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Updated: May 25, 2025
And the last sentence took away from Sybil Linforth all the comfort the letter had brought her. Dick had begun very well. He could have chosen no better words to meet her eyes at the commencement than those three, "I am unhurt." But he could have chosen no worse with which to end it.
"And chance, after all, has been my friend," he said with a smile. Violet Oliver stopped suddenly. Linforth turned to her. They were walking along a narrow path between high bushes of rhododendrons. It was very dark, so that Linforth could only see dimly her face and eyes framed in the white scarf which she had draped over her hair. But even so he could see that she was very grave.
Linforth was one of the subalterns a good bat and a good change bowler. That was all. Only I happened to look round the walls of the Sappers' mess. There are portraits hung there of famous members of that mess who were thought of no particular account when they were subalterns at Chatham. There's one alive to-day. Another died at Khartoum." "Yes," said Mrs. Linforth.
I saw him over your shoulder. I dislike being bumped by big men," she said, with a little easy laugh. "And still more I hate having a new frock torn." Dick Linforth was content with the answer. But it happened that Sybil Linforth was looking on from her chair in the corner, and the corner was very close to the spot where for a moment Violet Oliver had lost countenance.
Theatres were re-opening with new plays; and a fellow-officer, who had a couple of stalls for the first production of a comedy about which public curiosity was whetted, meeting Linforth in the hall of his club, suggested that they should go together. "I shall be glad," said Linforth. "I always go to the play with the keenest of pleasure.
On the contrary, I send him south. I send him to Ajmere, in Rajputana." "In Ajmere?" cried Linforth. "Yes. There is a great Mohammedan shrine. Pilgrims go there from all parts, but mostly from beyond the frontier. I get my fingers on the pulse of the frontier in Ajmere more surely than I should if I sent spies up into the hills. I have a man there now. But that's not all.
Or it might be the consequence of war. If the Chiltis rose in arms, undoubtedly we should carry it on to secure control of the country in the future. Well, it is the last alternative that we are face to face with now." "The Chiltis might rise!" cried Linforth. "There is that possibility," Ralston returned. "We don't mean on our own account to carry on the Road; but the Chiltis might rise."
"By the first boat to Bombay." "In a week's time, then?" said Mrs. Oliver, quickly. Shere Ali glanced swiftly at her, seeking the meaning of that question. Did regret prompt it? Or, on the other hand, was she glad? "Yes, in a week's time," he replied slowly. "Why?" asked Linforth. "Is there trouble in Chiltistan?" He spoke regretfully.
No wonder she lived in terror lest it should claim her son. And apparently it did claim him. "The road through Chiltistan?" he said slowly. "Of course," answered Dick. "Of what other could I be thinking?" "They have stopped it," said the Colonel, and at his side he was aware that Sybil Linforth drew a deep breath. "The road reaches Kohara. It does not go beyond. It will not go beyond."
"It is difficult, however long you stay in India, to get behind these fellows' minds, to understand the thoughts and the motives which move them. And the longer you stay, the more difficult you realise it to be. But it looks to me as if Shere Ali had been taken by his companion on a sort of pilgrimage." Linforth started. "A pilgrimage!" and he added slowly, "I think I understand.
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