“But if you do not take me, I shall be beaten and starve,” the child whined, pitifully. Holmes merely laughed.

“I cannot imagine one such as you starving,” he said. “Give me the lead.”

“Then I shall follow you on the road,” the boy declared. He sounded determined, alarmingly so; Holmes eyed him curiously.

“Why would you do so?”

“Because I had my horoscope cast two days past, and I was told that my path lay with two strangers dressed as Mussalmani.”

I was not certain that I had caught the subtle oddity in his phrasing—not “two Moslems” but “two men dressed as Moslems”—but Holmes’ reaction made it clear that I had heard it correctly. He went very still, his grey eyes probing the child like a pair of scalpels. The boy squirmed, and changed his words.

“I cannot help it, that is what I was told. That there would be two Mussalmani come to buy a donkey, unlike any men I knew from the bazaar. That is all, oah yes.”

Holmes did not believe in the retraction any more than I did. He raised his eyes to mine, consulting; I could only shrug. I did not doubt that the child would follow us, and keeping him close at hand made controlling him, and finding out what he was up to, more likely.

Besides, I was more than happy to have someone else in charge of pack animals and drudgery.

Holmes cast his gaze down at the servant we had just acquired. “And how much will it cost me to have you look after this beast and serve our needs?”

“Oah, next to nothing,” the boy chirped in English, elaborating somewhat more believably, “Five rupees every week.”

Holmes burst into laughter at the effrontery, causing the donkey to snort and tug at the rope. The boy controlled her without a struggle, and said, “Very well then, you will give me my food and drink and whatever small money you think I am worthy of. You see, I am trusting you gentlemen, not to torment and tease a homeless orphan.”

Boy and man gazed at each other for a time. Then Holmes said, “What is your name?”

The urchin wriggled with satisfaction, taking this as it was clearly meant, an acceptance of his proposal. “I am Bindra.”

“Well, Bindraji,” Holmes said, adding a mock honorific, “we are in your hands.”

The deed settled, we dropped our bags into the cart; the boy, after enquiring again as to which road we wished to be on, tugged the donkey into motion and led his small caravan out onto the road.

“Why do I get the idea that the child is going to take us wherever he thinks we should go?” I asked Holmes in a low voice.

“A most determined infant,” he agreed.

“It’s going to be very difficult, not to give ourselves away in front of him.”