ight that it would indeed be churlish on my part to refuse to give
you one of mine. Well, listen.

* * * * *

"Know, my friends, that I am a district judge in Delhi, presiding over
that quarter known as the Bara Bazaar, where the merchants most do
congregate. One day some few years ago it befell that I was seated alone
in the hall where I hold my court. It was the afternoon hour, all the
suits of the day had been disposed of, punishment had been meted out to
those who deserved it, justice had been done to rich and poor alike, in
accordance with the orders of our most righteous master Akbar, to whom
be all honour and glory.

"I had taken from my garments my silver betel-nut box, and was leisurely
spreading on a leaf the smear of lime preparatory to enjoying my pan
supari, musing the while on the strange little ironies of life that came
to my knowledge each day in the discharge of my magisterial functions.
All at once a shadow from the open doorway fell across the room. Raising
my eyes, I beheld the tall figure of a man. On meeting my look he bowed
his body, and with both hands outstretched, courteously salaamed me.

"'Protector of the poor, listen to my story,' he said.

"In silence, while I adjusted the fragments of betel-nut on the limed
leaf and rolled up the morsel, I motioned him to a place on the edge of
the carpet whereon I myself sat. For my first glance had shown me that
the stranger was a man of consequence, his garments being rich and his
look that of one accustomed to the exercise of authority.

"He took his seat, and arranged his flowing and finely embroidered robes
around him. I proffered him the pan supari I had prepared, but with a
wave of the hand he declined this courtesy. So I placed the morsel in my
own mouth, fell to its meditative mastication, and awaited the beginning
of his tale.

"'I am a well-to-do traveller, as you would think. O kadi--a pilgrim on
my way to the sacred shrine of Juggernaut, as I profess myself to all
who make inquiry and to whom an answer is due. But I am not what I
appear to be. In reality you behold in me--a thug.'

"The man lowered his voice mysteriously when he pronounced the last
word, bending forward so that I might hear it.

"'And what may be a thug?' I asked, for the name to me was quite a new
one.

"'Listen,' he said eagerly, and still in a low whisper. 'The thugs are
worshippers of Bowani.'

"'There are countless thousands w