King of the Khyber Rifles | Page 7

whereabouts. There were several photographs in the packet, and he studied them very carefully indeed.
But much most carefully of all he examined Yasmini's portrait, returning to it again and again. He reached the conclusion in the end that when it was taken she had been cunningly disguised.
"This was intended for purpose of identification at a given time and place," he told himself.
"Were you muttering at me?" asked Hyde.
"No, sir."
"It looked extremely like it!"
"My mistake, sir. Nothing of the sort intended."
"H-rrrrr-ummmmmph!"
Hyde turned an indignant back on him, and King studied the back as if he found it interesting. On the whole he looked sympathetic, so it was as well that Hyde did not look around. Balked ambition as a rule loathes sympathy.
After many prickly-hot, interminable, jolting hours the train drew up at Rawal-Pindi station. Instantly King was on his feet with his tunic on, and he was out on the blazing hot platform before the train's motion had quite ceased.
He began to walk up and down, not elbowing but percolating through the crowd, missing nothing worth noticing in all the hot kaleidoscope and seeming to find new amusement at every turn. It was not in the least astonishing that a well-dressed native should address him presently, for he looked genial enough to be asked to hold a baby. King himself did not seem surprised at all. Far from it; he looked pleased.
"Excuse me, sir," said the man in glib babu English. "I am seeking Captain King sahib, for whom my brother is veree anxious to be servant. Can you kindlee tell me, sir, where I could find Captain King sahib?"
"Certainly," King answered him. He looked glad to be of help. "Are you traveling on this train?"
The question sounded like politeness welling from the lips of unsuspicion.
"Yes, sir. I am traveling from this place where I have spent a few days, to Bombay, where my business is.
"How did you know King sahib is on the train?" King asked him, smiling so genially that even the police could not have charged him with more than curiosity.
"By telegram, sir. My brother had the misfortune to miss Captain King sahib at Peshawur and therefore sent a telegram to me asking me to do what I can at an interview."
"I see," said King. "I see." And judging by the sparkle in his eyes as he looked away he could see a lot. But the native could not see his eyes at that instant, although he tried to.
He looked back at the train, giving the man a good chance to study his face in profile. "Oh, thank you, sir!" said the native oilily. "You are most kind! I am your humble servant, sir!"
King nodded good-by to him, his dark eyes in the shadow of the khaki helmet seeming scarcely interested any longer.
"Couldn't you find another berth?" Hyde asked him angrily when he stepped back into the compartment.
"What were you out there looking for?"
King smiled back at him blandly.
"I think there are railway thieves on the train," he announced without any effort at relevance. He might not have heard the question.
"What makes you think so?"
"Observation, sir." "Oh! Then if you've seen thieves, why didn't you have 'em arrested? You were precious free with that authority of yours on Peshawur platform!"
"Perhaps You'd care to take the responsibility, sir? Let me point out one of them."
Full of grudging curiosity Hyde came to stand by him, and King stepped back just as the train began to move.
"That man, sir--over there--no, beyond him--there!"
Hyde thrust head and shoulders through the window, and a well-dressed native with one foot on the running-board at the back end of the train took a long steady stare at him before jumping in and slamming the door of a third-class carriage.
"Which one?" demanded Hyde impatiently.
"I don't see him now, sir!"
Hyde snorted and returned to his seat in the silence of unspeakable scorn. But presently he opened a suitcase and drew out a repeating pistol which he cocked carefully and stowed beneath his pillow; not at all a contemptible move, because the Indian railway thief is the most resourceful specialist in the world. But King took no overt precautions of any kind.
After more interminable hours night shut down on them, red-hot, black-dark, mesmerically subdivided into seconds by the thump of carriage wheels and lit at intervals by showers of sparks from the gasping engine. The din of Babel rode behind the first-class carriages, for all the natives in the packed third-class talked all together. (In India, when one has spent a fortune on a third-class ticket, one proceeds to enjoy the ride.) The train was a Beast out of Revelation, wallowing in noise.
But after other, hotter hours the talking ceased. Then King, strangely without kicking off his shoes, drew a sheet up over his shoulders. On the opposite berth