‘Military equipment,’ Joe replied, ‘to be precise, army rifles. .303s. Brand new. On their way north. Rheza Khan could tell you more but there’s a consignment of a hundred. The last of who knows how many other consignments which have passed through this fort under ICTC markings on an ICTC pack train – you tell me! You may not be able to tell me how many down to the last hundred but I’ll bet your precious accountant here knows. It’s not going to inflate your reputation with your society friends in Simla and elsewhere when they hear that you’ve been gun-running to a volatile tribe right on their doorstep.’

With chalk-white face and eyes narrowed to slits, Alice turned from Joe to Rheza Khan and back again. Joe leaned forward and spoke earnestly, ‘Alice, listen! This is the end of the road for you. There only needs to be the whisper of a rumour that ICTC have been supplying dissidents in tribal territory for the British authorities to act with ferocious speed.’

Edgar Troop intervened. ‘And there’s more to it than that, Alice. Times change, the management changes. ICTC drifts into the hands of the competent Mrs Conyers-Sharpe, the ramshackle remains of the Russian Empire drift into the hands of the Bolshevik establishment but the game remains the same – Russian eyes turn to northern India, British eyes, my own amongst them incidentally, are turned where they have always been – to their northern neighbours. You know this, I know this, but above all, George Jardine and others know it. And to those concerned to preserve a precarious balance, the arrival on the scene of five hundred? a thousand? more? modern rifles is a matter of acute concern.’

With care and with something approaching pity Joe was studying Alice’s face as these revelations unfolded. As he watched there came to him a moment of blinding clarity. ‘Is it possible,’ he said, a note of wonder in his voice, ‘that you were unaware of this? You, Rheza Khan, is it possible that you managed to conceal your gun-running operation from all, including your boss, the managing director of ICTC? Is this possible?’

Neither said a word.

‘Could it be,’ Joe went on, turning to Alice, ‘that, preoccupied with your own jewellery run, you weren’t aware of the other smuggling going on?’

‘And I’ll add something to that,’ said Edgar Troop, speaking slowly and with ferocity. ‘Lionel Conyers, your “brother”, gunned down with surgical precision on the Kalka road – Korsovsky likewise a few days ago – and what did they have in common? The only thing they shared was the lethal knowledge that the managing director of ICTC, the pretty façade, was not who she claimed to be. The authorities have searched high and low – I understand I even came under suspicion myself! (suspicion carefully planted!) – looking for the trigger man. Once aware that you were being blackmailed all assumed that the blackmailer and the murderer were one. Not so! Tell me,’ he added, with something approaching geniality, turning to Rheza Khan, ‘is it not a fact that no one has been as anxious as you have always been to keep Alice in place and supplying you? You’re a fine shot, Rheza, all acknowledge this and the killings would for you have been money for old rope. I’m not certain whether Charlie Carter had time to get around to establishing your whereabouts at the time of Korsovsky’s killing – he’s been rather busy harassing me and Reggie and the other chaps at the chummery. I hope for your sake that you’re not thinking of counting on your boss for an alibi!’

He turned a scornful look on Alice. ‘Poor little Alice, you ran into someone even more manipulative than you are yourself! How does it feel to be led by the nose – to be used?’ Edgar Troop asked softly. ‘To be used by this tailor’s dummy in his old school tie? How does it feel, I wonder?’

The question floated in the air while all stood silent and as though frozen. Expressionless, Alice spoke at last. She was gazing through the window, her face a blank. ‘Just how it has always felt,’ she said bitterly. ‘When I look at my life I realize that I have known nothing else. I’ve been abused, deceived and betrayed by men for as long as I can remember. C’est normal, quoi? It’s what I have come to expect. And it’s what I prepare for.’ She looked back at Rheza Khan. ‘But you? What was special about you, I wonder? I believed you. I believed in you. I thought perhaps – at last – I had found a man.’

Rheza Khan had remained still, apparently unconcerned, slightly smiling. ‘No, Alice,’ he said at last, ‘I had found you. And I’m sorry to say this but your period of usefulness, for which I have been more than grateful, is over. And, as they say – “I shall always take an interest in your future career,” but it’s going to be no concern of mine. The frontier is about to explode and I think the omniscient Sir George has heard rumours – but no more than rumours. The arms are in place. But arms by themselves are nothing; arms are nothing without money. To exploit them there are men to pay, men who not only need pay but need food and clothing and all the things that go with a successful armed uprising – and, believe me, I’m not backing an unsuccessful uprising! And, at this moment, Alice conveniently arrives! Pockets full of jewels! I’ve worked out their value once or twice. Very negotiable and designed to provide Alice and – if you can believe it – my humble self as well with a comfortable lifestyle somewhere far from this border. But I have men, good men and well-mounted who only await my signal to descend on this ramshackle fort. And what do they find when they get here?’ He laughed, it seemed, in genuine amusement. ‘A superannuated Russian moujik, a puzzled London policeman and a hysterical little girl who’s going to have her toys snatched away.’

‘Oh, dear,’ said Edgar. ‘We seem to be listening in to a lovers’ tiff! Better not to intrude, eh, Joe? I’ll go and unlock downstairs and they can have all the time in the world for their recriminations! And Rheza Khan can spend some time wondering just how he’s going to do any signalling from the cellar.’

He turned and, leaving Joe covering them, clattered off down the spiral staircase. Joe gestured to Rheza to move further over to his left away from Alice. He sensed that Alice was dangerously disturbed by what she had just heard and he didn’t want to risk a wild cat attack. Not while they were under his supervision. Alice tossed her head, understanding him. She took hold of her felt hat and, holding it in front of her, began in a leisurely fashion to fan her face, in a theatrically provocative and dismissive gesture.

The grating of a heavy door down below was the signal. Moving steadily away from Alice as directed, his eyes fixed on Joe’s revolver, Rheza Khan worked his way round to Joe’s left. Moving backwards slowly, he stumbled on the uneven floor and leant over to balance himself. In a lightning movement he pulled a slim knife from the inside of his riding boot. At that same moment a voice burst like a shell in Joe’s head: Watch your left flank! and he hurled himself to his right, firing instinctively as he fell a round that caught Rheza Khan in the right thigh. The knife, a flash of silver, sliced through the space Joe had a split second ago occupied to sink itself in the doorpost. From the floor, Joe watched, horrified, as Alice took her hand from inside her felt hat and pointed. The small revolver was only just visible in her palm. ‘No! No! For God’s sake, Alice! Don’t do this!’ Joe called urgently, but with a tight smile and deaf to his protests, she took unhurried aim and fired.

The pistol banged noisily in the confined space and awoke an echo across the hill. Rheza Khan had only a brief moment to register complete surprise before the bullet hit him straight between the eyes. His body slithered to the ground between them. Joe lay on one elbow, his gun trained on Alice, and she stood, still smiling, her gun now pointing at him. ‘Stand-off, Joe?’ she said. ‘If you’re wondering why I shot him and not you, well…’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘At least you’ve never concealed the fact that you were out to get me. And you’re such a gentleman! You could have had me, you know, and I do believe it mightn’t have been such a penance but you’re not an exploiter. Perhaps the only one such I’ve ever met. And I’ll trust my judgement further. I don’t think you would ever kill a woman. Certainly not by shooting her in the back which is going to be your only option!’