“My father is a great hunter, too,” she said simply, eying wistfully the road taken by Bruce into town.

“What? Herr Gott!  Are you Colonel Hare’s daughter?” exclaimed the captain.

“Yes.”

He seized her by the shoulders.  “Why did you not tell me?  Why, Colonel Hare and I have smoked many a Burma cheroot together on these waters. Herr Gott!  And you never said anything!  What a woman for a man to marry!” he laughed.  “You have sat at my table for five days, and only now I find that you are Hare’s daughter!  And you have a sister. Ach, yes!  He was always taking out some photographs in the smoke-room and showing them to us old chaps.”

Tears filled Kathlyn’s eyes.  In an Indian prison, out of the jurisdiction of the British Raj, and with her two small hands and woman’s mind she must free him!  Always the mysterious packet lay close to her heart, never for a moment was it beyond the reach of her hand.  Her father’s freedom!

The rusty metal sides of the ship scraped against the pier and the gangplank was lowered; and presently the tourists flocked down with variant emotions, to be besieged by fruit sellers, water carriers, cabmen, blind beggars, and maimed, naked little children with curious, insolent black eyes, women with infants straddling their hips, stolid Chinamen; a riot of color and a bewildering babel of tongues.

Kathlyn found a presentable carriage, and with her luggage pressing about her feet directed the driver to the Great Eastern Hotel.

Her white sola-topee (sun helmet) had scarcely disappeared in the crowd when the Hindu of the freight caboose emerged from the steerage, no longer in bedraggled linen trousers and ragged turban, but dressed like a native fop.  He was in no hurry.  Leisurely he followed Kathlyn to the hotel, then proceeded to the railway station.  He had need no longer to watch and worry.  There was nothing left now but to greet her upon her arrival, this golden houri from the verses of Sa’adi.  The two weeks of durance vile among the low castes in the steerage should be amply repaid.  In six days he would be beyond the hand of the meddling British Raj, in his own country.  Sport!  What was more beautiful to watch than cat play?  He was the cat, the tiger cat.  And what would the Colonel Sahib say when he felt the claws?  Beautiful, beautiful, like a pattern woven in an Agra rug.

Kathlyn began her journey at once.  Now that she was on land, moving toward her father, all her vigor returned.  She felt strangely alive, exhilarated.  She knew that she was not going to be afraid of anything hereafter.  To enter the strange country without having her purpose known would be the main difficulty.  Where was Ahmed all this time?  Doubtless in a cell like his master.