“Who was she?” demanded the official.  “Had anybody seen her before?”

“The maid attending the lady in the next compartment,” said I.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

“Very well.  Guard!  See who is in there!”

The guard wiped blood from his nose and obeyed orders.  We clustered round the steps to hear.

“’Ow many’s in here?” he demanded.

There was no answer.  He tried the door and it opened ’readily.

“’Scuse me, but is there two of you?  I can’t see in the dark.”

“Oh, is that our dinner?” said Lady Saffren Waldon’s Voice.

“No ma’am, not the dinner yet.”

“Why not, pray?”

“There’s folks accusin’ your maid o’ enterin’ the next compartment an’—­an’—­”

“Nonsense!  My maid is here!  You kept us so long waiting for dinner we were both asleep!  Ah!  There’s light at last, thank heaven!”

Two native porters running along the roofs were dropping lamps into the holes appointed for them, and the train that had been a block of darkness hewn out of the night was now a monster, many-eyed.

“They’re both in there, so ’elp me!” the guard reported, retreating backward through the door and leering at us.

There remained nobody, except the still indignant Brown of Lumbwa to levy charges, and the crowd remembered its dinner (not that anything could be expected to grow cold in that temperature).

“The train will start on time!” announced the babu station master, and everybody hurried to the dining-room.  Brown came with us, bewildered.

“How did it happen?” he demanded.  “When did we get here?  Why wasn’t I called for dinner?  How did she get in?  Where did she go to?”

“Oh, come and eat curried cow, it’s lovely!” answered Will.

Fred overtook us at the door, and whispered: 

“Our things have been gone through, but I can’t find that anything’s missing.”

Within the dining-room was new ground for discontent.  The British race and its offshoots wash, but disbelieve with almost unanimity in water as a drink.  Every guest at either table had left at his place a partly emptied glass of beer, or brandy and soda, or whisky.  Each looked for the glass on his return, and found it empty.

“Those Greeks!” exclaimed the Goanese manager, with a fearful air, and shoulders shrugged to disclaim his own responsibility.

Coutlass and the other Greek were sitting at a table with a gorged look, glancing neither to the right nor left, yet not eating.  I looked at the railway official, who had not left his seat.  It struck me he was laughing silently, but he did not look up.  The crowd, after the manner of all crowds, stormed at the Goanese manager.

“What can I do?  What shall I do?” wailed the unhappy little man.  “They are bigger than I!  They were greedy!  They took!”

All those charges were evidently true, and stated mildly.  Coutlass rose to his feet.