Captain Phillips had heard promises of the kind before and accounted them at their true value. But he had never heard them delivered with so earnest a protestation. And he rode away from the Palace with the disturbing conviction that there was something new in the wind of which he did not know.
He rode up the valley, pondering what that something new might be. Hillside and plain were ablaze with autumn colours. The fruit in the orchards—peaches, apples, and grapes—was ripe, and on the river bank the gold of the willows glowed among thickets of red rose. High up on the hills, field rose above field, supported by stone walls. In the bosom of the valley groups of great walnut-trees marked where the villages stood.
Captain Phillips rode through the villages. Everywhere he was met with smiling faces and courteous salutes; but he drew no comfort from them. The Chilti would smile pleasantly while he was fitting his knife in under your fifth rib. Only once did Phillips receive a hint that something was amiss, but the hint was so elusive that it did no more than quicken his uneasiness.
He was riding over grass, and came silently upon a man whose back was turned to him.
"So, Dadu," he said quietly, "you must not open closed boxes any more in your house."
The man jumped round. He was not merely surprised, he was startled.
"Your Excellency rides up the valley?" he cried, and almost he barred the way.
"Why not, Dadu?"
Dadu's face became impassive.
"It is as your Excellency wills. It is a good day for a ride," said Dadu; and Captain Phillips rode on.