"To-night I go out." Coryndon waved his hand. "To-morrow I go out, and
of the third day--I cannot tell. Let it be known to the servant people
that, like all travelling Sahibs, I wish to see the evil of the great
city. I may return with the morning, but it may be that I shall be
late."

"_Inshallah, Huzoor_," murmured Shiraz, bowing his head, "what is the
will of the Master?"

"A rich man is marked among his kind; where he goes the eyes of all men
turn to follow his steps, but the poor man is as a grain of sand in the
dust-storm of a Northern Province. Great are the blessings of the humble
and needy of the earth, for like the wind in its passing, they are
invisible to the eyes of men."

Shiraz made no response; he lowered the green chicks outside the doors
and windows, and opened a small box, battered with age and wear.

"The servant's box is permitted to remain in the room of the Lord
Sahib," he said with a low chuckle. "When asked of my effrontery in this
matter, I reply that the Lord Sahib is ignorant, that he minds not the
dignity of his condition, and behold, it is never touched, though the
leathern box of the Master has been carefully searched by Babu, the
butler of Hartley Sahib, who knows all that lies folded therein."

While he spoke he was busy unwrapping a collection of senah bundles,
which he took out from beneath a roll of dusters and miscellaneous
rubbish, carefully placed on the top. The box had no lock and was merely
fastened with a bit of thick string, tied into a series of cunning
knots.