“I have been a good friend to the English, Captain Sahib.  I have kept my Mullahs and my people quiet all these years.  There are things which might be better, as your Excellency has courteously pointed out to me, and the words have never been forgotten.  The taxes no doubt are very burdensome, and it may be the caravans from Bokhara and Central Asia should pay less to the treasury as they pass through Chiltistan, and perhaps I do unjustly in buying what I want from them at my own price.”  Thus he delicately described the system of barefaced robbery which he practised on the traders who passed southwards to India through Chiltistan.  “But these things can be altered.  Moreover,” and here he spoke with an air of distinguished virtue, “I propose to sell no more of my people into slavery—­No, and to give none of them, not even the youngest, as presents to my friends.  It is quite true of course that the wood which I sell to the merchants of Peshawur is cut and brought down by forced labour, but next year I am thinking of paying.  I have been a good friend to the English all my life, Colonel Sahib.”

Captain Phillips had heard promises of the kind before and accounted them at their true value.  But he had never heard them delivered with so earnest a protestation.  And he rode away from the Palace with the disturbing conviction that there was something new in the wind of which he did not know.

He rode up the valley, pondering what that something new might be.  Hillside and plain were ablaze with autumn colours.  The fruit in the orchards—­peaches, apples, and grapes—­was ripe, and on the river bank the gold of the willows glowed among thickets of red rose.  High up on the hills, field rose above field, supported by stone walls.  In the bosom of the valley groups of great walnut-trees marked where the villages stood.

Captain Phillips rode through the villages.  Everywhere he was met with smiling faces and courteous salutes; but he drew no comfort from them.  The Chilti would smile pleasantly while he was fitting his knife in under your fifth rib.  Only once did Phillips receive a hint that something was amiss, but the hint was so elusive that it did no more than quicken his uneasiness.

He was riding over grass, and came silently upon a man whose back was turned to him.

“So, Dadu,” he said quietly, “you must not open closed boxes any more in your house.”

The man jumped round.  He was not merely surprised, he was startled.

“Your Excellency rides up the valley?” he cried, and almost he barred the way.

“Why not, Dadu?”

Dadu’s face became impassive.

“It is as your Excellency wills.  It is a good day for a ride,” said Dadu; and Captain Phillips rode on.

It might of course have been that the man had been startled merely by the unexpected voice behind him; and the question which had leaped from his mouth might have meant nothing at all.  Captain Phillips turned round in his saddle.  Dadu was still standing where he had left him, and was following the rider with his eyes.