“Surely you have not forgotten me, Shere Ali?” said Linforth, trying to force his voice in to a note of cheery friendliness.  But the attempt was not very successful.  The look of hatred upon Shere Ali’s face had died away, it is true.  But mere impassivity had replaced it.  He had aged greatly during those months.  Linforth recognised that clearly now.  His face was haggard, his eyes sunken.  He was a man, moreover.  He had been little more than a boy when he had dined with Linforth in the mess-room at Chatham.

“After all,” Linforth continued, and his voice now really had something of genuine friendliness, for he understood that Shere Ali had suffered—­had suffered deeply; and he was inclined to forgive his temerity in proposing marriage to Violet Oliver—­“after all, it is not so much more than a year ago when we last talked together of our plans.”

Shere Ali turned to the younger of the two who stood beside him and spoke a few words in a tongue which Linforth did not yet understand.  The youth—­he was a youth with a soft pleasant voice, a graceful manner and something of the exquisite in his person—­stepped smoothly forward and repeated the words to Linforth’s Pathan.

“What does he say?” asked Linforth impatiently.  The Pathan translated: 

“His Highness the Prince would be glad to know what your Excellency means by interrupting him.”

Linforth flushed with anger.  But he had his mission to fulfil, if it could be fulfilled.

“What’s the use of making this pretence?” he said to Shere Ali.  “You and I know one another well enough.”

And as he ended, Shere Ali suddenly leaned over the balustrade of the balcony.  His two companions followed the direction of his eyes; and both their faces became alert with some expectancy.  For a moment Linforth imagined that Shere Ali was merely pretending to be absorbed in what he saw.  But he, too, looked, and it grew upon him that here was some matter of importance—­all three were watching in so eager a suspense.

Yet what they saw was a common enough sight in Ajmere, or in any other town of India.  The balcony was built out from a brick wall which fell sheer to the bottom of the foss.  But at some little distance from the end of the balcony and at the head of the foss, a road from the town broke the wall, and a flight of steep steps descended to the spring.  The steps descended along the wall first of all towards the balcony, and then just below the end of it they turned, so that any man going down to the well would have his face towards the people on the balcony for half the descent and his back towards them during the second half.