He slipped out of the carriage, saying to himself: "I must feign rheumatics and limp a bit!"
In spite of his confidence in his disguise, he could not help glancing furtively round. Nobody, however, seemed to be taking any account of the harmless looking old woman. In fact, there seemed to be some absorbing preoccupation filling the minds of all the bystanders. The new arrivals hung about with an air of trouble on their faces, their bundles deposited by their sides, as they listened open-mouthed to the native porters, who were expatiating volubly on some matter which was evidently of general interest. The Eurasian station-master had a worried air, and, in coming in contact with the supposed ayah, bustled her unceremoniously aside.
The question with Rayner, meanwhile, was not to discover the topic of interest, but how he could proceed to Beypore. This involved some inquiries, and he was timid in his first attempts at personating his fictitious character.
"After all, I'm not an ancient crone but a man of the world," he assured himself, as he limped towards the little shelf behind which a Eurasian boy sold dog-eared, dust-begrimed books and newspapers. He laid his hands on a time-table, and threw down the required anna in payment, then without uttering a word he withdrew to a quiet corner to study it. He found to his disappointment that only by returning to Madras could he entrain for Beypore. To the Central station he must go, that was inevitable, but at what a risk! Ever and anon during his cogitations he had to remind himself that owing to his disguise the chance of discovery was slight. Still, in the familiar precincts of the Madras station, the risk in daylight would be too great to run, besides he had not nerve for it, he decided. He must then perforce linger at Puranapore till after dark, and then take a return train which would fit in with the express for Beypore in the early morning.
To be a whole day in Puranapore was a dismal prospect, but it had to be faced. As an old ayah he could sleep away most of it in the women's third-class waiting-room. He resolved now to secure breakfast, but there were no possibilities for this in the little station. He therefore prepared to make his way out, not without some trepidation, as it was his first real experience of testing his disguise. Addressing the ticket collector who stood at the gate, he explained that he had stepped into the wrong train at Madras, being bound for Beypore, not Puranapore, and was therefore minus a ticket, but had the fare ready in his hand.
The porter replied in a kindly tone in his native tongue.
"What matters the ticket, old mother, on this day—an unlucky day for you to come to our town. We need more the soldiers than an old woman."
Rayner, in a humble voice, asked the reason of this.
"What, you don't know there's fighting and rioting between Hindus and Mahomedans afoot here since last night? It is said they are to be at it again to-night only worse. This is the Mohurrum; but like me, not being caste Hindu, you don't bother about their squabbles."
Rayner assented with a nod.