lking about?"

Ballantyne looked away from the wall to Thresk, his eyes incredulous.

"But you saw!" he insisted, leaning forward over the table.

"What?"

"An arm, a hand thrust in under the tent there, along the ground reaching
out for my box."

"No. There was nothing to see."

"A lean brown arm, I tell you, a hand thin and delicate as a woman's."

"No. You are dreaming," exclaimed Thresk; but dreaming was a euphemism
for the word he meant.

"Dreaming!" repeated Ballantyne with a harsh laugh. "Good God! I wish I
was. Come. Sit down here! We have not too much time." He seated himself
opposite to Thresk and drew the despatch-box towards him. He had regained
enough mastery over himself now to be able to speak in a level voice. No
doubt too his fright had sobered him. But it had him still in its grip,
for when he opened the despatch-box his hand so shook that he could
hardly insert the key in the lock. It was done at last however, and
feeling beneath the loose papers on the surface he drew out from the very
bottom a large sealed envelope. He examined the seals to make sure they
had not been tampered with. Then he tore open the envelope and took out a
photograph, somewhat larger than cabinet size.

"You have heard of Bahadur Salak?" he said.

Thresk started.

"The affair at Umballa, the riots at Benares, the murder in Madras?"

"Exactly."

Ballantyne pushed the photograph into Thresk's hand.

"That's the fellow--the middle one of the group."

Thresk held up the photograph to the light. It represented a group of
nine Hindus seated upon chairs in a garden and arranged in a row facing
the camera. Thresk looked at, the central figure with a keen and
professional interest. Salak was a notorious figure in the Indian
politics of the day--the politics of the subterranean kind. For some
years he had preached and practised sedition with so much subtlety and
skill that though all men were aware that his hand worked the strings of
disorder there was never any convicting evidence against him. In all the
three cases which Thresk had quoted and in many others less well-known
those responsible for order were sure that he had devised the crime,
chosen the moment for its commission and given the order. But up till a
month ago he had slipped through the meshes. A month ago, however, he had
made his mistake.

"Yes. It's a clever face," said Thresk.

Ballantyne nodded his head.

"He's a Mahratta Brahmin from Poona. They