Messengers were sent forth to seek the needful instruments, while I
proceeded to cut another Gordian knot.... An acquaintance of mine, hearing
that I was coming to India, suggested that I should take charge of a
parcel for a friend of hers, who wanted to send it to her fiancé in Bombay.
As all the heavy baggage was sent from London to join us at Port Saïd, I
had not seen the "parcel," and, finding no case or box addressed to any
one but myself, I had to select one that seemed most likely to be right,
and forward that.

At last the needful appliances were got and the rifle unpacked; but,
although it proved to be (as I had said) a large-bore Express, the Baboo
refused, like a very Pharaoh, to let it go, and I, after a two-hour
vexatious delay, paid the duty on my own guns, and, leaving a note for the
chief Customs official, explaining the case and begging him to send the
rifle on forthwith, packed myself--hot, hungry, and angry--into a "gharri,"
and set forth to the Devon Place Hotel, whither the rest of the party had
preceded me.

I have gone into this little episode somewhat at length in order to
impress upon the voyager to India the necessity for limiting the number of
firearms or getting a friend to father the extra ones through the
Customs--a perfectly simple matter had one foreseen the difficulty. Also
the danger of taking parcels for friends--of which more anon![1]

The Devon Place Hotel may be the best in Karachi, but it is pretty bad....
I am told that all Indian hotels are bad--still, the breakfast was a
considerable improvement on the _Marie Valerie_, and we sallied forth as
giants refreshed to have a look at Karachi and do a little shopping. It
being Sunday, the banks were closed, but a kindly shopman cashed me a