He handed the binoculars to Joe. ‘Look where I’m pointing.’

Joe focused the glass and stared. He rubbed his eye and stared again.

‘Over there,’ said Troop, ‘where the road goes behind that big rock. Watch!’

Joe saw two figures on horseback come steadily round the rock and, leaving the road, start to climb towards the fort. Troop rubbed his glistening face with a large hand, turning to Joe with satisfaction. ‘I don’t want to boast,’ he said, ‘but I don’t think there are many people who could have outflanked Rheza in this bit of country and still have had time to arrange a two-man reception committee. Quite a satisfactory moment in many ways,’ he added blandly. ‘Alice! She’d swindle anybody! You, me, Rheza, George Jardine if she could! But not this time! Take your stand here, Joe, and cover me. I’ll go out and meet them. They’ll be coming through that passage in the rock there. Expect them to be armed. Rheza, I see, has a rifle and is bound to have a pistol. Alice looks as though she’s out for a picnic but don’t be deceived – she’ll have provided for her personal defence. I think it might easily emerge that the female of the species was the more deadly. As I say – can’t get away from Kipling, can we? But I don’t underestimate Rheza. A tricky little bastard in his own right and very dangerous. Had my eye on him for years. And in the meantime, we’ll trust in God and keep our powder dry! Eh?’

His face was elated; he stood at the turn in the path with his hands on his hips. Joe found that his own breathing was getting faster and his palms were sweating as his excitement grew. Soon the chink and clatter of horses’ hooves could clearly be heard and then voices, the deep tones of Rheza Khan and the light voice of Alice. They were speaking in a mixture of Hindustani and English.

‘So far, so good!’ Joe heard her say. ‘Be glad to rest for a bit.’

With Rheza Khan leading they rounded the turn in the path and entered the curtain wall of the little fort. Rheza Khan looked sleek, cool and efficient. It was hard to believe that he had just ridden thirty miles in the sun. He wore well-cut breeches and boots, a light tweed shooting coat and a white drill shikar helmet. Alice, riding behind him, matched him in style with jodhpurs, a white silk shirt and a wide-brimmed felt hat hanging down her back on a chin strap. Her abundant copper hair hung loose.

‘Good afternoon, Rheza! And good afternoon, Alice,’ said Edgar Troop, stepping forward. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘Troop!’ Rheza Khan jerked his horse to a slithering halt and sat and stared in astonishment.

Alice burst into a babble of indignant and angry speech. ‘Edgar! What the hell are you doing here? What the hell! Rheza – quick!’

‘Don’t try anything silly, Rheza Khan,’ said Troop. ‘And you too, Alice. Don’t do anything silly. I’m not alone.’

‘Not alone?’

‘No,’ said Edgar. ‘You’re a genius girl, Alice, and you, Rheza Khan, I’ll pay you the compliment of saying you’re not to be despised either, but I wouldn’t be likely to come to this brigands’ roost without a little armed support!’

Theatrically, Joe shot the bolt of his rifle and they both spun around and stared up at him. ‘Forgive the expression, Alice,’ said Joe from the window embrasure, ‘but the game’s up! And just to make this entirely official, I will say – you’re under arrest. And, to dot the i’s and cross the t’s, you should know that although you so skilfully sent Charlie Carter many miles and many hours out of his way, he’s a persevering man is Charlie. He’ll know where we are and, faint but pursuing, he’ll be joining us. In a very bad temper, I should think. He won’t be here for tea. I don’t think he’ll be here for supper but he could well be with us for breakfast!’

Edgar Troop intervened. ‘And until then – what to do with you two? No one knows, better than you, Rheza, that this dilapidated establishment has capacious cellarage, not all of which is occupied by assorted military hardware. I’ll apologize in advance for the poverty of the accommodation but that is where you will wait for Charlie.’

Joe knew Alice in many moods. He had seen her poised and competent with the great and good of Simla on the stage of the Gaiety Theatre; he had seen her on equal terms with George Jardine; he had seen her soft and yielding in a small, moonlit garden, but here was a different image. On the verge of making her escape, the fruits of three years spent looting ICTC in her saddlebags and now only the biddable and despised Edgar Troop and the deceivable London policeman between her and her rewards. In a flash, white-faced and as vicious as a leopard, she slid from her horse and stood, it seemed, at bay and in no mood to give up.

‘Under arrest?’ she said derisively. ‘On whose authority? And on what charge? We’re not in the Mile End Road, as perhaps I can remind you! “Would you mind coming down to the station” and that sort of routine! I’ll tell you, Joe, and I hope I won’t need to repeat it – I’m not going anywhere with you! Not now; not at any time.’

‘To answer your questions,’ said Joe, ‘there is a warrant out for your arrest. A warrant signed by Sir George Jardine. I am a duly appointed deputy police superintendent. And the charge? For the time being a holding charge only. Fraud. But I don’t need to tell you that more lies behind that. It’s a well-worn phrase but I’ll use it again – the game’s up.’ He turned to Rheza Khan. ‘And while we’re at it, I’m pulling you in for murder.’

‘Murder?’ said Rheza Khan derisively. ‘What are you talking about? The murder of that inflated Russian barn-door cockerel?’

‘Is this a confession?’ asked Joe. ‘If so, I’ll be interested to hear it in due course. And I’m going back a little bit further than that. I’m going back to the death of Lionel Conyers. I don’t need to tell you, of course, that the murder weapon used on both unfortunate victims was a .303, probably a British Army Short Lee-Enfield – of which there are not a few below and one of which you have with you, I see.’

Alice shot a look of blind astonishment at Rheza then looked back at Joe, more nearly disconcerted than he had ever seen her.

There was a pistol holster on Rheza Khan’s saddle and his hand moved towards it.

‘We don’t want any unnecessary bloodshed,’ said Edgar Troop, ‘so oblige me by keeping your hands where we can see them and – to shut down all unwelcome possibilities – you do the same, Alice. Cover them while I get their guns. Joe.’

Joe watched while he collected a .303 rifle from Rheza Khan and slipped the pistol from its holster. Unloading both, he threw them out of reach and told Rheza to dismount. An expert search of his clothing turned up no further firearms and he turned his attention to Alice. She reached behind her back and handed over a revolver by its barrel.

‘Here, take it,’ she snapped. ‘And you can keep your brothel-keeper’s hands off me!’

Taking no notice, Troop proceeded to pat down her clothing, a dispassionate, professional procedure, but the figure-hugging silk shirt, jodhpurs and soft leather boots concealed nothing that should not have been there. His inspection completed, Edgar gathered up the guns then took charge of the horses and with reins looped over his arm led them round the fort to picket them in the shade. Rheza Khan’s horse had a neat bedding roll on the crupper, Alice’s had two deep leather pannier bags. Her eyes followed these with anxiety.

Returning to them, Edgar said cheerfully, ‘Can’t offer you much but if you’d like to step into our parlour my colleague would gladly supply a cup of tea. Before we bed you both down in the cellar for the night.’

Making the prisoners walk ahead of them, Joe and Edgar went back to the lookout room and while Joe kept them covered, Edgar, with half an eye to the window and the approach road, poured out cups of tea and offered one to Alice. She ignored the outstretched hand. Turning to Joe, she said almost casually, ‘This cellar in which you’re planning on keeping us locked up for the night – what did you say it contained?’