But after other, hotter hours the talking ceased. Then King,
strangely without kicking off his shoes, drew a sheet up over his
shoulders. On the opposite berth Hyde covered his head, to keep
dust out of his hair, and presently King heard him begin to snore
gently. Then, very carefully he adjusted his own position so that
his profile lay outlined in the dim light from the gas lamp in the
roof. He might almost have been waiting to be shaved.

The stuffiness increased to a degree that is sometimes preached
in Christian churches as belonging to a sulphurous sphere beyond
the grave. Yet he did not move a muscle. It was long after midnight
when his vigil was rewarded by a slight sound at the door. From
that instant his eyes were on the watch, under dark of closed lashes;
but his even breathing was that of the seventh stage of sleep that
knows no dreams.

A click of the door-latch heralded the appearance of a hand. With
skill, of the sort that only special training can develop, a man
in native dress insinuated himself into the carriage without making
another sound of any kind. King's ears are part of the equipment
for his exacting business, but he could not hear the door click
shut again.

For about five minutes, while the train swayed head-long into Indian
darkness, the man stood listening and watching King's face. He
stood so near that King recognized him for the one who had accosted
him on Rawal-Pindi platform. And he could see the outline of the
knife-hilt that the man's fingers clutched underneath his shirt.