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 Mah-
bub heartily, and climbed into his own stall, growling
in his beard.

But it was Kim who had wakened the lama --
Kim with one eye 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 cho-or -- choor!
(thief! thief!) that sets the serai ablaze of nights;
but he looked more carefully, and hand on amulet,
drew his own conclusions.

'It is the pedigree of that made-up horse-lie,' said
he, 'the thing that I carry to Umballa. Better that
we go now. 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.

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