Smith stretched wearily and settled a pillow more comfortably as if preparing for a snooze. The shifty eyes had darted away and the little man busied himself in examining the rush screen in the center window upon his side which is constructed so that water may drip downward and cool the air by evaporation.
Smith observed the sudden interest in something other than himself and read the action once more as not being genuine. Again he closed his eyes and it was impossible to see that they fluttered open just far enough for observation. It was hot and sultry and sleep comes easily and unexpectedly under these conditions. Smith knew this and he knew that his life might depend upon his remaining awake. He might be wrong but his life of adventure had taught him the value of deduction combined with intuition. Previously the man he was hunting had sent natives to kill him. Now he had sent another white man. If Smith could last out long enough the man himself would come and then the battle would be decided once and for all — one way or the other.
The man on the seat opposite soon lost interest in the automatic cooler. He drew a small book from his pocket and settled back as if to read. As the train rattled on along the Madras coast the reader’s eyes glanced over the top of his book at the tall man stretched silently upon the seat. Gradually Smith’s breathing became deeper and more uniform. Once the little man dropped his book but the breathing did not alter. A minute or two afterwards he rose from his seat and took a pace toward Smith, only to sit down again very suddenly as the door of the tiny servants’ compartment opened.
Langa Doonh’s spotless white livery and towering turban were as immaculate on board train as they were when standing behind his master’s chair at a dinner party. It was one of Langa Doonh’s secrets — and he had many since he had entered the service of Smith sahib. Other servants might be dirty when they traveled and none too clean at any time, but Langa Doonh was the servant of Smith sahib who was the greatest sahib in all India — to Langa Doonh.
To all appearances it made no difference whether the little man had sat down leisurely or hurriedly. He might have been a thousand miles away for all the attention he was accorded by the servant who had so suddenly entered the compartment. Silently, with bare feet, he moved about. With a small whisk he cleaned every inch of floor upon his master’s side of the compartment and not an inch did he touch upon the stranger’s side. With mathematical precision he adjusted Smith’s cigarettes, matches and watch which lay upon the small table at his head. This finished he withdrew to his own compartment and closed the door without the slightest sound.
Five minutes followed, during which Smith’s even breathing continued and the stranger read but failed to turn a page of his book. At the end of that time the little man dropped one hand into his side pocket. No longer was he looking at the book, although it was still held in his left hand. His eyes narrowed as they gazed hard at the prostrate man whose steady breathing showed no sign of altering. Little by little the right hand came out of the pocket and with it emerged a black automatic. It was half out when Smith spoke.
“Put it on the seat beside you and be careful not to point the muzzle this way.”
Smith’s eyes were open and over his leg was pointing the barrel of a gun quite as black and formidable as the stranger’s. Quickly the little man obeyed and, dropping his book, sat motionless. There was nothing else to do.
“Sahib call?”
The door of the servants’ compartment stood open and Langa Doonh regarded the scene as if automatic pistols were matters of ordinary occurrence in his life.
“Cigarette aur dyasali Iao,” drawled Smith.
Carefully the boy reached for the cigarettes and matches. Extracting a single cigarette he placed it in the disengaged hand of his master and, lighting a match, applied it to the cigarette when Smith was ready. Not once did he come between the muzzle of his master’s gun and the man opposite. For an instant he hesitated and then returned to his own compartment, closing the door once more.
“Why shouldn’t I clean my pistol?” asked the stranger, who had had time to think a little.
“Because I got mine out first,” snapped Smith. “Pass yours over with the muzzle toward yourself.”
The man shrugged his shoulders and obeyed.
“Stand up, turn your back and grip the rack above your head with both hands,” ordered Smith.
Smith rose and searched the man but found nothing beyond a railroad ticket to Calcutta and a few rupee notes of low denomination. He reached up and took one of the man’s hands off the rack in order to examine a curious turquoise ring. He slipped the ring off the finger but returned it upon finding no initials upon the inside. Shoving the man down into his seat in no gentle manner Smith resumed his reclining position as if the affair had lost interest for him.
“What’s your name?” he queried indifferently.
There was no answer from the stranger, who remained inert and crumpled in the corner of his seat where he had been jammed
“It doesn’t matter,” continued Smith. “Go to your master and tell him that the wholesale stealing of jewels in India for sale to tourists in Ceylon must stop. He knows that I caught his best agent in Ceylon and that his business is already crippled. Tell him that it will only be a matter of time before I catch him and that I may not bother to take him alive since he has sent so many people to put me out of the way.”
“You mean that I am free to go?” asked the little man in surprise.
“Uh-huh,” said Smith.
“When?”
“Now, if you like,” was the careless reply.
Suddenly the eyes of the little man gleamed. Rising, he darted to the door, opened it and stepped out.
The train was crawling up an incline and there was a sandy embankment beside the roadbed. Smith did not even trouble himself to look out.
“Boy!” he called.
“Sahib?” replied the native servant, who had opened his door instantly.
“Darwaza bundo!”
Unconcernedly the native closed the door which the dapper little man had left open when he stepped out. What mattered it to Langa Doonh if his master had seen fit to throw another sahib out of the compartment? It was quite proper for his master to do such a thing but it would be highly improper for him to bother closing the door afterwards so long as he, Langa Doonh, was present.
Alone once more Smith again lay back upon his pillow and reflected upon the situation. Was his course of action best suited to bring out the man he wanted? Would the head of the organization of thieves attempt a personal blow when so many of his agents continued to fail? Did he lack personal courage or was he, perhaps, known to Smith and feared recognition in the event of a failure to kill? These and similar thoughts occupied the mind of the man upon the carriage seat until he was suddenly interrupted in a most unexpected manner.
II
Leaping to his feet Smith pressed an ear against the thin partition which separated his compartment from the one in the rear. Above the noise of the train he had distinctly heard a feminine shriek. Again, with his ear against the wood, he heard the high-pitched agonized call of a woman. The screams changed quickly to a low groaning which could scarcely be distinguished and then only the rattle of the train remained.
For an instant Smith reached for the chain of the emergency alarm but, changing his mind, opened the door and leaned out. It was before the time that the Government did away with the running-boards on account of the number of murders by assassins who crept along the outside of trains and struck through the open windows at those who slept.