"Hmm," he thought, "if she won't be able to see me in Calcutta, where the deuce will she see me?"
Then he turned his attention to the "Daily Indian News," perused the closely-set columns while he finished his meal, and, after breakfast, set out for a stroll. He moved north along Chowringhee, past green-grown gardens, and into a quarter where the streets swam in intense white sunlight and men and women of every caste and color pressed close to the flanks of harnessed beasts. It did not disturb him in the least when a backward glance showed him a pink turban following at a discreet distance; he smiled. When he had filled his pipe, he turned toward the riverfront. He felt rather in the mood for a tramp, so he increased his pace--strode on. He reached the Hoogly Bridge; followed Harrison Road. After an hour of steady walking he of the pink turban showed signs of weakening. Trent, perspiring freely yet not uncomfortable, suddenly plunged into a side street, made a series of turns and came out, eventually, near the Secretariat--without the pink turban. There he encountered the officer he had met in the Howrah Station earlier that morning.
"Hello, Ayrton," was Trent's genial greeting. "Sorry I couldn't speak to you this morning--but too many ears were listening."
"So!" commented the officer, wisely. "You're doing _that_ now!" He shook his head with assumed gravity. "Government's gone mad--madder 'n a March hare!" A laugh. "I suppose you're shadowing Ghandi!"
Trent grinned and made an inconsequential remark.
"End of my life, I daresay," was the gloomy reply.
"You can do me a favor, then"--thus Trent. "I've a uniform I want to rid myself of temporarily; don't object if I send it around for you to keep?... Thanks."
They chatted for a few minutes; then the officer entered one of the buildings facing the square, and Trent returned to his hotel.
He arrived hot and perspiring, and sat down upon the veranda to wait. And before long the pink turban appeared in the street below. Their glances met and Trent motioned to him.
"Why did you follow me?" he demanded, as Tambusami, sweat flowing from every pore of his brown face, salaamed.
Trent thought a moment. Then: "I object to it."
Tambusami smiled broadly. "But, O Presence, it is for your good that I follow--to protect you!"