“His Highness has but one desire in his heart.  He desires peace—­peace so that this country may prosper, and peace because of his great love for the Colonel Sahib.”

Again Luffe bowed.

“But to all his letters the Colonel Sahib returns the same answer, and truly his Highness is at a loss what to do in order that he may ensure the safety of the Colonel Sahib and his followers,” the Diwan continued pensively.  “I will not repeat what has been already said,” and at once he began at interminable length to contradict his words.  He repeated the proposals of surrender made by Wafadar Nazim from beginning to end.  The Colonel Sahib was to march out of the fort with his troops, and his Highness would himself conduct him into British territory.

“If the Colonel Sahib dreads the censure of his own Government, his Highness will take all the responsibility for the Colonel Sahib’s departure.  But no blame will fall upon the Colonel Sahib.  For the British Government, with whom Wafadar Nazim has always desired to live in amity, desires peace too, as it has always said.  It is the British Government which has broken its treaties.”

“Not so,” replied Luffe.  “The road was undertaken with the consent of the Khan of Chiltistan, who is the ruler of this country, and Wafadar, his uncle, merely the rebel.  Therefore take back my last word to Wafadar Nazim.  Let him make submission to me as representative of the Sirkar, and lay down his arms.  Then I will intercede for him with the Government, so that his punishment be light.”

The Diwan smiled and his voice changed once more to a note of insolence.

“His Highness Wafadar Nazim is now the Khan of Chiltistan.  The other, the deposed, lies cooped up in this fort, a prisoner of the British, whose willing slave he has always been.  The British must retire from our country.  His Highness Wafadar Nazim desires them no harm.  But they must go now!”

Luffe looked sternly at the Diwan.

“Tell Wafadar Nazim to have a care lest they go never, but set their foot firmly upon the neck of this rebellious people.”

He rose to signify that the conference was at an end.  But the Diwan did not stir.  He smiled pensively and played with the tassels of his cushion.

“And yet,” he said, “how true it is that his Highness thinks only of the Colonel Sahib’s safety.”

Some note of satisfaction, not quite perfectly concealed, some sly accent of triumph sounding through the gently modulated words, smote upon Luffe’s ears, and warned him that the true meaning of the Diwan’s visit was only now to be revealed.  All that had gone before was nothing.  The polite accusations, the wordy repetitions, the expressions of good will—­these were the mere preliminaries, the long salute before the combat.  Luffe steeled himself against a blow, controlling his face and his limbs lest a look or a gesture should betray the hurt.  And it was well that he did, for the next moment the blow fell.