“But it’s only a reprieve,” he thought.  “There will be no commutation.”

He turned again towards the dark corner.

“How did you come?” he asked in a low voice.

“By the orchard at the back of the house.”

“Did no one see you?”

“I hid in the orchard until I saw the red coat of one of your servants.  I called to him and he let me in secretly.  But no one else saw me.”

“No one in the city?”

“I came barefoot in a rough cloak with the hood drawn over my face,” said the Khan.  “No one paid any heed to me.  There was much noise and running to and fro, and polishing of weapons.  I crept out into the hill-side at the back and so came down into your orchard.”

Captain Phillips shrugged his shoulders.  He opened a door and led the Khan into a room which looked out upon the orchard.

“Well, we will do what we can,” he said, “but it’s very little.  They will guess immediately that you are here of course.”

“Once before—­” faltered the Khan, and Phillips broke in upon him impatiently.

“Yes, once before.  But it’s not the same thing.  This is a house, not a fort, and I have only a handful of men to defend it; and I am not Luffe.”  Then his voice sharpened.  “Why didn’t you listen to him?  All this is your fault—­yours and Dewes’, who didn’t understand, and held his tongue.”

The Khan was mystified by the words, but Phillips did not take the trouble to explain.  He knew something of the Chilti character.  They would have put up with the taxes, with the selling into slavery, with all the other abominations of the Khan’s rule.  They would have listened to the exhortations of the mullahs without anything coming of it, so long as no leader appeared.  They were great accepters of facts as they were.  Let the brother or son or nephew murder the ruling Khan and sit in his place, they accepted his rule without any struggles of conscience.  But let a man rise to lead them, then they would bethink them of the exhortations of their priests and of their own particular sufferings and flock to his standard.  And the man had risen—­just because twenty-five years ago the Khan would not listen to Luffe.

“It’s too late, however, for explanations,” he said, and he clapped his hands together for a servant.  In a few moments the light of a lamp gleamed in the hall through the doorway.  Phillips went quickly out of the room, closing the door behind him.

“Fasten the shutters first,” he said to the servant in the hall.  “Then bring the lamp in.”

The servant obeyed, but when he brought the lamp into the room, and saw the Khan of Chiltistan standing at the table with no more dignity of dress or, indeed, of bearing than any beggar in the kingdom, he nearly let the lamp fall.

“His Highness will stay in this house,” said Phillips, “but his presence must not be spoken of.  Will you tell Poulteney Sahib that I would like to speak to him?” The servant bowed his forehead to the palms of his hand and turned away upon his errand.  But Poulteney Sahib was already at the door.  He was the subaltern in command of the half company of Sikhs which served Captain Phillips for an escort and a guard.