CHAPTER XII.
THE CAVE OF BONES The Gray Mahatma stood watching the crowd until the last sweating nondescript had obediently disappeared, and then returned into the temple to dismiss King and me.
"Come with us," King urged him; but he shook his head, looking more lionlike than ever, for in his yellow eyes now there was a blaze as of conquest.
He carried his head like a man who has looked fear in the face and laughed at it.
"I have my assignation to keep," he said quietly.
"You mean with death ?" King asked him, and he nodded.
"Don't be too sure!" King's retort was confident, and his smile was like the surgeon's who proposes to reassure his patient in advance of the operation.

But the Mahatma's mind was set on the end appointed for him, and there was neither grief nor discontent in his voice as he answered.
"There is no such thing as being too sure." "I shall use the telegraph, of course," King assured him.

"If necessary to save your life I shall have you arrested." The Mahatma smiled.
"Have you money ?" he asked pleasantly.
"I shan't need money.

I can send an official telegram." "I meant for your own needs," said the Mahatma.
"I think I know where to borrow a few rupees," King answered.

"They'll trust me for the railway tickets." "Pardon me, my friend.