hung unfinished on his hands, and when these scores were cleared he
intended to settle down as a more or less virtuous citizen. He had
never passed the serai gate since his arrival two days ago, but had
been ostentatious in sending telegrams to Bombay, where he banked some
of his money; to Delhi, where a sub-partner of his own clan was selling
horses to the agent of a Rajputana state; and to Umballa, where an
Englishman was excitedly demanding the pedigree of a white stallion.
The public letter-writer, who knew English, composed excellent
telegrams, such as: 'Creighton, Laurel Bank, Umballa. Horse is Arabian
as already advised. Sorrowful delayed pedigree which am translating.'
And later to the same address: 'Much sorrowful delay. Will forward
pedigree.' To his sub-partner at Delhi he wired: 'Lutuf Ullah. Have
wired two thousand rupees your credit Luchman Narain's bank--' This was
entirely in the way of trade, but every one of those telegrams was
discussed and rediscussed, by parties who conceived themselves to be
interested, before they went over to the railway station in charge of a
foolish Balti, who allowed all sorts of people to read them on the road.
When, in Mahbub's own picturesque language, he had muddied the wells of
inquiry with the stick of precaution, Kim had dropped on him, sent from
Heaven; and, being as prompt as he was unscrupulous, Mahbub Ali used to
taking all sorts of gusty chances, pressed him into service on the spot.
A wandering lama with a low-caste boy-servant might attract a moment's
interest as they wandered about India, the land of pilgrims; but no one
would suspect them or, what was more to the point, rob.
He called for a new light-ball to his hookah, and considered the case.
If the worst came to the worst, and the boy came to harm, the paper
would incriminate nobody. And he would go up to Umballa leisurely
and--at a certain risk of exciting fresh suspicion--repeat his tale by
word of mouth to the people concerned.
But R17's report was the kernel of the whole affair, and it would be
distinctly inconvenient if that failed to come to hand. However, God
was great, and Mahbub Ali felt he had done all he could for the time
being. Kim was the one soul in the world who had never told him a lie.
That would have been a fatal blot on Kim's character if Mahbub had not
known that to others, for his own ends or Mahbub's business, Kim could
lie like an Oriental.
Then Mahbub Ali rolled across the serai to the Gate of the Harpies who
paint their eyes and trap the stranger, and was at some pains to call
on the one girl who, he had reason to believe, was a particular friend
of a smooth-faced Kashmiri pundit who had waylaid his simple Balti in
the matter of the telegrams. It was an utterly foolish thing to do;
because they fell to drinking perfumed brandy against the Law of the
Prophet, and Mahbub grew wonderfully drunk, and the gates of his mouth
were loosened, and he pursued the Flower of Delight with the feet of
intoxication till he fell flat among the cushions, where the Flower of
Delight, aided by a smooth-faced Kashmiri pundit, searched him from
head to foot most thoroughly.
About the same hour Kim heard soft feet in Mahbub's deserted stall.
The horse-trader, curiously enough, had left his door unlocked, and his
men were busy celebrating their return to India with a whole sheep of
Mahbub's bounty. A sleek young gentleman from Delhi, armed with a
bunch of keys which the Flower had unshackled from the senseless one's
belt, went through every single box, bundle, mat, and saddle-bag in
Mahbub's possession even more systematically than the Flower and the
pundit were searching the owner.
'And I think.' said the Flower scornfully an hour later, one rounded
elbow on the snoring carcass, 'that he is no more than a pig of an
Afghan horse-dealer, with no thought except women and horses.
Moreover, he may have sent it away by now--if ever there were such a
thing.'
'Nay--in a matter touching Five Kings it would be next his black
heart,' said the pundit. 'Was there nothing?'
The Delhi man laughed and resettled his turban as he entered. 'I
searched between the soles of his slippers as the Flower searched his
clothes. This is not the man but another. I leave little unseen.'
'They did not say he was the very man,' said the pundit thoughtfully.
'They said, "Look if he be the man, since our counsels are troubled."'
'That North country is full of horse-dealers as an old coat of lice.
There is Sikandar Khan, Nur Ali Beg, and Farrukh Shah all heads of
kafilas [caravans]--who deal there,' said the Flower.
'They have not yet come in,' said the pundit. 'Thou must ensnare them
later.'
Phew!' said the Flower with deep disgust, rolling Mahbub's head from
her lap. 'I earn my money. Farrukh Shah is a bear, Ali Beg a
swashbuckler, and old Sikandar Khan--yaie! Go! I sleep now. This
swine will not stir till dawn.'
When Mahbub woke, the Flower talked to him severely on the sin of
drunkenness. Asiatics do not wink when they have outmanoeuvred an
enemy, but as Mahbub Ali cleared his throat, tightened his belt, and
staggered forth under the early morning stars, he came very near to it.
'What a colt's trick!' said he to himself. 'As if every girl in
Peshawur did not use it! But 'twas prettily done. Now God He knows
how many more there be upon the Road who have orders to test
me--perhaps with the knife. So it stands that the boy must go to
Umballa--and by rail--for the writing is something urgent. I abide
here, following the Flower and drinking wine as an Afghan coper should.'
He halted at the stall next but one to his own. His men lay there
heavy with sleep. There was no sign of Kim or the lama.
'Up!' He stirred a sleeper. 'Whither went those who lay here last
even--the lama and the boy? Is aught missing?'
'Nay,' grunted the man, 'the old madman rose at second cockcrow saying
he would go to Benares, and the young one led him away.'
'The curse of Allah on all unbelievers!' said Mahbub heartily, and
climbed into his own stall, growling in his beard.
But it was Kim who had wakened the lama--Kim with one eye laid against
a knot-hole in the planking, who had seen the Delhi man's search
through the boxes. This was no common thief that turned over letters,
bills, and saddles--no mere burglar who ran a little knife sideways
into the soles of Mahbub's slippers, or picked the seams of the
saddle-bags so deftly. At first Kim had been minded to give the
alarm--the long-drawn choor--choor! [thief! thief!] that sets the
serai ablaze of nights; but he looked more carefully, and, hand on
amulet, drew his own conclusions.
'It must be the pedigree of that made-up horse-lie,' said he, 'the
thing that I carry to Umballa. Better that we go now. Those who
search bags with knives may presently search bellies with knives.
Surely there is a woman behind this. Hai! Hai! in a whisper to the
light-sleeping old man. 'Come. It is time--time to go to Benares.'
The lama rose obediently, and they passed out of the serai like shadows.
Chapter 2
And whoso will, from Pride released;
Contemning neither creed nor priest,
May feel the Soul of all the East.
About him at Kamakura.
Buddha at Kamakura.
They entered the fort-like railway station, black in the end of night;
the electrics sizzling over the goods-yard where they handle the heavy
Northern grain-traffic.
'This is the work of devils!' said the lama, recoiling from the hollow