CHAPTER I The Edge of the Ripple
CHAPTER II Delhi
CHAPTER III A Piece of Coral
CHAPTER IV House of the Swaying Cobra
CHAPTER V Interlude
CHAPTER VI Hsien Sgam
CHAPTER VII The Vermilion Room
CHAPTER VIII "Beyond the Moon"
CHAPTER IX Fever
CHAPTER X Caravan
CHAPTER XI City of the Falcon
CHAPTER XII Lhakang-gompa
CHAPTER XIII Falcon's Nest
CHAPTER XIV Gyangtse
If you go to the Great Bazaar, which lies west of the Old Palace atIndore, you will see him sitting upon a cushion in his alcove-like shop,a very magnificent figure in flowing robes and gold-edged turban.
You will find him busy, whether you visit the bazaar in mid-morning orin the afternoon; or even after sunset, when lamps embroider thelacework of lanes and alleys.
He is an amiable fellow and he will talk for hours—of silks, of jewels(for in those luxuries he deals), or still more eloquently of Peshawar,where the blue peaks of the Hindu Kush let their lips caress the sky asthough it were the cheek of some siren. But mention the barbarian withcorn-colored hair, or the blue-eyed Punjabi, and he will suddenly becomeas uncommunicative as the tongueless fakir who sits before the AnnaChuttra and mutely pleads for alms.
For once, at a time not long past, a mysterious hand reached out ofnowhere and touched him with two equally as mysterious fingers. Thebarbarian with corn-colored hair was one finger, the blue-eyed Punjabithe other. And as swiftly, as inexplicably, as it came, this handwithdrew—but not without leaving its mark upon the memory of MuhafizAli, merchant and loyal servant of the Raj.
For ten years before th