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I passed through the archway. It was as "dark as the pit". (I don't know what pit may be meant.) The 
alley beyond was somewhat lighter; the sky loomed dull blue-grey above. 
I noticed various doorways in the walls; also one at the end of the alley; I was in a cul-de-sac. And 
then I saw, faint glimpses in the gloom, the waving white of native robes. Men were approaching me 
and I was aware --- through hardly by sight --- that they moved in a semi-military order, in single 
file. There was noting to alarm me in this it is the habit of natives to march thus. And yet I was 
pungently aware that some evil was meant. As it happened, I was dressed in dark clothes and my 
face burnt deep brown. I effaced myself against the wall. 
Three of the men passed me; then they turned. I was surrounded. Strong hands gripped my arms; 
greedy hands sought my pockets. I barked out sharp orders: they should have no doubt that I was a 
sahib. For all answer I saw the pallid gleam of a knife. 
I must really break off to say that I have always found the psychology of this incident enthralling. It 
stands out in my memory in alto-relievo. 
I have never on any other occasion had so much time to think --- I am afraid I express it badly. I 
mean that I was acutely conscious of a few well-marked thoughts, without the usual gradations, 
sub-thoughts, connections and so forth, that make it hard --- in ordinary life --- to discriminate 
between conscious and unconscious thought. 
On this night I was as primitive as an ape. My thoughts stand out stark as stars on a background of 
utter blackness. I had become, as by an enchanter's spell, the primeval caveman. Perhaps the long 
strain and horror of the Kangchenjunga tragedy had prepared me for this sudden outcropping of 
atavism. 
{454} 
However that might be, I remember nothing but these harsh clear thoughts, uninterfered with by 
the usual mental processes. I felt myself a "hum,an leopard"; something in me warned me that --- 
contrary to all common sense and evidence --- I had lured these men. I was, so to say, a Q-ship! I 
remember the resistance of my civilized self to this insane idea; I was an English gentleman, 
attacked without provocation by a band of common robbers. 
I had given the order that they should unhand me; they had disobeyed a sahib; my life was in 
danger. This being the case, I was right to act in selfdefence. I would press the trigger of the 
Webley on which my forefinger had rested since the first glimpse of white robes in the alley. I did 
so. There was a slight click. 
Now, my Webley holds five cartridges; I invariably keep the hammer down on an empty chamber. 
The chamber will only revolve freely when the gun is at half-cock. Therefore, thought I, "with 
omnipotence at my command and eternity at my disposal" I must have been fiddling unconsciously 
with the weapon, set it at half-cock and twiddled the chamber round until the hammer was down, 
not on the empty space, but on the cartridge next to it, so that the gun, in cocking itself under 
trigger-opressure, had dropped the hammer on the void. True; but then, to correct the error, it was 
only necessary to press the trigger a second time. 
I have purposely described these thoughts in detail, to emphasize the fact that my mind was 
working in a more leisurely manner than I had ever known it to do. It is all the more amazing to 
reflect that my whole train of thought, except the final detail, what to do next, was totally 
inaccurate! 
I pressed the trigger again. My arms were held firmly to my sides, but even so I was too 
economically minded to fire through my pocket; I managed to raise the muzzle above the edge. 
A violent explosion followed.