That's what I've come for," Jan said simply, "to take care of Fay and the children." Peter Ledgard looked straight in front of him.