ty I had left--of the murder of a
boy. They have both the corpse and the witnesses waiting.'

'But cannot the Government protect?'

'We of the Game are beyond protection. If we die, we die. Our names
are blotted from the book. That is all. At Bandakui, where lives one
of Us, I thought to slip the scent by changing my face, and so made me
a Mahratta. Then I came to Agra, and would have turned back to Chitor
to recover the letter. So sure I was I had slipped them. Therefore I
did not send a tar [telegram] to any one saying where the letter lay.
I wished the credit of it all.'

Kim nodded. He understood that feeling well.

'But at Agra, walking in the streets, a man cried a debt against me,
and approaching with many witnesses, would hale me to the courts then
and there. Oh, they are clever in the South! He recognized me as his
agent for cotton. May he burn in Hell for it!'

'And wast thou?'

'O fool! I was the man they sought for the matter of the letter! I
ran into the Fleshers' Ward and came out by the House of the Jew, who
feared a riot and pushed me forth. I came afoot to Somna Road--I had
only money for my tikkut to Delhi--and there, while I lay in a ditch
with a fever, one sprang out of the bushes and beat me and cut me and
searched me from head to foot. Within earshot of the terain it was!'

'Why did he not slay thee out of hand?'

'They are not so foolish. If I am taken in Delhi at the instance of
lawyers, upon a proven charge of murder, my body is handed over to the
State that desires it. I go back guarded, and then--I die slowly for
an example to the rest of Us. The South is not my country. I run in
circles--like a goat with one eye. I have not eaten for two days. I
am marked'--he touched the filthy bandage on his leg--'so that they
will know me at Delhi.'

'Thou art safe in the te-rain, at least.'

'Live a year at the Great Game and tell me that again! The wires will
be out against me at Delhi, describing every tear and rag upon me.
Twenty--a hundred, if need be--will have seen me slay that boy. And
thou art useless!'

Kim knew enough of native methods of attack not to doubt that the case
would be deadly complete--even to the corpse. The Mahratta twitched
his fingers with pain from time to time. The Kamboh in his corner
glared sullenly; the lama was busy over his beads; and Kim, fumbling
doctor-fashion at the man's neck, thought out his plan between
invocations.

'Hast th