Linforth interpreted the words according to the gravity with which they were uttered.

“His father!” he said, and Ralston nodded his head.

“What can we do?” he cried.  “We can threaten—­but what is the use of threatening without troops?  And we mayn’t use troops.  Chiltistan is an independent kingdom.  We can advise, but we can’t force them to follow our advice.  We accept the status quo.  That’s the policy.  So long as Chiltistan keeps the peace with us we accept Chiltistan as it is and as it may be.  We can protect if our protection is asked.  But our protection has not been asked.  Why has Shere Ali fled so quickly back to his country?  Tell me that if you can.”

None the less, however, Ralston telegraphed at once to the authorities at Lahore.  Linforth, though he had failed to renew his old comradeship with Shere Ali, had not altogether failed.  He had brought back news which Ralston counted as of great importance.  He had linked up the murder in Chiltistan with the intrigues of Shere Ali.  That the glare was rapidly broadening over that country of hills and orchards Ralston was very well aware.  But it was evident now that at any moment the eruption might take place, and fire pour down the hills.  In these terms he telegraphed to Lahore.  Quietly and quickly, once more after twenty-five years, troops were being concentrated at Nowshera for a rush over the passes into Chiltistan.  But even so Ralston was urgent that the concentration should be hurried.

He sent a letter in cipher to the Resident at Kohara, bidding him to expect Shere Ali, and with Shere Ali the beginning of the trouble.

He could do no more for the moment.  So far as he could see he had taken all the precautions which were possible.  But that night an event occurred in his own house which led him to believe that he had not understood the whole extent of the danger.

It was Mrs. Oliver who first aroused his suspicions.  The four of them—­Ralston and his sister, Linforth and Violet Oliver were sitting quietly at dinner when Violet suddenly said: 

“It’s a strange thing.  Of course there’s nothing really in it, and I am not at all frightened, but the last two nights, on going to bed, I have found that one of my windows was no longer bolted.”

Linforth looked up in alarm.  Ralston’s face, however, did not change.

“Are you sure that it was bolted before?”

“Yes, quite sure,” said Violet.  “The room is on the ground floor, and outside one of the windows a flight of steps leads down from the verandah to the ground.  So I have always taken care to bolt them myself.”

“When?” asked Ralston.

“After dressing for dinner,” she replied.  “It is the last thing I do before leaving the room.”

Ralston leaned back in his chair, as though a momentary anxiety were quite relieved.

“It is one of the servants, no doubt,” he said.  “I will speak about it afterwards”; and for the moment the matter dropped.