"How should I know? They are not of my people, these poor ignorant hill-folk."
He went on his way. Linforth was left with the assurance that now, indeed, he had really failed. He took the train that night back to Peshawur.
CHAPTER XXVII
AN ARRESTED CONFESSION
Linforth related the history of his failure to Ralston in the office at Peshawur.
"Shere Ali went away on the day the pitcher was broken," he said. "It was the breaking of the pitcher which gave him the notice to go; I am sure of it. If one only knew what message was conveyed—" and Ralston handed to him a letter.
The letter had been sent by the Resident at Kohara and had only this day reached Peshawur. Linforth took it and read it through. It announced that the son of Abdulla Mahommed had been murdered.
"You see?" said Ralston. "He was shot in the back by one of his attendants when he was out after Markhor. He was the leader of the rival faction, and was bidding for the throne against Shere Ali. His murder clears the way. I have no doubt your friend is over the Lowari Pass by this time. There will be trouble in Chiltistan. I would have stopped Shere Ali on his way up had I known."
"But you don't think Shere Ali had this man murdered!" cried Linforth.
Ralston shrugged his shoulders.