The other stood forward, a tall slim man with the elegance and the grace of youth.

It was at this man Violet Oliver was looking.
Ralston looked again at her, and as he looked the colour rose into her cheeks; there came a look of sympathy, perhaps of pity, into her eyes.
Almost her lips began to smile.

Ralston turned his head again towards the alley, and he started in his saddle.

The young man had raised his head.
He was gazing fixedly towards them.

His features were revealed and Ralston knew them well.
He turned quickly to Mrs.Oliver.
"You know that man ?" The colour deepened upon her face.
"It is the Prince of Chiltistan." "But you know him ?" Ralston insisted.
"I have met him in London," said Violet Oliver.
So Shere Ali was in Peshawur, when he should have been in Chiltistan! "Why ?" Ralston put the question to himself and looked to his companion for the answer.