“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.