"It can't be he! It can't be he!"
What would Linforth say when he knew that Shere Ali was lurking in
Peshawur?
Ralston was still gazing at Shere Ali when the man behind the Prince made a movement. He flung back the hood from his face, and disclosing his features looked boldly towards the riders.
A cry rang out at Ralston's side, a woman's cry. He turned in his saddle and saw Violet Oliver. The colour had suddenly fled from her cheeks. They were blanched. The sympathy had gone from her eyes, and in its place, stark terror looked out from them. She swayed in her saddle.
"Do you see that man?" she cried, pointing with her hand. "The man behind the Prince. The man who has thrown back his cloak."
"Yes, yes, I see him," answered Ralston impatiently.
"It was he who crept into my room last night."
"You are sure?"
"Could I forget? Could I forget?" she cried; and at that moment, the man touched Shere Ali on the sleeve, and they both fled out of sight into the alley.
There was no doubt left in Ralston's mind. It was Shere Ali who had planned the abduction of Mrs. Oliver. It was his companion who had failed to carry it out. Ralston turned to the levies behind him.