‘Why, it’s a boy!’ he said, as he drew his prize under the light of the tent-pole lantern, then shaking him severely cried:  ’What were you doing?  You’re a thief.  Choor?  Mallum?’ His Hindustani was very limited, and the ruffled and disgusted Kim intended to keep to the character laid down for him.  As he recovered his breath he was inventing a beautifully plausible tale of his relations to some scullion, and at the same time keeping a keen eye on and a little under the Chaplain’s left arm-pit.  The chance came; he ducked for the doorway, but a long arm shot out and clutched at his neck, snapping the amulet-string and closing on the amulet.

‘Give it me.  O, give it me.  Is it lost?  Give me the papers.’

The words were in English — the tinny, saw-cut English of the native-bred, and the Chaplain jumped.

‘A scapular,’ said he, opening his hand.  ’No, some sort of heathen charm.  Why — why, do you speak English?  Little boys who steal are beaten.  You know that?’

‘I do not — I did not steal.’  Kim danced in agony like a terrier at a lifted stick.  ’Oh, give it me.  It is my charm.  Do not thieve it from me.’

The Chaplain took no heed, but, going to the tent door, called aloud.  A fattish, clean-shaven man appeared.

‘I want your advice, Father Victor,’ said Bennett.  ’I found this boy in the dark outside the Mess-tent.  Ordinarily, I should have chastised him and let him go, because I believe him to be a thief.  But it seems he talks English, and he attaches some sort of value to a charm round his neck.  I thought perhaps you might help me.’

Between himself and the Roman Catholic Chaplain of the Irish contingent lay, as Bennett believed, an unbridgeable gulf, but it was noticeable that whenever the Church of England dealt with a human problem she was very likely to call in the Church of Rome.  Bennett’s official abhorrence of the Scarlet Woman and all her ways was only equalled by his private respect for Father Victor.

’A thief talking English, is it?  Let’s look at his charm.  No, it’s not a scapular, Bennett.’  He held out his hand.

‘But have we any right to open it?  A sound whipping -’

‘I did not thieve,’ protested Kim.  ’You have hit me kicks all over my body.  Now give me my charm and I will go away.’

‘Not quite so fast.  We’ll look first,’ said Father Victor, leisurely rolling out poor Kimball O’Hara’s ‘ne varietur’ parchment, his clearance-certificate, and Kim’s baptismal certificate.  On this last O’Hara — with some confused idea that he was doing wonders for his son — had scrawled scores of times:  ’Look after the boy.  Please look after the boy’ — signing his name and regimental number in full.

’Powers of Darkness below!” said Father Victor, passing all over to Mr Bennett.  ‘Do you know what these things are?’

‘Yes.’ said Kim.  ‘They are mine, and I want to go away.’