King of the Khyber Rifles | Page 8

his seat in the silence of unspeakable
scorn. But presently he opened a suitcase and drew out a repeating
pistol which he cocked carefully and stowed beneath his pillow; not at

all a contemptible move, because the Indian railway thief is the most
resourceful specialist in the world. But King took no overt precautions
of any kind.
After more interminable hours night shut down on them, red-hot,
black-dark, mesmerically subdivided into seconds by the thump of
carriage wheels and lit at intervals by showers of sparks from the
gasping engine. The din of Babel rode behind the first-class carriages,
for all the natives in the packed third-class talked all together. (In India,
when one has spent a fortune on a third-class ticket, one proceeds to
enjoy the ride.) The train was a Beast out of Revelation, wallowing in
noise.
But after other, hotter hours the talking ceased. Then King, strangely
without kicking off his shoes, drew a sheet up over his shoulders. On
the opposite berth Hyde covered his head, to keep dust out of his hair,
and presently King heard him begin to snore gently. Then, very
carefully he adjusted his own position so that his profile lay outlined in
the dim light from the gas lamp in the roof. He might almost have been
waiting to be shaved.
The stuffiness increased to a degree that is sometimes preached in
Christian churches as belonging to a sulphurous sphere beyond the
grave. Yet he did not move a muscle. It was long after midnight when
his vigil was rewarded by a slight sound at the door. From that instant
his eyes were on the watch, under dark of closed lashes; but his even
breathing was that of the seventh stage of sleep that knows no dreams.
A click of the door-latch heralded the appearance of a hand. With skill,
of the sort that only special training can develop, a man in native dress
insinuated himself into the carriage without making another sound of
any kind. King's ears are part of the equipment for his exacting
business, but he could not hear the door click shut again.
For about five minutes, while the train swayed head-long into Indian
darkness, the man stood listening and watching King's face. He stood
so near that King recognized him for the one who had accosted him on
Rawal-Pindi platform. And he could see the outline of the knife-hilt

that the man's fingers clutched underneath his shirt.
"He'll either strike first, so as to kill us both and do the looting
afterward--and in that case I think it will be easier to break his neck
than his arm--yes, decidedly his neck; it's long and thin;--or--"
His eyes feigned sleep so successfully that the native turned away at
last.
"Thought so!" He dared open his eyes a mite wider. "He's pukka-- true
to type! Rob first and then kill! Rule number one with his sort, run
when you've stabbed! Not a bad rule either, from their point of view!"
As he watched, the thief drew the sheet back from Hyde's face, with
trained fingers that could have taken spectacles from the victims' nose
without his knowledge. Then as fish glide in and out among the reeds
without touching them, swift and soft and unseen, his fingers searched
Hyde's body. They found nothing. So they dived under the pillow and
brought out the pistol and a gold watch.
After that he began to search the clothes that hung on a hook beside
Hyde's berth. He brought forth papers and a pocketbook--then money.
Money went into one bag--papers and pocketbook into another. And
that was evidence enough as well as risk enough. The knife would be
due in a minute.
King moved in his sleep, rather noisily, and the movement knocked a
book to the floor from the foot of his berth. The noise of that awoke
Hyde, and King pretended to begin to wake, yawning and rolling on his
back (that being much the safest position an unarmed man can take and
much the most awkward for his enemy).
"Thieves!" Hyde yelled at the top of his lungs, groping wildly for his
pistol and not finding it.
King sat up and rubbed his eyes. The native drew the knife, and--
believing himself in command of the situation--hesitated for one
priceless second. He saw his error and darted for the door too late. With

a movement unbelievably swift King was there ahead of him; and with
another movement not so swift, but much more disconcerting, he threw
his sheet as the retiarius used to throw a net in ancient Rome. It
wrapped round the native's head and arms, and the two went together to
the floor in a twisted stranglehold.
In another half-minute the native was groaning, for King had his
knife-wrist