Page:Weird Tales v15n01 1930-01.djvu/54

in the darkness of the railroad yards. Buy why? Why? Billy's dazed mind ran in circles. Something tremendously important it must be to force Sikhandar Khan and his confederate to such a step in Lahore, of all cities. On the road beyond the border—there dead men are a commonplace that excites little or no comment. But here, right under the nose of the police, under the long arm of the British Raj———. A soundless whistle of amazement came from his lips. Meditatively he stared at the lad unrolling Sikhandar Khan's turban from about his head.

"But why, little Friend of All the Stars?" he asked.

The lad flashed him a smile at the endearment.

"I think because of this," and he held out what he had found secreted in the folds of the soiled cloth.

Billy took the foot-long silken rope and fingered it curiously. Silk? Yes—no—was it after all? More attentively he examined it. Silk-like the cord surely was, but no silk such as he had ever seen before. A solid rope, finger-thick, incredibly strong as he found out by tugging on the ends with might and main. But silk! In all the world there was no worm that could spin such a monster thread as this! Artificial? It must be. Yet no! Billy would stake all his knowledge of silk—and that was considerable—that this was no artificial substitute. His mind took another turn as he considered the importance of this thing. No wonder Mahbub Ali had bid him come in haste! No wonder that imperturbable Afghan had been wildly excited! A cordage such as this—why, it was priceless! A fortune for some lucky one, this stuff he held in his grasp! His mind raced on in a maze of speculation as he pictured the upheaval in the industrial world that this new material would produce. For it was new—never had he seen or heard of such a thing! If he could get it for the Kimball lines—he was made! And so was Mahbub Ali!

His face clouded as he remembered. Mahbub Ali was dead. He had perished and the secret of this wonder had perished with him. Had it, indeed? Or had the dastardly Sikhandar Khan and his helper Thug forced from Mahbub the precious secret? Probably not; else they would not be still in Lahore. Had they known, they must assuredly have gone post-haste after it. Or, wait—perhaps they were hiding from the long arm of the police for that cowardly murder. What a way to die! By strangulation with the deadly silken coil thrown about the neck from behind! He died by the silken cord of Thuggee that another might possess his one treasure; another silken cord—but such a cord!

A long time Billy pondered, thinking of ways and means, weighing the evidence pro and con, sitting in rapt meditation, while the little Hindoo lad crouched at his feet like a graven image.

At last Billy saw his way clear, through those peculiar thought-processes that he employed so sucessfully. He rose to his feet.

"Come, my little Prince of Troubles, thou Son of Shaitan," he grinned good-humoredly at the lad. "It is our Kismet—thine and mine. And our star, it is the red one of War." He pointed out the open windows at red Mars lying low in the heavens. "Wilt thou come with me?" he asked banteringly in the vernacular.

"Thou art my father and my mother. Didst thou not save me from Sikhandar Khan when he would have slain me?" asked the Kunjiri lad.

Billy started. He had not expected such plain words as these; such devotion from a mere baby for the slight service he had rendered. As for Sikhandar Khan slaying the lad—nonsense! And yet—child though he was,