The Damascened Blade

Chapter Twenty

James Lindsay reviewed the chaos into which his life, both private and official, had descended with considerable misgiving. From the lookout post above the gates he scanned the distant hills. Joe, his dearest friend, was out there, probably in danger of his life if not already dead. And this was not his problem! Honest Joe! Working so desperately towards doing the wrong thing! Should he have confided in him? James considered for a moment and then decided, in his soldier’s calculating way, that it had probably been worth the risk. But where had it left them? It had left them with Joe running the risk. Thinly – very thinly disguised as a Scout, he was in a situation where, if he was discovered, he would be instantly executed as a ferenghi. And all in an effort to extricate Lily. Unreliable Lily! Lily on whom the only reliance that could be placed was that she would say or do the wrong thing, be in the wrong place and, if she could find a way to do so, enter the wrong room in the wrong clothes at the wrong time. He contemplated Lily and shuddered.

And as if that weren’t enough, James acknowledged that he had an abiding problem with Iskander! Enigmatic, a subtle plotter and – whatever else – a major player in the unravelling of the cat’s-cradle into which local politics seemed to have descended.

Once more, binoculars pressed to his eyes, he swept the approaches to the fort. What was this? He squinted again into the late afternoon sun. A solitary rider was coming in. A rider on a large Afghani grey. James stared and stared.

‘Rathmore? Rathmore, by God! Now what?’ Rathmore coming in alone? The lone survivor of some awful catastrophe? With a shudder James remembered the desperate ride of Dr Brydon who was spotted by the garrison at Jelalabad, struggling in half dead on an exhausted horse across the plain only to whisper that he was the only man of a force of sixteen thousand to make it back from Kabul. The rest had been shot and slashed to pieces by Afghani tribesmen, the women with them killed or taken hostage. Eighty years ago and now it was happening again.

In agony, James wiped the sweat from his eyes and squinted through his field glasses. No – the rider was not quite alone. He seemed to be the one-man advance guard of a party of five or six. Was he being pursued? James thought not. The group following in his wake were not attempting to catch up with him but riding at more or less the same pace, keeping their distance. Through the dust rising round the party it was hard to tell who they were. But it was undoubtedly Rathmore in front and going at quite a pace.

‘I’m not in the mood for Rathmore,’ James thought. ‘Do I go and meet him? Do I have him sent to me? That might give me a moral edge. No, I’ll go down.’ He picked up his cap, set it on his head and reluctantly descended the stairs so that when Rathmore arrived at the fort, he was standing ready to receive him with an insouciance he did not feel.

Stiff and indignant, Rathmore slid from his horse.

‘Lord Rathmore! An unexpected pleasure! I had hardly hoped to see you. And now what can I offer you? Not too late for tea, I hope?’

Rathmore eyed him sourly. ‘That’s enough, Lindsay!’ he said. ‘The sooner you realize that you’re in considerable trouble the sooner we can start talking sense! I am here in an official capacity… ’

James interrupted him. ‘I would have said a semi-official capacity but do please continue.’

‘… in an official capacity,’ Rathmore repeated, ‘and under your very nose, almost I would say with your connivance, I have been incarcerated!’

‘Would you say “incarcerated”?’ James enquired mildly. ‘I would have said “kidnapped”. But go on.’

‘I have been seized upon, made off with, exposed to every sort of indignity and I want to know what you’re going to do about it! There!’ he pointed. ‘There’s the scoundrel responsible and I want to know what you’re going to do with him!’

The small party wound its way towards the fort and James stared and stared again. He identified three Scouts, one of whom might be Joe; he identified, bobbing with excitement, the fair hair and slender figure of Lily dressed in green native tunic and trousers; he saw the comfortable figure of Grace taking as always the day’s problems one by one. Finally he saw the figure of Iskander, calm, debonair and unruffled, sure of himself, apparently sure of his welcome and very ready to greet James as an old friend and valued colleague.

‘There he is!’ said Rathmore. ‘There’s the rogue! He kept me prisoner and threatened to slit my eyelids. I insist on his immediate arrest!’

‘One moment, Rathmore,’ said James and he stepped forward to greet the party. ‘First things first. Aslam! Yussuf!’ he called out in greeting to the Scouts. Smiles, laughter and exclamation followed and the Scouts were dismissed, both men pleased to be setting off for barracks with the keen anticipation of telling their story to the rest of the unit.

‘Grace, Lily, Joe, Iskander,’ James nodded to each in turn. ‘Delighted to have you all back again safe and sound. If you’d like to come with me to the durbar hall I can offer you some refreshment. Now where have you got to? Tea? Or would a glass of sherry be more welcome?’

Rathmore was dancing with rage. ‘You’re not going to invite that black-avised fiend back inside the fort! Think, man! Think what happened last time! Don’t you ever learn?’

‘I haven’t made up my mind quite yet,’ said James, ‘whether to offer Iskander the hospitality of the fort or the guardhouse. I will let you know when I have made further enquiries. Now, perhaps you would all like to return to your rooms which are standing ready – I’m sure you’ll all want to freshen up and, er, change – and we’ll meet in the durbar hall in, let’s say an hour. That suit everyone?’

Rathmore turned with a splutter of disgust and stamped off through the gate. The others followed, entering with varying degrees of eagerness the confines of the fort. Joe lagged behind in the hope of exchanging a few words with James but his friend was avoiding his eye and, it seemed, anxious not to hear Joe’s story for the moment. There was something about his manner that puzzled Joe. His old confidence and decisiveness had returned, though, knowing what Joe now knew, this was inexplicable. Oh, well, Joe would go along with it for the time being. His moment to unravel all this would come.

‘By the way, Joe,’ James was saying, ‘hope you won’t mind but I’ve had your things moved down to Zeman’s old room. Had to accommodate yet another VIP who arrived this afternoon and I thought it more appropriate to put him upstairs.’ He waved a hand to the far side of the square where there stood an open-topped tourer, grey with dust, the flag of the High Commissioner of the North-West Frontier Province drooping wearily on the bonnet.

‘See you in an hour then.’ He put a hand on Joe’s shoulder and his voice lost its briskness. ‘Damned glad you’re back! I’ll go and tell Betty – she’s been worried sick. Now, where’s Grace?’ And he went back to help Grace who was struggling to take her medical case from her horse.

In a few quick strides Joe caught up with Lily Coblenz and neatly placed himself in front of her before she could go through the archway into the guest wing. She looked up at him, resigned and truculent.

‘Into the garden. Now,’ said Joe pointing an imperious finger.

When he was sure they were not being observed he said carefully, ‘I was wondering if you had anything to say before this all gets a bit public? That, you can’t have failed to notice, was the Commissioner’s car in the courtyard. When we appear in front of him with our stories I’d like to think we were saying the same thing.’

‘What were you expecting me to say?’

‘Well, to start with, something on the lines of “Sorry, ” “I apologize for the trouble I’ve caused, ” or even “Aw, shucks!” and, to go on with, an explanation of the precise nature of your “arrangement” with your abductor. And before you tell me it’s none of my business – it certainly is my business! I’ve been placed in the unenviable position of answering for your safety for the duration of your stay. If I feel I am no longer able to fulfil this obligation I shall put you – hog-tied if necessary – in the back seat of Sir John Deane’s motor car ready for delivery back to Peshawar.’

‘I’ve nothing to apologize for! All this and worse would have happened if I’d not been here. Why, you wouldn’t even have known where we were, I’ll bet, if I hadn’t signalled to that plane!’

‘That was you? Ah. That was well done, Lily,’ said Joe, relenting. ‘The pilot noticed your flash and it confirmed other information we had concerning your whereabouts. But Iskander? What have you to reveal?’

‘Nothing. I’ve had no chance to speak to the guy! You know he was sent away from the village!’

‘Not good enough, Lily! Something’s been going on.’

‘Oh, okay then, I suppose you’ll have to know. There was this jirga meeting of the whole tribe – men, that is – and I saw it all. Halima told me what was going on. She’s the Malik’s wife but she’s also Iskander’s sister, bet you didn’t know that! Iskander set himself up against Ramazad. Big mistake! He was outranked, out-talked and then outlawed by Big Chief Serpent Tongue. Well, I felt kind of sorry for the feller. He’s no family apart from Halima and now he hasn’t even a tribe. He doesn’t deserve that, Joe! Now I know these Pathans love their native land but they do travel. It’s not unknown. In fact, they’re all over India and some have even gone to Australia. I sent him a note before he disappeared telling him to meet me back at the fort and discuss… coming back to the States with me,’ she finished defiantly. ‘That’s no mean offer, Joe!’

‘I’m sure it’s not but, tell me, Lily, and I intend to press you on this – on what terms exactly did you envisage Iskander would be accompanying you?’

‘I’ve given that quite a lot of thought,’ she said. ‘And I’m open to suggestions. Bodyguard, companion, adviser on Indian affairs? How does that sound? He could be based in Delhi or even come back to the States with us. Who knows? He’s just the kind of man my father would get along with. He’ll find him a job. Iskander speaks English better than your average American, he’s smart and he’s charming.’ Her eyes narrowed for a second and she added, ‘Besides which, things going as they are – the company expanding into India – it wouldn’t be bad to have someone on the ground who knows how things work. Someone we can be sure will look out for our side because the other side has rejected him. That’s the best kinda loyalty you can get, Joe – the one-way pull kind.’

‘Yes, I see what you mean and I agree, but Lily – this man is no one’s poodle. And we all heard what he had to say about his Pathan nature back there at the river. I think he was trying to warn you, prepare you for his rejection of your offer. And, anyway, there’s probably little we could do to help him in the circumstances. He must be under considerable scrutiny by the powers that operate in this land – after all, he’s guilty of kidnap and abduction times two and though you may be prepared to forgive and forget, Lord Rathmore will be demanding retribution.’

‘Retribution? What kind of retribution?’

‘Very serious, I’m afraid. In fact, if I’d been Iskander, I would have avoided coming back here. He could easily have done that. He is, under British law, guilty of abduction, kidnap, threatening to kill. I think Rathmore could talk this up into a capital charge if he sets his mind to it.’

Lily’s face darkened. ‘Rathmore! He’ll set his mind to it all right! Joe, you’ve got to find a way of fixing him! Can’t you think of something?’

‘I’ll try. It would give me considerable personal satisfaction to nail the man but I’m not hopeful. Men like Rathmore are protected by often unseen and undeclared forces. They do favours for those high up in government and one day they call in those favours. He struts around and behaves as though he were impregnable and I’m sad to say that’s because he very probably is. I think it certain that he has it in his power not only to wreck my career but that of James as well and certainly to see to it that Iskander is either hanged or, at best, put into the deepest dungeon in Peshawar and left there for many years. We’ll find, I think, that in all this he will be supported by Edwin Burroughs. I must say, Lily, I’m not looking forward to this meeting.’

To Joe’s surprise Lily put out a hand and rubbed solicitously at his eyebrow. ‘You’ll think of something, Joe! But no one’s going to pay a whole lot of attention to you if you don’t smarten yourself up a bit and wash off that eye paint or whatever it is. Come on! Let’s hear that Lindsay war cry again – what was it? – “E’en do and spare not!” That’s not bad!’

An hour later, washed and confident in a fresh uniform, Joe ran upstairs and tapped on Lily’s door. She joined him looking cool in a short blue silk dress and a simple sapphire-studded necklace.

‘Not sure what sort of entertainment James has lined up for us – could be anything from court martial to beauty parade,’ she said. ‘But if the Commissioner’s going to be there I thought it couldn’t hurt to go for the angelic look.’

‘You missed by about a mile,’ said Joe, looking at her appreciatively, ‘but don’t worry – he’ll like the result.’ He peered at her face more closely and she swept a concealing hand over her nose.

‘I know! I look simply awful! Ride two days without a sun helmet and see if your nose looks any better!’

‘Before we go down, Lily, there’s something I’d like you to look at with me. What do you say to a little breaking and entering?’

He paused outside James’s room and listened, ear to the door. ‘No sound.’

‘There won’t be. I left my door open because I wanted to hear Betty if she came upstairs. Just to say hullo… They never came up. I guess they stayed down there in the durbar hall. Grace didn’t come up until about half an hour ago – now I wonder what can have detained her downstairs, don’t you, Joe? Telling tales out of school? She went back down five minutes ago. We’re alone up here,’ she finished quietly. ‘How about the ground floor rooms?’

‘They’ve all gone over apart from Rathmore. I heard him still crashing about. I listened shamelessly at the door.’

Joe smiled. Lily knew exactly what he was up to. He pointed in silence to the door of James’s room.

‘I had already noticed that,’ she said, eyes dancing.

Joe knocked on the door and called, ‘James? Betty?’ Hearing no answer he opened the door and stepped inside followed by Lily. A perfectly ordinary scene met their eye. Neat, clean and utilitarian, there was nothing apparently to attract attention but Joe methodically gave every item of furniture an assessing look. Of the two narrow beds, the one nearer the door was obviously that of James. Tucked underneath the brass candlestick on the bedside table there was a War Office pamphlet. Lily could not resist moving closer to read the title.

‘ “Victualling On The March” ’ she read out, rolling her eyes in disbelief. ‘Jeez! Do you suppose he’s reading it aloud a chapter a night to Betty?’

On Betty’s matching table between the two beds was a Bible and a copy of Home Chat wedged under her candlestick and open at a story by P. G. Wodehouse. At the foot of Betty’s bed was Minto’s box. Peering inside, Joe grunted. ‘No one at home. Our furry friend has apparently gone to the meeting as well. I think I’ve seen all I need to see. How about you, Lily?’

‘One more thing, Joe.’ She moved to the small cubicle which passed for a bathroom and opened the door. ‘Same as the other rooms, I guess,’ she said. ‘Water jug, washing bowl, washing things. Yup! That’s it! We can go now.’

They left the room, closing the door behind them, and stood together at the head of the stairs before descending. ‘Almost impossible,’ thought Joe, ‘to come downstairs from a bedroom floor and not look guilty! Perhaps we should come down hand in hand? That would baffle and enrage Rathmore! Baffle and enrage Burroughs too. Leave them all with the impression that Lily and I have spent the last hour in bed together!’ And with a sudden stab to the heart, he thought, ‘How I wish it were true!’ In a moment of mutual solidarity and bravado, they linked arms and went downstairs.

As they walked across the square towards the durbar hall, the insistent notes of a bugle call floated over the fort and, to amuse and distract Lily, Joe sang the words the soldiery had long ago fitted to the Officers’ Mess Call:

‘Officers’ wives have puddings and pies

But sergeants’ wives have skilly,

And the private’s wife has nothing at all

To fill her poor little belly.’

‘I know how she feels! Do you realize, Joe, I’ve had nothing to eat for over a day? What I wouldn’t give for a bowlful of skilly – whatever that is!’

‘It’s grits – I think you’d call it grits,’ said Joe. ‘But didn’t they give you food at Mahdan Khotal? The Scouts and I were only there for about three hours but they sent us three lots of refreshment in that time. Surely…?’

‘Oh, they kept sending me plates of this and that but I couldn’t eat. When someone you like’s screaming in agony and probably dying in the next room it sort of shuts down your appetite.’

‘We may find the next hour has much the same effect,’ said Joe lugubriously as they arrived at the open door of the durbar hall.

They stood for a moment in the doorway allowing their eyes to adjust to the darker interior. Already seated around a table which had been set out in the centre of the room, James and Betty waited side by side, ready to defy the world. A small white face peered out from Betty’s lap and snarled. Minto, too, was ready as always to defy the world. Edwin Burroughs, bored and bleak, was giving nothing away; Iskander sat with blank face and expressionless eyes; Fred, as ever cheerful, smiled his pleasure at seeing them. Grace, looking exhausted and wary, just managed a wan smile of welcome. At the head of the table with his back to them was a grey-haired and solid figure. All turned to greet them as they stepped into the room.

‘Well, there you are!’ came an amiable and gravelly voice and the figure at the head of the table turned. Not the Commissioner. Much, much worse! Inevitably perhaps: Sir George.

‘There now,’ he said, his face wreathed in avuncular smiles. ‘There now! The two people above all whom I wanted to see! Sandilands, the Harbinger of Doom and Miss Coblenz, the Sower of Discord. The fact they should both be under restraint can hardly have escaped anybody but we will first see what they have to say. Now, come and sit by me, Miss Coblenz, and may I say how well it suits you to have been out in the sun? Sandilands, why don’t you sit next to your charge? And now we only await Lord Rathmore.’

He turned again to Lily and said conversationally, ‘I had a telephone call from your esteemed father yesterday morning. How on earth he got through I can’t imagine but there you are – that’s Americans for you. And didn’t they after all invent the electric telephone? Or have I got that wrong? He asked how you were. I didn’t know how you were! So I said, “Fine!” He then asked where you were. I didn’t know that either so I said you’d gone to spend the weekend with friends. That’s rather a loose description of your recent excursion into the inaccessible interior but I didn’t think the time was ripe for a larger account. I’ll just pause there and ask you the question – “How are you?” ’

‘Starving!’ said Lily with spirit. ‘Haven’t had anything to eat for twenty-four hours and not much to drink.’

‘Help yourself, Lily,’ said Betty, suddenly contrite. ‘There are sandwiches. Not very exotic, I’m afraid. I cut them myself. I didn’t know how many to cut for.’ And a very English-looking plate of hard-boiled egg and cress, cucumber and corned beef, lamb and pickle sandwiches was hurried down the table to Lily.

‘Aw! Wow! It’s not puddings and pies but it shore beats skilly,’ said Lily, helping herself.

‘In a manner of speaking, Sir George,’ said Joe with a helpful smile, ‘you could well say that Lily had spent the weekend in the country with friends. She was never for a moment out of the sight of Iskander or Iskander’s sister and later Grace and myself. Lord Rathmore too, of course, was of the party.’

Joe was momentarily taken aback by his own suppleness. George’s ability to manipulate the truth was evidently catching. A fleeting narrowing of the clever old eyes in satisfaction made Joe want to kick himself. Was he already following in the direction George had decided they would all go? He looked critically at the man Lily had concluded was the chief, though unacknowledged, authority in India.

To recognize the fact that it was Sunday and not, therefore, a working day, he was suavely but casually dressed in a dark blue blazer bearing on its pocket the insignia of an obscure but distinguished and long-defunct Cambridge cricket club, white flannel trousers and a club tie. George Jardine looked as though his Bentley had just dropped him off at Hurlingham to watch a chukka or two with friends. There was no indication in his bearing that he must have set out on his journey immediately after putting down the telephone on speaking to Joe at nine o’clock on Saturday morning. Joe knew just enough about the workings of India to guess that he had been driven to Umballa to get a train – probably a special summoned up at a moment’s notice for official use – and travelled the four hundred miles west to Peshawar. Sir John Deane would have sent a car to pick him up at the station somewhere round about midnight.

After a night’s sleep at the Commissioner’s residence and an unhurried opportunity over breakfast to fill himself in on the situation to date and to decide with Sir John what the official line was going to be, Joe calculated, he would have set off for Gor Khatri. Sir George’s jocular charm did not disguise from Joe the realization that his very presence here at the heart of things testified to the extreme seriousness of their predicament. Joe might be the Harbinger of Doom but George was, to his mind, the Deus ex Machina, the Big Gun wheeled out to level the opposition. His anxiety increased. This spoke of a formidable opposition.

Lily, however, seemed unaffected. ‘That’s right! I was with friends the whole time and if any nosy parker wants to know, that’s what they’ll hear from me!’ she said stoutly.

Edwin Burroughs tapped his finger ends on the table with exasperation but remained silent. Fred wrestled with a smile.

‘Family occasion, you might say,’ Lily went on, enjoying her invention. ‘Iskander took me to stay with his sister, the Malik’s wife, and I was lucky enough to be there for the birth of her child.’

It was Grace’s turn to look thoughtful.

‘Ah, yes! Alexander! The convenor of this jolly expedition, the Afridi Robin Hood!’ said Sir George. And then, turning to the company at large, ‘I always call him Alexander. It’s what Iskander means – did you all know that? Alexander the Great! He rose to the occasion, you know, conquered the civilized world, and the interesting thing to see will be if Iskander can do the same. For various reasons this would seem to be a time of opportunity.’ He smiled benevolently around the table.

On cue but with her mouth full, Lily cut in, ‘We have an opportunity – that is to say the Coblenz Corporation have an opportunity, an opportunity in which we may be so lucky as to involve Iskander.’

The room looked at her with astonishment. All, that is, except Iskander himself who looked thoughtfully down at the table in front of him.

‘It’s obviously no secret,’ she went on, ‘but just so’s everyone’s got it straight – I’ve offered Iskander a position with the Coblenz Corporation. Either in Delhi or in the States, it hasn’t been decided yet. And I should say he’s still considering the offer – it’s still on the table, you might say.’

‘Well,’ said Sir George genially, ‘I may be old but I’m not too old to experience surprise occasionally and there aren’t many people around in this part of the world who can surprise me but, Lily, it would seem you are one of them! Perhaps you can surprise me too, Alexander?’ he said.

‘We are in a discussion,’ said Iskander. ‘These things do not depend on me. There are many people to be consulted. Perhaps some of them are round this table. It would not be right to say more than that the proposition is under discussion.’

‘Politics,’ said Sir George, ‘are like unto running an infants’ school. Did you know that? Put the infants together and they will either play together or kill each other. I’ve seen it time and again. And the question is – and the reason for my being here at all is – which is it to be?’ He turned to James. ‘Anything in that bottle, James?’ he enquired, pointing. ‘It’s been a long day. I wouldn’t refuse a whisky. Others may feel the same… ’

‘Yes, of course,’ said James, hurriedly passing out glasses and jugs of water. “There’s whisky and sherry and fruit juice of some kind. Please help yourselves. Oh, and I should say that I’ve arranged for a meal to be laid on for all of us in the officers’ mess as soon as we’re finished here.’

‘The reason for my being here,’ said Iskander carefully and quietly, ‘one of the reasons, is to ensure that the proper enquiry is made into the death of my cousin Zeman. It seems to me that there is still a mystery hanging over this event, a mystery which more than one present would like to see resolved.’

Edwin Burroughs helped himself to a glass of water. ‘So far as I have any function round this table,’ he said peevishly, ‘it is to evaluate the relevance of what seems to be laughingly called the “Forward Policy” in the light of recent events. I make no secret of it – I recommend withdrawal from this cockpit of war. Our presence here is an incitement to military response. By withdrawing to a sustainable frontier we will cut down dramatically on expense – of lives and materials.’ He sat back in his chair and looked round the room.

‘It perhaps goes without saying,’ interpolated Fred, ‘that I am here to consider the extension of the Forward Policy. I believe, unlike Burroughs, that the only way to assure peace is to patrol the frontier from the air. But the issue is an extremely complicated one and I’m not prepared to say more than that at this moment. I reserve my position.’

‘Good old Fred!’ thought Joe. ‘He’s learning!’

‘And now,’ said Sir George, ‘since we’re all showing our shopping lists, I turn to Grace. Grace who has so often “stilled the seething cup of discord with a cool breath of wisdom”. Your move, Grace,’ he said, cocking a lively grey eyebrow.

‘My concerns,’ she said almost angrily, ‘do not vary from year to year or month to month, certainly not from day to day. They are, as they have always been, to create a situation where “every man can sit under his fig tree or under his vine and no man shall make him afraid.” Little enough to ask, you’d think. Unfortunately, in this part of the world, anyone sitting under a fig tree for ten seconds together is likely to get shot and his figs stolen. It is my purpose in life always to save lives not squander them and I have no respect or sympathy for those of any race who would endanger others whatever their motives. As far as I have any purpose here I suppose it would be to urge that this corner of the frontier be left in peace.’

‘And I – we – share Grace’s aspiration,’ said James, ‘as we always have. Whether we’re any nearer to achieving it remains to be seen.’

‘Thank you, James. Thank you too, Betty. I always know where you stand.’ Sir George sat back in his chair, evidently pleased with what he had heard. ‘So, it appears that, although we approach from different angles, we are all aiming for the same thing – peace.’

The door at the end of the hall banged open to admit Rathmore. He was – and to those present it seemed his habitual state – purple in the face with rage. Lily looked at him critically. ‘He’s a sort of not very successful mass-produced copy of Sir George,’ she thought. It was almost as though he had waited to see what Sir George was wearing and had dressed himself likewise. The blazer: large golden insignia on the pocket. The tie: widely striped and accompanied by a matching silk scarf supporting flawlessly creased white trousers. The cuff-links: where Sir George was wearing a battered gold pair, Rathmore wore large amethysts.

Rathmore exploded indignantly, ‘Sir George? Good Lord! Wasn’t expecting to see you here! I’m hoping we’ve met here to bring certain people to justice! And I’m pleased to see, by your presence, that at last the powers that be are taking this seriously!’

George got up and walked over to seize Rathmore by the hand and shake it with what Joe considered to be undue warmth and for an undue length of time. ‘Indeed!’ he said.‘And the purpose of this meeting, my dear Rathmore, is to determine exactly what has passed over the last few days and make any recommendations that seem appropriate to my lords and masters in Simla. But I don’t need to explain the inner workings of government to a fellow statesman and diplomat… enough, perhaps, to say that it is my aim to see that “every brother has his due”. Eh? What? We’ve kept you a seat at the foot of the table.’ An unctuous smile and a languid hand ushered Rathmore into the last remaining place, facing Sir George.

Rathmore was looking surprised and a little deflated but, Joe would have sworn, was beginning to recover something of his accustomed air of smug arrogance. ‘Ah. Yes,’ he said. ‘Pleased to see that someone in this sorry mess is on the square!’

‘“On the square?”… “Every brother?”… George! The old weasel!’ thought Joe. ‘I know where he’s going with this! Perhaps I’ll help him along!’

In a spirit of mischief Joe rose quietly to his feet, poured out a large whisky and deferentially offered it to Rathmore. ‘You’re one behind us, sir,’ he murmured, patting him lightly on the shoulder. ‘I think you take it neat?’

Puzzled and wary, Rathmore grunted but seemed happy to take a large swallow followed by another. Joe, hovering solicitously, topped up the glass and, leaving the bottle by Rathmore’s elbow, resumed his seat. Sir George raised his own glass, admiring the delicate amber of the Glenlivet against the soft lamplight. ‘Only the best for the officers of Gor Khatri, what! It’s not champagne but I can’t think of a more suitable tipple with which to charge my glass and toast the hero of the hour! Lord Rathmore! I understand that congratulations are due. Single-handedly, you have pulled off a coup which has eluded the combined efforts of His Majesty’s Government and armed forces for decades. You have brought us peace and a trading agreement with the Afridi.’

Rathmore gobbled in astonishment.

‘I see you’re surprised that I know already? Grace and Iskander were both eager to fill in the details before the meeting started. I make a point of finding out what’s going on from the horse’s mouth, you’ll find. The only way, I think you’ll agree?’

Grace and Iskander were both fixing George with suspicious eyes but he carried on oblivious, ‘When the authorities in Simla hear about your exploits – your mad dash into enemy territory… running the gauntlet of the Afridi forces… (by the way, old chap, if you take my advice you’ll say you “took safe conduct” – that’s the phrase – don’t want to appear too hot-headed, no one trusts a hothead!) and when they hear about your bargaining with the old rascal Ramazad, you’ll find yourself fêted. (He’s been known to get the better of many a wily old negotiator including, I have to admit, yours truly!) You’ll be a hero! You must be prepared to be consulted as to how to deal with the Pathan – prepared to reveal how you managed it – prepared to be an authority. I have to warn you that after a time you may find it begins to weigh a little heavily though – let us learn the sad lesson of notoriety from Lawrence of Arabia!’

‘ “Rathmore of the Frontier”,’ hissed Lily. ‘Doesn’t quite have the same ring.’

Joe looked around the table. For the first time ever, Burroughs and Fred Moore-Simpson were united in their expression which was a blend of outrage and unwilling admiration. James and Betty were tight-lipped and staring at the table. Grace, uncharacteristically, was concentrating on sipping her whisky. Iskander was staring mutinously into the opposite wall.

‘Watch it, George!’ Joe thought. ‘I see what you’re doing but any moment now you’re going to overdo it and Rathmore will catch the edge of your scorn and all your masonic advantage will be lost. And two promising careers will be lost too, to say nothing of Iskander’s life!’

He stood up and raised his glass. ‘A toast!’ he announced. ‘To peace on the frontier!’

Everyone, including Lord Rathmore, including Iskander, raised a glass and echoed his words.

Lily leaned to Joe and whispered, ‘That was quite a performance! And like a good shepherd George has got all the sheep herded into the right pen! With a little help from his faithful dog, of course! But do you suppose, Joe, he hasn’t noticed that one of ’em’s a black sheep?’