Lee flew east. Seven days later he was in Karachi. He scarcely looked at the place, his eyes turning northward toward Baluchistan; eastward toward Lucknow and Delhi. In that direction, the roof of the world was a faint blue haze on the horizon of his imagination. His face was grim and cold. Seven days had changed him. The fanatic rode high, now. The reasonable man was a dim spector lurking uneasily in the background. He changed his money into the coin of the realm and took a train for Delhi. He rode with strange people, scarcely aware of their presence. He discovered that traveling from Karachi to Delhi on the railroad of India was a frustrating and confusing business. He began counting his money carefully; hoarding it; haggling. When he arrived in Delhi, he was a lean, bearded stranger with a fever behind his eyes. But there was a glory in his heart because of a new and sharpened sensitivity. He was alone and friendless and almost without funds, yet he had never before felt so able, so competent. While stalking the streets of Delhi looking for a cheap hotel, he heard a cheerful voice calling his name. He turned. The voice came from a car at the curb. A brand new Ford convertible. Lee spoke casually. "How are you, Mr. Clifford?" The meeting was as strange and illogical as all the other events and incidents of Lee's life had been since he had lain in a New York City gutter. Mr. Clifford smiled warmly. "Mr. Hayden--I'm glad to see you." "A real surprise," Lee said. "How have you been?" "Fine--just fine." "Taking a little trip, I see." "Yes. Getting around a little. Seeing the world." A mad conversation in the light of the questions he had for Mr. Clifford; and the things Mr. Clifford could logically have had to tell him. But a new and exhilarating independence had sprung up in Lee Hayden. He realized he was not the same man Clifford had rescued and drugged in New York. "You really get around," Lee said. "Oh, yes. I have a lot to do." Lee turned away. "See you again sometime." "I hope so--and by the way, there's a man you might like to talk to. I think you'd feel free to ask him questions. Perhaps he'd feel free to answer." "Good--where can I find him?" Mr. Clifford considered for a moment, then said, "I'm going in that direction. Jump in." Lee obeyed, throwing his rucksack in the back seat--the rucksack he'd acquired, along with cash, for his expensive pigskin two-suiter. Mr. Clifford tooled the Ford carefully through the streets and out onto the dusty, country road leading northeast. No word was spoken for many miles; until Lee extended a hand toward the horizon. "Beautiful mountains." "The Himalayas. The roof of the world." "No mountains on earth quite like them." "Rugged, aren't they?--and beautiful." "By the way, how is Daphne?" "In excellent health, I'm sure. I haven't seen her for a long time."