“Upon my head, no!  Light of my life, hope of my race, who would dare?” and he was on the ground at Shere Ali’s feet.  “Do I indeed speak follies?  I pray your Highness to bethink you that the summer sets its foot upon the plains.  She will go to the hills, Huzoor.  She will go to the hills.  And your people are not fools.  They have cunning to direct their strength.  See, your Highness, is there a regiment in Peshawur whose rifles are safe, guard them howsoever carefully they will?  Every week they are brought over the hills into Chiltistan that we may be ready for the Great Day,” and Ahmed Ismail chuckled to himself.  “A month ago, Huzoor, so many rifles had been stolen that a regiment in camp locked their rifles to their tent poles, and so thought to sleep in peace.  But on the first night the cords of the tents were cut, and while the men waked and struggled under the folds of canvas, the tent poles with the rifles chained to them were carried away.  All those rifles are now in Kohara.  Surely, Huzoor, if they can steal the rifles from the middle of a camp, they can steal a weak girl among the hills.”

Ahmed Ismail waited in suspense, with his forehead bowed to the ground, and when the answer came he smiled.  He had made good use of this unexpected inducement which had been given to him.  He knew very well that nothing but an unlikely chance would enable him to fulfil his promise.  But that did not matter.  The young Prince would point out the Englishwoman in the Maidan and, at a later time when all was ready in Chiltistan, a fine and obvious attempt should be made to carry her off.  The pretence might, if occasion served, become a reality, to be sure, but the attempt must be as public as possible.  There must be no doubt as to its author.  Shere Ali, in a word, must be committed beyond any possibility of withdrawal.  Ahmed Ismail himself would see to that.

“Very well.  I will point her out to you,” said Shere Ali, and Ahmed Ismail rose to his feet.  He waited before his master, silent and respectful.  Shere Ali had no suspicion that he was being jockeyed by that respectful man into a hopeless rebellion.  He had, indeed, lost sight of the fact that the rebellion must be hopeless.

“When,” he asked, “will Chiltistan be ready?”

“As soon as the harvest is got in,” replied Ahmed Ismail.

Shere Ali nodded his head.

“You and I will go northwards to-morrow,” he said.

“To Kohara?” asked Ahmed Ismail.

“Yes.”

For a little while Ahmed Ismail was silent.  Then he said:  “If your Highness will allow his servant to offer a contemptible word of advice—­”

“Speak,” said Shere Ali.

“Then it might be wise, perhaps, to go slowly to Kohara.  Your Highness has enemies in Chiltistan.  The news of the melons and the bags of grain is spread abroad, and jealousy is aroused.  For there are some who wish to lead when they should serve.”