uld incriminate nobody. And he would go up to Umballa leisurely
and--at a certain risk of exciting fresh suspicion--repeat his tale by
word of mouth to the people concerned.

But R17's report was the kernel of the whole affair, and it would be
distinctly inconvenient if that failed to come to hand. However, God
was great, and Mahbub Ali felt he had done all he could for the time
being. Kim was the one soul in the world who had never told him a lie.
That would have been a fatal blot on Kim's character if Mahbub had not
known that to others, for his own ends or Mahbub's business, Kim could
lie like an Oriental.

Then Mahbub Ali rolled across the serai to the Gate of the Harpies who
paint their eyes and trap the stranger, and was at some pains to call
on the one girl who, he had reason to believe, was a particular friend
of a smooth-faced Kashmiri pundit who had waylaid his simple Balti in
the matter of the telegrams. It was an utterly foolish thing to do;
because they fell to drinking perfumed brandy against the Law of the
Prophet, and Mahbub grew wonderfully drunk, and the gates of his mouth
were loosened, and he pursued the Flower of Delight with the feet of
intoxication till he fell flat among the cushions, where the Flower of
Delight, aided by a smooth-faced Kashmiri pundit, searched him from
head to foot most thoroughly.

About the same hour Kim heard soft feet in Mahbub's deserted stall.
The horse-trader, curiously enough, had left his door unlocked, and his
men were busy celebrating their return to India with a whole sheep of
Mahbub's bounty. A sleek young gentleman from Delhi, armed with a
bunch of keys which the Flower had unshackled from the senseless one's
belt, went through every single box, bundle, mat, and saddle-bag in
Mahbub's possession even more systematically than the Flower and the
pundit were searching the owner.

'And I think.' said the Flower scornfully an hour later, one rounded
elbow on the snoring carcass, 'that he is no more than a pig of an
Afghan horse-dealer, with no thought except women and horses.
Moreover, he may have sent it away by now--if ever there were such a
thing.'

'Nay--in a matter touching Five Kings it would be next his black
heart,' said the pundit. 'Was there nothing?'

The Delhi man laughed and resettled his turban as he entered. 'I
searched between the soles of his slippers as the Flower searched his
clothes. This is not the man but another. I leave little un