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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 echoing darkness, the glimmer of rails between the masonry
platforms, and the maze of girders above. He stood in a gigantic
stone hall paved, it seemed, with the sheeted dead third-class
passengers who had taken their tickets overnight and were
sleeping in the waiting-rooms. All hours of the twenty-four are
alike to Orientals, and their passenger traffic is regulated
accordingly.

'This is where the fire-carriages come. One stands behind that
hole' - Kim pointed to the ticket-office - 'who will give thee a
paper to take thee to Umballa.'

'But we go to Benares,' he replied petulantly.

'All one. Benares then. Quick: she comes!'

'Take thou the purse.'

The lama, not so well used to trains as he had pretended, started
as the 3.25 a.m. south-bound roared in. The sleepers sprang to
life, and the station filled with clamour and shoutings, cries of
water and sweetmeat vendors, shouts of native policemen, and
shrill yells of women gathering up their baskets, their families,
and their husbands.

'It is the train - only the te-rain. It will not come here.
Wait!' Amazed at the lama's immense simplicity (he had handed
him a small bag full of rupees), Kim asked and paid for a ticket
to Umballa. A sleepy clerk grunted and flung out a ticket to the
next station, just six miles distant.

'Nay,' said Kim, scanning it with a grin. 'This may serve for
farmers, but I live in the city of Lahore. It was cleverly done,
Babu. Now give the ticket to Umballa.'

The Babu scowled and dealt the proper ticket.

'Now another to Amritzar,' said Kim, who had no notion of
spending Mahbub Ali's money on anything so crude as a paid ride
to Umballa. 'The price is so much. The small money in return is
just so much.

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