AMANULLAH

Britain and the son of a water-carrier of the Afghan
hills, was kept to the letter.

" You have my word that he will be allowed to
escape/' Bacha Sachao had said.

" You have our word that he will be returned to
Kandahar," had replied the British Government.

Both were honoured.

So the train ran south through the night. This was
the favoured land through which a King was travel-
ling. This was the land towards which every Afghan,
king and commoner, had at some time or another turned
his eyes. A rich land, prosperous and charitable. How
different from the grim hills I

At the infrequent stops, armed guards tumbled out
with fixed bayonets on the platforms and stood at atten-
tion. Police had shut the stations. The greatest secrecy
surrounded the passage of that tragic train. Every
signal was set in its favour. Every official knew of its
passing, but it was seldom seen.

Six hundred miles to the south, it crept into Lahore
at four o'clock in the morning. The station was shut.
The lights were out. The guards clattered out to their
posts.

But down the end of the train, there could have been
seen a solitary figure opening a carriage door and softly
shutting it as the train moved off.

I lay low and slept the few remaining hours of dark-
ness on the mystery train,

234