She trotted forth to raise a typhoon off the cook-house, and almost on her shadow rolled in the Babu, robed as to the shoulders like a Roman emperor, jowled like Titus, bare-headed, with new patent-leather shoes, in highest condition of fat, exuding joy and salutations. “By Jove, Mister O’Hara, but I _am_ jolly glad to see you. I will kindly shut the door. It is a pity you are sick. Are you very sick?” “The papers—the papers from the _kilta_. The maps and the _murasla!_” He held out the key impatiently; for the present need on his soul was to get rid of the loot. “You are quite right. That is correct Departmental view to take. You have got everything?” “All that was handwritten in the _kilta_ I took. The rest I threw down the hill.” He could hear the key’s grate in the lock, the sticky pull of the slow-rending oilskin, and a quick shuffling of papers. He had been annoyed out of all reason by the knowledge that they lay below him through the sick idle days—a burden incommunicable. For that reason the blood tingled through his body, when Hurree, skipping elephantinely, shook hands again. “This is fine! This is finest! Mister O’Hara! you have—ha! ha! swiped the whole bag of tricks—locks, stocks, and barrels. They told me it was eight months’ work gone up the spouts! By Jove, how they beat me! ... Look, here is the letter from Hilás!” He intoned a line or two of Court Persian, which is the language of authorized and unauthorized diplomacy. “Mister Rajah Sahib has just about put his foot in the holes. He will have to explain offeecially how the deuce-an’-all he is writing love-letters to the Czar. And they are very clever maps ... and there is three or four Prime Ministers of these parts implicated by the correspondence. By Gad, sar! The British Government will change the succession in Hilás and Bunár, and nominate new heirs to the throne. ‘Trea-son most base’ ... but you do not understand? Eh?” “Are they in thy hands?” said Kim. It was all he cared for. “Just you jolly-well bet yourself they are.” He stowed the entire trove about his body, as only Orientals can. “They are going up to the office, too. The old lady thinks I am permanent fixture here, but I shall go away with these straight off—immediately. Mr Lurgan will be proud man. You are offeecially subordinate to me, but I shall embody your name in my verbal report. It is a pity we are not allowed written reports. We Bengalis excel in thee exact science.” He tossed back the key and showed the box empty. “Good. That is good. I was very tired. My Holy One was sick, too. And did he fall into—”