THE POINTING MAN

_A Burmese Mystery_

BY MARJORIE DOUIE

NEW YORKE. P. DUTTON & COMPANY1920

CONTENTS

I

IN WHICH THE DESTINY THAT PLAYS WITH MEN MOVES THE PIECES ON THEBOARD

II

TELLS THE STORY OF A LOSS, AND HOW IT AFFECTED THE REV. FRANCISHEATH

III

INDICATES A STANDPOINT COMMONLY SUPPOSED TO REPRESENT THEPRINCIPLES OF THE JESUIT FATHERS

IV

INTRODUCES THE READER TO MRS. WILDER IN A SECRETIVE MOOD

V

CRAVEN JOICEY, THE BANKER, FINDS THAT HIS MEMORY IS NOT TO BETRUSTED

VI

TELLS HOW ATKINS EXPLAINS FACTS BY PEOPLE AND NOT PEOPLE BYFACTS, AND HOW HARTLEY, HEAD OF THE POLICE, SMELLS THE SCENT OFAPPLE ORCHARDS GROWING IN A FOOL'S PARADISE

VII

FINDS THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH READING GEORGE HERBERT'S POEMS, ANDLEAVES HIM PLEDGED TO A POSSIBLY COMPROMISING SILENCE

VIII

SHOWS HOW THE CLOAK OF DARKNESS OF ONE NIGHT HIDES MANYEMOTIONS, AND MRS. WILDER IS FRANKLY INQUISITIVE

IX

MRS. WILDER IS PRESENTED IN A MELTING MOOD, AND DRAYCOTT WILDERIS FORCED TO RECALL THE LINES COMMENCING "A FOOL THERE WAS"

X

IN WHICH CRAVEN JOICEY IS OVERCOME BY A SUDDEN INDISPOSITION, AND HARTLEY, WITHOUT LOOKING FOR HIM, FINDS THE MAN HE WANTED

XI

SHOWS HOW THE "WHISPER FROM THE DAWN OF LIFE" ENABLES CORYNDONTO TAKE THE DRIFTING THREADS BETWEEN HIS FINGERS

XII

SHOWS HOW A MAN MAY CLIMB A HUNDRED STEPS INTO A PASSIONLESSPEACE, AND RETURN AGAIN TO A WORLD OF SMALL TORMENTS

XIII

PUTS FORWARD THE FACT THAT A SUDDEN FRIENDSHIP NEED NOT BE BASEDUPON A SUDDEN LIKING; AND PASSES THE NIGHT UNTIL DAWN REVEALS ASHAMEFUL SECRET

XIV

TELLS HOW SHIRAZ, THE PUNJABI, ADMITTED THE FRAILTIES OFORDINARY HUMANITY, AND HOW CORYNDON ATTENDED AFTERNOON SERVICE, AND CONSIDERED THE VEXED QUESTION OF TEMPERAMENT

XV

IN WHICH THE FURTHERING OF A STRANGE COMRADESHIP IS CONTINUED, AND A BEGGAR FROM AMRITZAR CRIES IN THE STREETS OF MANGADONE

XVI

IN WHICH LEH SHIN IS BREATHED UPON BY A JOSS AND EXPERIENCES THETERROR OF A MAN WHO TOUCHES THE VEIL BEHIND WHICH THE IMMORTALSDWELL

XVII

TELLS HOW CORYNDON LEARNS FROM THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH WHAT THEREV. FRANCIS HEATH NEVER TOLD HIM

XVIII

THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH UNLOCKS HIS DOOR AND SHOWS WHAT LIESBEHIND

XIX

IN WHICH LEH SHIN WHISPERS A STORY INTO THE EAR OF SHIRAZ, THEPUNJABI; THE BURDEN OF WHICH IS: "HAVE I FOUND THEE, O MINEENEMY?"

XX

CRAVEN JOICEY, THE BANKER, IS FACED BY A MAN WITH A WHIP IN HISHAND, AND CORYNDON FINDS A CLUE

XXI

DEMONSTRATES THE PERSUASIVE POWER OF A KNIFE EDGE, AND TELLS ASTORY OF A GOLD LACQUER BOWL

XXII

IN WHICH CORYNDON HOLDS THE LAST THREAD AND DRAWS IT TIGHT

XXIII

DEMONSTRATES THE TRUTH OF THE AXIOM THAT "THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYSHAPPENS"

XXIV

IN WHICH A WOODEN IMAGE POINTS FOR THE LAST TIME

GLOSSARY

THE POINTING MAN

I

IN WHICH THE DESTINY THAT PLAYS WITH MEN MOVES THE PIECES ON THE BOARD

Dust lay thick along the road that led through the very heart of thenative quarter of Mangadone; dust raised into a misty haze which hung inthe air and actually introduced a light undernote of red into theeffect. Dust, which covered the bare feet of the coolies, the velvetslippers of the Burmese, which encroached everywhere and no oneregarded, for presently, just at sundown, shouting watermen, carryinglarge bamboo vessels with great spouts, would come running along theroad, casting the splashing water on all sides, and reduce the drypowder to temporary mud. 

The main street of the huge bazaar in Mangadone was as busy athoroughfare as any crowded lane of the city of London, and it blazedwith colour and life as the evening air grew cool. There were shopswhere baskets were sold, shops apparently devoted only to the sale ofmirrors, shops where tailors sat on the ground and worked at sewingmachines; sweet stalls, food stalls, cafés, flanked by dusty tubs ofplants and crowded with customers, who reclined on sofas and chairs setright into the street itself. Nearer the river end of the street, theshops were more important, and business offices announced themselves onlarge placards inscribed in English, and in curling Burmese characterslike small worms hooping and arching themselves, and again in thickblack letters which resembled tea leaves formed into the picturesquedesign of Chinese writing, for Mangadone was one of the mostcosmopolitan ports of the East, and stood high in the commercial worldas a place for trade. 

Along the street a motley of colour took itself like a sea of shades andtints. Green, crimson, lemon yellow, lapis-lazuli, royal purple, intermingled with the naked brown bodies of coolies clad only inloin-cloths, for every race and class emerged just before sunset. RichBurmen clad in yards of stiff, rustling silk jostled the lean, spareChinamen and the Madrassis who came to Mangadone to make money out ofthe indolence of the natives of a place who cared to do little but smokeand laugh. Poor Burmen in red and yellow cottons, as content with lifeas their wealthy brethren, loitered and smoked with the littlewhite-coated women with flower-decked heads, and they all flowed on withthe tide and filled the air with a perpetual babel of sound. 

The great, high houses on either side of the street were dilapidated andgaunt, let out for the most part in flats and tenements. Screamingchildren swarmed naked and entirely unconcerned upon every landing, andout on the verandas that gave publicity to the way of life in thenative quarter. Sometimes a rag of curtain covered the entrances to thehouses, but just as often it did not. Women washed the big brass andearthenware pots, cooked the food, and played with the children in thesmoky darkness, or sat to watch the evening show of the street. 

At one corner of the upper end of the street was a curio and china shopowned by a stout and wealthy Burman, Mhtoon Pah. The shop was one of thefeatures of the place, and no globe-trotting tourist could pass throughMangadone without buying a set of tea-cups, a dancing devil, a carpet, or a Burmese gong, from Mhtoon Pah. A strange-looking effigy in tightbreeches, with pointing yellow hands and a smiling yellow face, stoodoutside the shop, eternally asking people in wooden, dumb show, to go inand be robbed by the proprietor. He had stood there and pointed for solong that the green glaze of his coat was sun-blistered, but heinvariably drew the attention of passing tourists, and acted as asign-board. He pointed at a small door up a flight of steps, and behindthe small door was a dark shop, smelling of sandal-wood and cassia, andstrong with the burning fumes of joss-sticks. Innumerable cardboardboxes full of Japanese dolls, full of glass bracelets of all colours, full of ivory figures, and full of amber and jade ornaments, were piledin the shelves. Silver bands, embossed in relief with the history of theGaudama--the Lord Buddha--stood under glass protection, and everythingthat the heart of the touring American or Britisher could desire was tobe had, at a price, in the curio shop of Mhtoon Pah. Umbrellas of allcolours from Bussan; silk from Shantung; carpets from Mirzapore; silverpeacocks, Japanese embroideries, shell-trimmed bags from Shan andCochin, all were there; and the wealth of Mhtoon Pah was great. 

Everybody knew the curio dealer: he had beguiled and swindled each newarrival in Mangadone, and his personality helped to make him a verydefinite figure in the place. He was a large man, his size accentuatedby his full silk petticoat; a man with large feet, large hands and around bullet head, set on a thick neck. He had a few sleek black hairsat the corners of his mouth, and his long, narrow eyes, with thickyellow whites and inky-black pupils, never expressed any emotion. Clothed in strawberry-red silk and a white coat, with a crimson scarfknotted low over his forehead, he was very nearly as strange andwonderful a sight as his own shop of myriad wares, and his manner was atall times the manner of a Grand Duke. Mhtoon Pah was as well known asthe pointing effigy outside, but, whereas the world in the streetbelieved they knew what the wooden man pointed at, no one could evertell what Mhtoon Pah saw, and no one knew except Mhtoon Pah himself. 

All day long Mhtoon Pah sat inside his shop on a low divan and smokedcheroots, and only when a customer was of sufficient importance did heever rise to conduct a sale himself. He was assisted by a thin, eagerboy, a native Christian from Ootacamund, who had followed several tradesbefore he became the shop assistant of Mhtoon Pah. He was usefulbecause he could speak English, and he had been dressing-boy to amarried Sahib who lived in a big house at the end of the Cantonment, therefore he knew something of the ways of Mem-Sahibs; and he had takena prize at the Sunday school, therefore Absalom was a boy of goodcharacter, and was known very nearly as well as Mhtoon Pah himself. 

It was a hot, stifling evening, the evening of July the 29th. The rainshad lashed the country for days, and even the trees that grew in amongthe houses of Paradise Street were fresh and green, though one of thehot, burning breaks of blue sky and glaring sunlight had baked the roadinto Indian-red dust once more, and the interior of Mhtoon Pah's curioshop was heavy with stale scents and dark shadows that crept out as thegloom of evening settled in upon it. Mhtoon Pah moved about looking athis goods, and touching them with careful hands. He hovered over anivory lady carrying an umbrella, and looked long at a white marbleBuddha, who returned his look with an equally inscrutable regard. TheBuddha sat cross-legged, thinking for ever and ever about eternity, andMhtoon Pah moved round in red velvet toe-slippers, pattering lightly ashe went, for in spite of his bulk Mhtoon Pah had an almost soundlesswalk. Having gone over everything and stood to count the silver bowls, he waited as though he was listening, and after a little the light creakof the staircase warned him that steps were coming towards the shop fromthe upper rooms. 

"Absalom, " he called, and the steps hurried, and after a moment's talkto which the boy listened carefully as though receiving directions, hetold him to close the shop and place his chair at the top of the steps, as he desired to sit outside and look at the street. 

When the chair was placed, Mhtoon Pah took up his elevated position andsmoked silently. The toil of the day was over, and he leaned his armalong the back of his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. He couldhear Absalom closing the shop behind him, and he turned his curious, expressionless eyes upon the boy as he passed down the steps and mingledwith the crowd in the street. Just opposite, a story-teller squatted onthe ground in the centre of a group of men who laughed and clapped theirhands, his flashing teeth and quick gesticulations adding to each pointhe made; it was still clear enough to see his alternating expression ofassumed anger or amusement. It was clear enough to notice the colouredscarves and smiling faces of a bullock cart full of girls going slowlyhomewards, and it was clear enough to see and recognize the Rev. FrancisHeath, hurrying at speed between the crowd; clear enough to see the Rev. Francis stop for a moment to wish his old pupil Absalom good evening, and then vanish quickly like a figure flashed on a screen by acinematograph. 

Lights came out in high windows and sounds of bagpipes and beatingtom-toms began inside the open doors of a nautch house. An evil-lookinghouse where green dragons curled up the fretted entrance, and where, overhead, faces peered from a balcony into the street. There was noiseenough there to attract any amount of attention. Smart carriages, withwhite-uniformed _syces_, hurried up, bearing stout, plethoric men fromthe wharf offices, and Mhtoon Pah saluted several of the sahibs, whoreclined in comfort behind fine pairs of trotting horses. 

Their time for passing having gone, and the street relieved of thedisturbance, lamps were carried out and set upon tables and booths, buta few red streaks of evening tinted the sky, and faces that passed werestill recognizable. A bay pony ridden by a lady almost at a gallop cameso fast that she was up the street and round the corner in a twinkling. If Mrs. Wilder was dining out on the night of July 29th she was runningthings close; equally so if she was receiving guests. 

A flare of light from a window opposite fell across the face of thedancing man, who pointed at Mhtoon Pah, and appeared to make him offerhis principal for sale, or introduce him to the street with anindicating finger. The gloom grew, calling out the lights into strength, but the concourse did not thin: it only gathered in numbers, and thelong, moaning hoot of an out-going tramp filled the air as though with awail of sorrow at departure. Lascars in coal-begrimed tunics joined inwith the rest, adding their voices to the babel, and round-hattedsailors from the Royal Indian Marine ships mingled with them. 

All up and down the Mangadone River lights came out. Clear lights alongthe land, and wavering torch-lights in the water. Ships' port-holescleared themselves in the darkness, ships' lights gleamed green and redin high stars up in the crows'-nests, or at the shapeless bulk of darkbows, and white sheets of strong electric clearness lay over one or twolanding-stages where craft was moored alongside and overtime work stillcontinued. Little sampans glided in and out like whispers, and smallboats with crossed oars, rowed by one man, ferried to and fro, but itwas late, and, gradually, all commercial traffic ceased. 

It was quite late now, an hour when European life had withdrawn to theCantonment. It was not an hour for Sahibs on foot to be about, and yetit seemed that there was one who found the night air of July 29th hotand close, and desired to go towards the river for the sake of thebreeze and the fresh air. He, too, like all the others, passed alongParadise Street, passing quickly, as the others had passed, his headbent and his eyes averted from the faces that looked up at him from easychairs, from crowded doorsteps, or that leaned over balconies. He, also, whoever he was, had not Mhtoon Pah's leisure to regard the street, andhe went on with a steady, quick walk which took him out on to the wharf, and from the wharf along a waste place where the tram lines ceased, andaway from there towards a cluster of lights in a house close over thedark river itself. 

The stars came out overhead, and the Southern Cross leaned down; seenfrom the river over the twin towers of the cathedral, seen from thecathedral brooding over the native quarter, seen in Paradise Street notat all, and not in any way missed by the inhabitants, whose eyes werenot upon the stars; seen again in the Cantonment, over the massed treesof the park, and seen remarkably well from the wide veranda of Mrs. Wilder's bungalow, where the guests sat after a long dinner, remarkingupon the heat and oppressiveness of the tropic night. The fire-fliesdanced over the trees like iridescent sparks hung on invisible gauze, and even came into the lighted drawing-room, to sparkle with lessradiance against the plain white walls. Fans whirred round and roundlike large tee-totums set near the ceiling, and even the electric lightappeared to give out heat; no breeze stirred from the far-away river, nocoolness came with the dark, no relief from the brooding, sultry heat. It was no hotter than many nights in any break in the rains, but theguests invited by Mrs. Wilder felt the languor of the air, and felt itmore profoundly because their hostess herself was affected by it. 

Mrs. Wilder was a dark, handsome woman of thirty-five, usually full oflife and animation, and her dinners were known to be entertainments inthe real sense of the word. Draycott Wilder was no mate for her inappearance or manner, but Draycott Wilder was marked by the Powers as asuccessful man. He took very little part in the social side of theirmarried life, and sat in the shadow near the lighted door, listeningwhile his guests talked. The party was in no way different to manyothers, and it would have ended and been forgotten by all concerned ifit had not been for the fact that an unusual occurrence broke it up indismay. Mrs. Wilder complained of the heat during dinner, and she hadbeen pale, looking doubly so in her vivid green dress; her usualanimation had vanished, and she talked with evident effort and seemedglad of the darkness of the veranda. 

Suddenly one of those strange silences fell over everyone, silences thatmay be of a few seconds' duration, but that appear like hours. What theyare connected with, no one can guess. The silence lasted for a second, and it was broken with sudden violence. 

"My God, " said the voice of Hartley, the Head of the Police, speaking intones of alarm. "Mrs. Wilder has fainted!" She had fallen forward in herchair, and he had caught her as she fell. 

Very soon the guests dispersed and the bungalow was still for the night. One or two waited to hear what the doctor had to say, and went awaysatisfied in the knowledge that the heat had been too much for Mrs. Wilder, and, but for that event, the dinner-party would have beenforgotten after two days. Hartley was the last to leave, and the soundof trotting hoofs grew faint along the road. 

By an hour after midnight nearly the whole white population can bepresumed to be asleep; day wakes early in the East, and there are fewwho keep all-night hours, because morning calls men from their beds totheir work, and even this hot, sultry night people lay on their beds andtried to sleep; but in the small bungalow where the Rev. Francis Heathlived with a solitary Sapper officer, the bed that he slept in wassmooth and unstirred by restless tossing inside the mosquito net. 

The Rev. Francis was out, sitting by the bed of a dying parishioner. Hewatched the long hours through, dressed as he had been in the afternoon, in a grey flannel suit, his thin neck too long and too spare for hisall-around collar, and as he watched sometimes and sometimes prayed, hetoo felt the pressure of the night. 

The woman he prayed beside was dying and quite unconscious of hispresence. Now and then, to relieve the strain, he got up and stood bythe window, looking at the lights against the sky and thinking verydefinitely of something that troubled him and drew his lips into atight, thin line. He was a young man of the type described usually as"zealous" and "earnest, " and a light that was almost the light offanaticism shone in his eyes. A dying parishioner was no more of anovelty to Mr. Heath, than one of Mrs. Wilder's dinner-parties was toher guests, and yet the woman on the bed appealed to his pity as fewothers had done in his experience. 

When the doctor came he nodded to the clergyman and just touched thehand on the quilt. He was in evening dress, and he explained that he hadbeen detained owing to his hostess having been taken suddenly ill. 

"Where is Rydal himself?"

He asked the question carelessly, dropping the pulseless wrist. 

"Who can tell?" said the Rev. Francis Heath. 

"He'd better keep out of the way, " continued the doctor. "I believethere's a police warrant out for him. Hartley spoke of it to-night. Shewill be gone before morning, and a good job for her. "

The throbbing hot night wore on, and July the 29th became July the 30th, and Mangadone awoke to a fierce, tearing thunder-storm that boomed andcrashed and wore itself out in torrents of heavy rain. 

II

TELLS THE STORY OF A LOSS, AND HOW IT AFFECTED THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH

Half-way up a low hill rise on the far side of the Mangadone Cantonmentwas the bungalow of Hartley, Head of the Police. It was a tidy, well-kept house, the house of a bachelor who had an eye to thingshimself and who was well served by competent servants. Hartley hadreached the age of forty without having married, and he was solid ofbuild and entirely sensible and practical of mind. He was spoken of as"sound" and "capable, " for it is thus we describe men with a word, andhis mind was adjusted so as to give room for only one idea at a time. Hewas convinced that he was tactful to a fault, nothing had ever shakenhim in this belief, and his personal courage was the courage of theBritish lion. Hartley was popular and on friendly and confidential termswith everybody. 

Mangadone, like most other places in the East, was as full of cliques asa book is of words, but Hartley regarded them not at all. Popularity washis weakness and his strength, and he swam in all waters and was invitedeverywhere. Mrs. Wilder, who knew exactly who to treat with distantcondescension and who to ignore entirely, invariably included him inher intimate dinners, and the Chief Commissioner, also a bachelor, invited him frequently and discussed many topics with him as the winecircled. Even Craven Joicey, the banker, who made very few acquaintancesand fewer intimates, was friendly with Hartley; one of those odd, unlikely friendships that no one understands. 

The week following upon the thunder-storm had been a week of grey skiesover an acid-green world, and even Hartley became conscious that thereis something mournful about a tropical country without a sun in the skyas he sat in his writing-room. It was gloomy there, and the palm treesoutside tossed and swayed, and the low mist wraiths down in the valleyclung and folded like cotton-wool, hiding the town and covering it up tothe very top spires of the cathedral. Hartley was making out a report ona case of dacoity against a Chinaman, but the light in the room was bad, and he pushed back his chair impatiently and shouted to the boy to bringa lamp. 

His tea was set out on a small lacquer table near his chair, and hisfox-terrier watched him with imploring eyes, occasionally voicing hisfeelings in a stifled bark. The boy came in answer to his call, carryingthe lamp in his hands, and put it down near Hartley, who turned up thewick, and fell to his reading again; then, putting the report into alocked drawer, he drew his chair from the writing-table and poured out acup of tea. 

He had every reason to suppose that his day's work was done, and that hecould start off for the Club when his tea was finished. The wind rattledthe palm branches and came in gusts through the veranda, banging doorsand shaking windows, and the evening grew dark early, with thecomfortless darkness of rain overhead, when the wheels of a carriagesounded on the damp, sodden gravel outside. Hartley got up and peeredthrough the curtain that hung across the door. Callers at such an hourupon such a day were not acceptable, and he muttered under his breath, feeling relieved, however, when he saw a fat and heavy figure in Burmeseclothing get out from the _gharry_. 

"If that is anyone to see me on business, say that this is neither theplace nor the hour to come, " he shouted to the boy, and returning to thetea-table, poured out a saucer of milk for the eager terrier, nowdivided between his duties as a dog and his feelings as an animal. 

The boy reappeared after a pause, bearing a message to the effect thatMhtoon Pah begged an immediate interview upon a subject so pressing thatit could not wait. 

Hartley listened to the message, swore under his breath, and lookedsharply at Mhtoon Pah when he came into the room. Usually the curiodealer had a smile and a suave, pleasant manner, but on this occasionall his suavity was gone, and his eyes, usually so inexpressive andsecret, were lighted with a strange, wolfish look of anger and rage thatwas almost suggestive of insanity. 

He bowed before the Head of the Police and began to talk in broken, gasping words, waving his hands as he spoke. His story was confused andrambling, but what he told was to the effect that his boy, Absalom, haddisappeared and could not be found. 

"It was the night of the 29th of July, _Thakin_, and I sent him forthupon a business. Next morning he did not return. It was I who opened theshop, it was I who waited upon customers, and Absalom was not there. "

"What inquiries have you made?"

"All that may be made, _Thakin_. His mother comes crying to my door, hisbrothers have searched everywhere. Ah, that I had the body of the manwho has done this thing, and held him in the sacred tank, to make foodfor the fishes. "

His dark eyes gleamed, and he showed his teeth like a dog. 

"Nonsense, man, " said Hartley, quickly. "You seem to suppose that theboy is dead. What reason have you for imagining that there has been foulplay?"

"_Seem_ to suppose, _Thakin_?" Mhtoon Pah gasped again, like a drowningman. "And yet the _Thakin_ knows the sewer city, the Chinese quarter, the streets where men laugh horribly in the dark. Houses there, _Thakin_, that crawl with yellow men, who are devils, and who split aman as they would split a fowl--" he broke off, and waved his handsabout wildly. 

Hartley felt a little sick; there was something so hideous in the wayMhtoon Pah expressed himself that he recoiled a step and summoned hiscommon sense to his aid. 

"Who saw Absalom last?"

"Many people must have seen him. I sat myself outside the shop at sunsetto watch the street, and had sent Absalom forth upon a business, aprivate business: he was a good boy. Many saw him go out, but no one sawhim return. "

"That is no use, Mhtoon Pah; you must give me some names. Who saw theboy besides yourself?"

Mhtoon Pah opened his mouth twice before any sound came, and he beat hishands together. 

"The Padre Sahib, going in a hurry, spoke a word to him; I saw that withmy eyes. "

"Mr. Heath?"

"Yes, _Thakin_, no other. "

"And besides Mr. Heath, was there anyone else who saw him?"

Mhtoon Pah bowed himself double in his chair and rocked about. 

"The whole street saw him go, but none saw him return, neither willthey. They took Absalom into some dark place, and when his blood ranover the floor, and out under the doors, the Chinamen got their littleknives, the knives that have long tortoise-shell handles, and very sharpedges, and then--"

"For God's sake stop talking like that, " said Hartley, abruptly. "Thereisn't a fragment of evidence to prove that the boy is murdered. I amsorry for you, Mhtoon Pah, but I warn you that if you let yourself thinkof things like that you will be in a lunatic asylum in a week. "

He took out a sheet of paper and made careful notes. The boy had beengone four to five days, and beyond the fact that the Rev. Francis Heathhad seen and spoken to him, no one else was named as having passed alongParadise Street. The clergyman's evidence was worth nothing at all, except to prove that the boy had left Mhtoon Pah's shop at the timementioned, and Mhtoon Pah explained that the "private business" was tobuy a gold lacquer bowl desired by Mrs. Wilder, who had come to the shopa day or two before and given the order. Gold lacquer bowls weredifficult to procure, and he had charged the boy to search for it in themorning and to buy it, if possible, from the opium dealer Leh Shin, whocould be securely trusted to be half-drugged at an early hour. 

"It was the morning I spoke of, _Thakin_, " said the curio dealer, whohad grown calmer. "But Absalom did not return to his home that night. Hemay have gone to Leh Shin; he was a diligent boy, a good boy, alwayseager in the pursuit of his duty and advantage. "

"I am very sorry for you, Mhtoon Pah, " said Hartley again, "and I shallinvestigate the matter. I know Leh Shin, and I consider it quiteunlikely that he has had anything to do with it. "

When Mhtoon Pah rattled away in the yellow _gharry_, Hartley put thenotes on one side. It was a police matter, and he could trust his staffto work the subject up carefully under his supervision, and going to thetelephone, he communicated the principal facts to the head office, mentioning the name of Leh Shin and the story of the gold lacquer bowl, and giving instructions that Leh Shin was to be tactfully interrogated. 

When Hartley hung up the receiver he took his hat and waterproof andwent out into the warm, damp dusk of the evening. There was somethingthat he did not like about the weather. It was heavy, oppressive, stifling, and though there was air in plenty, it was the stale air of aday that seemed never to have got out of bed, but to have lain in aclose room behind the shut windows of Heaven. 

He remembered the boy Absalom well, and could recall his dark, eagerface, bulging eyes and protuberant under-lip, and the idea of his havingbeen decoyed off unto some place of horror haunted him. It was still onhis mind when he walked into the Club veranda and joined a group of menin the bar. Joicey, the banker, was with them, silent, morose, and moodyaccording to his wont, taking no particular notice of anything oranybody. Fitzgibbon, a young Irish barrister-at-law, was talking, andlaughing and doing his best to keep the company amused, but he could getno response out of Joicey. Hartley was received with acclamations suitedto his general reputation for popularity, and he stood talking for alittle, glad to shake off his feeling of depression. When he saw Mr. Heath come in and go up the staircase to an upstairs room, he followedhim with his eyes and decided to take the opportunity to speak to him. 

"What's the matter, Joicey?" he asked, speaking to the banker. "You lookas if you had fever. "

"I'm all right, " Joicey spoke absently. "It's this infernally stuffyweather, and the evenings. "

"I'm glad it's that, " laughed Fitzgibbon, "I thought that it might beme. I'm so broke that even my tea at _Chota haziri_ is getting badlyoverdrawn. "

"Dine with me on Saturday, " suggested Hartley, "I've seen very little ofyou just lately. "

Joicey looked up and nodded. 

"I'll come, " he said, laconically, and Hartley, finishing his drink, went up the staircase. 

The reading-room of the Club was usually empty at that hour, and thegreat tables littered with papers, free to any studious reader. WhenHartley came in, the Rev. Francis Heath had the place entirely tohimself, and was sitting with a copy of the _Saturday Review_ in hishands. He did not hear Hartley come in, and he started as his name wasspoken, and putting down the _Review_, looked at the Head of the Policewith questioning eyes. 

"I've come to talk over something with you, Heath, " Hartley began, drawing a chair close to the table. "Can you remember anything at all ofwhat you were doing on the evening of July the twenty-ninth?"

The Rev. Francis Heath dropped his paper, and stooped to pick it up;certainly he found the evening hot, for his face ran with trickles ofperspiration. 

"July the twenty-ninth?"

"Yes, that's the date. I am particularly anxious to know if you rememberit. "

Mr. Heath wiped his neck with his handkerchief. 

"I held service as usual at five o'clock. "

Hartley looked at him; there was something undeniably strained in theclergyman's eyes and voice. 

"Ah, but what I am after took place later. "

The Rev. Francis Heath moistened his lips and stood up. 

"My memory is constantly at fault, " he said, avoiding Hartley's eyes andlooking at the ground. "I would not like to make any specific statementwithout--without--reference to my note-book. "

Hartley stared in astonishment. 

"This is only a small matter, Heath. I was trying to get round to mypoint in the usual way, by giving no actual indication of what I wantedto know. You see, if you tell a man what you want, he sometimes imaginesthat what he did on another day is what really happened on the actualoccasion, and that, as you can imagine, makes our job very difficult. Idon't want to bother you, but as your name was mentioned to me inconnection with a certain investigation, I wished to test the truth ofmy man's statement. "

Heath stood in the same attitude, his face pale and his eyes steadilylowered. 

"It might be well for you to be more clear, " he said, after a longpause. 

"Did you go down Paradise Street just after sunset?"

"I may have done so. I have several parishioners along the river bank. "

"Why the devil is he talking like this and looking like this?" Hartleyasked himself, impatiently. 

"I'm not a cross-examining counsel, " he said, with some sharpness. "AsI told you before, Heath, it is only a very small matter. "

The Rev. Francis Heath gripped the back of his chair and a slight flushmounted to his face. 

"I resent your questions, Mr. Hartley. What I did or did not do on theevening of July the twenty-ninth can in no way affect you. I entirelyrefuse to be made to answer anything. You have no right to ask me, and Ihave no intention of replying. "

Hartley put his hand out in dismay. 

"Really, Heath, your attitude is quite absurd. I have already told oneman to-day that he was going mad; are you dreaming, man? I only want youto help me, and you talk as if I had accused you of something. There isnothing criminal in being seen in Paradise Street after sundown. "

Mr. Heath stood holding by the back of his chair, looking over Hartley'shead, his dark eyes burning and his face set. 

"Come, then, " said the police officer abruptly, "who did you see? Didyou, for instance, see the Christian boy, Absalom, Mhtoon Pah'sassistant?"

The Rev. Francis Heath made no answer. 

"Did you see him?"

"I will not answer any further questions, but since you ask me, I didsee the boy. "

"Thank you, Heath; that took some getting at. Now will you tell me ifyou saw him again later: I am supposing that you went down the wharf andcame back, shall I say, in an hour's time. Did you see Absalom again?"

The clergyman stared out of the window, and his pause was of suchintensely long duration that when he said the one word, "No, " it felllike the splash of a stone dropped into a deep well. 

Hartley looked at his sleeve-links for quite a long time. 

"Good night, Heath, " he said, getting up, but the Rev. Francis Heathmade no reply. 

Hartley went back to his bungalow with something to think about. He hadalways regarded Heath as a difficult and rather violently religious man. They had never been friends, and he knew that they never could befriends, but he respected the man even without liking him. Now he wasquite convinced that Heath, after some deliberation with his conscience, had lied to him, and it made him angry. He had admitted, with thegreatest reluctance, that he had been through Paradise Street, and seenthe boy, and his declaration that he had not seen him again did not ringwith any real conviction. It made the whole question more interesting, but it made it unpleasant. If things came to light that called theinquiry into court, the Rev. Francis Heath might live to learn that thelaw has a way of obliging men to speak. If Hartley had ever been sure ofanything in his life, he was sure that Heath knew something of Absalom, and knew where he had gone in search of the gold lacquer bowl that wasdesired by Mrs. Wilder. He made up his mind to see Mrs. Wilder and askher about the order for the bowl; but he hardly thought of her, his mindwas full of the mystery that attached itself to the question of theRector of St. Jude's parish, and his fierce and angry refusal to talkreasonably. 

He threw open his windows and sat with the air playing on his face, andhis thoughts circled round and round the central idea. Absalom wasmissing, and the Rev. Francis Heath had behaved in a way that led him tobelieve that he knew a great deal more than he cared to say, and Hartleybrooded over the subject until he grew drowsy and went upstairs to bed. 

III

INDICATES A STANDPOINT COMMONLY SUPPOSED TO REPRESENT THE PRINCIPLES OFTHE JESUIT FATHERS

It was quite early the following morning when Hartley set out to take astroll down Paradise Street, and from there to the Chinese quarter, where Leh Shin had a small shop in a colonnade running east and west. The houses here were very different to the houses in Paradise Street. The fronts were brightened with gilt, and green and red paint daubed theentrances. Almost every third shop was a restaurant, and Hartley did notcare to think of the sort of food that was cooked and eaten within. Immense lanterns, that turned into coloured moons by night, but theywere pale and dim by day, hung on the cross-beams inside the houses. 

Some half-way down the colonnade, and deep in the odorous gloom, LehShin worked at nothing in particular, and sold devils as Mhtoon Pah soldthem, but without the same success. The door of his shop was closed, andHartley rapped upon it several times before he received an answer; thena bolt was shot back, and Leh Shin's long neck stretched itself outtowards the officer. He was a thin, gaunt figure, lean as the Plague, and his spare frame was clad in cheap black stuff that hung around himlike the garments of Death itself. Hartley drew back a step, for thesmell of _napi_ and onions is unpleasant even to the strongest of whitemen, and told Leh Shin to open the door wide as he wished to talk tohim. Leh Shin, with many owlish blinkings of his narrow eyes, askedHartley to come inside. The street was not a good place for talking, andHartley followed him into the shop. 

It was very dark within, and a dim light fell from high skylightwindows, giving the shop something of the suggestion of a well. Countersblocked it, making entrance a matter of single file, and, in the deepgloom at the back, two candles burned before a huge, ferocious-lookingfigure depicted on rice-paper and stuck against the wall. It was hard tobelieve that it was day outside, so heavy was the darkness, and it was afew moments before Hartley's eyes became accustomed to the suddenchange. Second-hand clothes hung on pegs around the room, and all kindsof articles were jumbled together regardless of their nature. On thefloor was a litter of silk and silver goods, boxes, broken portmanteaux, ropes, baskets, and on the counter nearest the door a tiny silver cageof beautiful workmanship inhabited by a tiny golden bird with ruby eyes. 

At the back of the shop and near the yellow circle of light thrown bythe candles, was a boy, naked to the waist, and immensely stout andheavy. His long plait of hair was twisted round and round on his shavenforehead, and he stood perfectly still, watching the officer out ofsmall pig eyes. He was chewing something slowly, turning it about andabout inside a small, narrow slit of a mouth, and his whole expressionwas cunning and evil. Leh Shin followed Hartley's glance and saw theboy, and the sight of him seemed to recall him to actual life, for hespoke in words that sounded like stones knocking together and orderedhim out of the shop. The boy looked at him oddly for a moment; thenturned away, still munching, and lounged out of the room, stopping onthe threshold of a back entrance to take one more look at Hartley. 

As a rule Hartley was not affected by the peculiarities of the people hedealt with, but Leh Shin's assistant impressed him unpleasantly. Everything he did was offensive, and his whole suggestion loathsome. Hartley was still thinking of him when he looked at Leh Shin, who stoodblinking before him, awaiting his words patiently. 

"Now, Leh Shin, I want to ask you a few questions. Do you sell lacquerin this shop?"

The Chinaman indicated that he sold anything that anyone would buy. 

"Do you happen to know that Mhtoon Pah was looking for a bowl of goldlacquer, and that he sent his boy Absalom here to get it?"

Leh Shin shook his head. He was a poor man, and he knew nothing. Moreover, he knew nothing of July the twenty-ninth, he did not countdays. He had not seen the boy Absalom. 

"Let me advise you to be truthful, Leh Shin, " said Hartley. "You may becalled upon to give an account of yourself on the evening and night ofJuly the twenty-ninth. "

Leh Shin looked stolidly at the mildewed clothes and tried to remember, but he failed to be explicit, and the greasy, obese creature, stillchewing, was recalled to assist his master's memory. He spoke in a highchirping voice, and looked at Hartley with angry eyes as he assertedthat his master had been ill upon the evening mentioned and that he hadclosed the shop early, and that he himself had gone to the nautch houseto witness a dance that had lasted until morning. 

"You can prove what you say, I suppose, " said Hartley, speaking to LehShin, "and satisfy me that the boy Absalom was not here, and did notcome here?"

Leh Shin, moved to sudden life, protested that he could prove it, thathe could call half Hong Kong Street to prove it. 

"I don't want Hong Kong Street. I want a creditable witness, " saidHartley, and he turned to go. "So far as I know, you are an honestdealer, Leh Shin, and I am quite ready to believe, if you can help me, that you were ill that night, but I must have a creditable witness. "

When he left the shop, Leh Shin looked at the fat, sodden boy, and theboy returned his look for a moment, but neither of them spoke, and a fewminutes later the door was bolted from within, and they were once morealone in the shadows, with the rags, the broken portmanteaux, the relicsof art, and the animal smell, and Hartley was out in the street. He waspretty secure in the belief that Leh Shin had not seen the boy, and thathe knew nothing of the gold lacquer bowl, but he also believed thatMhtoon Pah had been far too crafty to tell the Chinaman that anyoneparticularly wanted such a treasure of art. Mhtoon Pah, or his emissary, would have priced everything in the shop down to the most maggot-eatenrag before he would have mentioned the subject of lacquer bowls. 

There was no mystery connected with the bowl, but there was somethingsickening about Leh Shin's shop, and something utterly horrible abouthis assistant. Hartley wished he had not seen him, he wished that he hadremained in ignorance of his personality. He thought of him in thesweating darkness he had left, and as he thought he remembered MhtoonPah's wild, extravagant fancies, and they grew real to his mind. 

It was next to impossible to discover what the truth was about LehShin's illness on the night of July the 29th, and it really did not bearvery much upon the matter, unless there was no other clue to what hadbecome of the boy. Hartley returned to other matters and put the case onone side for the moment. On his way back for luncheon he looked in atMhtoon Pah's shop. He had intended to pass, but the sight of the littlewooden man ushering him up the steps made him turn and stop and then goin. Mhtoon Pah sat on his divan in the scented gloom, very different tothe interior of Leh Shin's shop, and when he saw Hartley he struggled tohis feet and demanded news of Absalom. 

"There is none yet, " said Hartley, sitting down. "Now, Mhtoon Pah, areyou quite sure that it was Mr. Heath that you saw that evening?"

"I saw him with these eyes. I saw him pass, and he was going quickly. Iread the walk of men and tell much by it. The Reverend was in a greathurry. Twice did he pull out his watch as he came along the street, andhe pushed through the crowd like a rogue elephant going through a ricecrop. I have seen the Reverend walking before, and he walked slowly, hespoke with the _Babus_ from the Baptist mission, but this day, " MhtoonPah flung his hands to the roof, "shall I forget it? This day he walkedwith speed, and when my little Absalom salaamed before him, he hardlystopped, which is not the habit of the Reverend. "

"Did you see him come back? Mr. Heath, I mean?"

Mhtoon Pah stood and looked curiously at Hartley, and remained in astate of suspended animation for a second. 

"How could I see him come back?" he said, in a flat, expressionlessvoice. "I went to the Pagoda, _Thakin_. I am building a shrine there, and shall thereby acquire much merit. I did not see the Reverend return. Besides, he might not have come by the way of Paradise Street. "

"He might not. "

"It is not known, " said Mhtoon Pah, shaking his head dubiously, and thenrage seemed to flare up in him once more. "It is Leh Shin, theChinaman, " he said, violently. "Let it be known to you, _Thakin_, theyeat strange meats, they hold strange revels. I have heard things--" helowered his voice. "I have been told of how they slay. "

"Then keep the information to yourself, unless you can prove it, " saidHartley, firmly. "I want to hear nothing about it. " He got up and lookedaround the shop. "I suppose you haven't got the lacquer bowl since?"

"No, _Thakin_, I have not got it, neither have I seen Leh Shin, an evilman. The Lady Sahib will have to wait; neither has she been here since, nor asked for the bowl. "

Hartley walked down the steps; he was troubled by the thought, and themore he tried to work out some definite theory that left Mr. Heathoutside the ring that he proposed to draw around his subject, the morehe appeared on the horizon of his mind, always walking quickly andlooking at his watch. 

Through lunch he went over the facts and faced the Heath questionsquarely, considering that if Heath knew that the boy was in trouble, and had connived at his escape, he would be muzzled, but there wasnothing to show that Absalom had ever broken the law. His employer, Mhtoon Pah, was in despair at his disappearance, his record wasblameless, and he had been entrusted with the deal in lacquer to becarried out the following morning. 

Looking for Absalom was like tracing a shadow that has passed along astreet on soundless feet, and Hartley felt an eager determination seizehim to catch up with this flying wraith. 

Still with the same idea in his mind, he drove along the principalroads in his buggy, directing his way towards the bungalow where theRector of St. Jude's lived with Atkins, the Sapper. The house was drapedin climbing and trailing creepers, and the grass grew into the red drivethat curved in a half-circle from one rickety gate to another. He cameup quietly on the soft, wet clay, and looked up at the house before hecalled for the bearer, and as he looked up he saw a face disappearquickly from behind a window. After a few minutes the boy came runningdown a flight of steps from the back, and hurried in to get a tray, which he held out for the customary card. 

"Take that away, " said Hartley, "and tell the Padré Sahib that I mustsee him. "

"The Padré Sahib is out, Sahib. "

The boy still held the tray like a collecting-plate. 

"Out, " said Hartley, "nonsense. Go and tell your master that my businessis important. "

After a moment the boy returned again, the tray still in his hand. 

"Gone out, Sahib, " he said, resolutely, and without waiting for any moreHartley turned the pony's head and drove out slowly. 

Twice in two days Heath had lied, to his certain knowledge, and as heglanced back at the bungalow, a curtain in an upper window movedslightly as though it had been dropped in haste. 

Just as he turned into the road he came face to face with Atkins, Heath's bungalow companion, and he pulled up short. 

"I've been trying to call on the Padré, " he said, carelessly, "but hewas out. "

"Out, " said Atkins, in a tone of surprise. "Why, that is odd. He told mehe was due at a meeting at half-past five, and that he wasn't going outuntil then. I suppose he changed his mind. "

"It looks like it, " said Hartley, dryly. 

"He hasn't been well these last few days, " went on Atkins, quickly, "said he felt the weather, and he certainly seems ill. I don't believethe poor devil sleeps at all. Whenever I wake, I can see his light inthe passage. "

"That is bad, " Hartley's voice grew sympathetic. "Has he been long likethis?"

"Not long, " said Atkins, who was constitutionally accurate. "I think itbegan about the night after the thunder-storm, but I can't say forcertain. "

"Well, I won't keep you. " Hartley touched the pony's quarters with hiswhip. "I'm sorry I missed Heath, as I wanted to see him about somethingrather important. "

"I'll tell him, " said Atkins, cheerfully, "and probably he'll look youup at your own house. "

"Will he, I wonder?" thought the police officer, and he set to work uponthe treadmill of his thoughts again. 

There is nothing in the world so tantalizing, and so hard to bear, asthe conviction that knowledge is just within reach and that it isdeliberately withheld. Heath stood between him and elucidation, and themore firmly the clergyman held his ground, and the more definitely heblocked the path, the more sure Hartley became that he did so of setpurpose. 

"But _why_, _why_?" he asked himself, as he drove through the Cantonmenttowards Mrs. Wilder's bungalow. 

Atkins got off his bicycle and handed it over to his boy as he arrivedat the dreary entrance. 

"The Padré Sahib is out?" he said, in his brisk, matter-of-fact tones. 

"The Padré Sahib is upstairs, " said the boy, with an immovable face; andAtkins went up quickly. 

"Hallo, Heath, I met Hartley just now, and he said you were out. "

Heath looked up from a sheet of paper laid out on the writing-tablebefore him. 

"I did not feel up to seeing Hartley, " he said, a little stiffly. "It isnot a convenient hour for callers, so I availed myself of an excuse. "

"He told me to tell you that it was rather a pressing matter thatbrought him here, and I said that I would give you his message, and thatyou would probably go round to see him. "

"You said that, Atkins?"

His face was so drawn and unnatural that Atkins looked at him insurprise. 

"I suppose I was right?"

"If Hartley wants to see me, " said Heath, in a loud, angry voice, "or ifhe wants to come bullying and blustering, he must write and make anappointment. I have every right to protect myself from a man who askspersonal and most impertinent questions. "

"Hartley, impertinent?" Atkins' eyes grew round. 

"When I say impertinent, I mean not pertinent, or bearing upon anysubject that I intend to discuss with him. "

The Rev. Francis Heath got up and walked towards the window, turning hisback upon the room. 

"I don't mix in social politics, " said Atkins, soothingly. "But at thesame time, I can't understand you, Heath. What the devil does Hartleywant to know?"

The clergyman caught at the curtain and gripped it as he had gripped theback of his chair at the Club. 

"Never ask me that again, Atkins, " he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Never speak to me about this again. "

Atkins retreated quickly from the room; there was something in themanner of the Rev. Francis Heath that he did not like, and he registereda mental vow to let the subject drop, so far as he, a lieutenant in HisMajesty's Royal Engineers, was concerned, and never to allude to it, either for "fear or favour, " again. 

IV

INTRODUCES THE READER TO MRS. WILDER IN A SECRETIVE MOOD

Draycott Wilder was a man who hoarded his passions and concentrated themupon a very few objects. His work came first, and his intense ambition, and after his work, his wife. She was the right sort of wife for a manwho put worldly success first, and through the years of their marriagehad helped him a great deal more than he ever admitted. Clarice Wilderwas beautiful, and had a surface cleverness combined with a natural giftof tact that made her an admirable hostess. She could talk to anybodyand send them away pleased and satisfied with themselves, and she hadmade the best of Draycott for a good number of years. She had marriedhim when marriage seemed a big thing and a wonderful thing, and hercountry home in Devonshire a small, breathless place where nothing everhappened, and where life was one long Sunday at Home, and Draycott, backfrom the East, had appeared as interesting as a white Othello. 

For a time she received all she needed out of life, and she threwherself into her husband's promotion-hunger; understanding it, becauseshe, too, wanted to reign, and it gave her an inexplicable feeling ofrespect for him, for Clarice knew that had she been born a man, she, too, would have worked and schemed and pushed herself out into the frontof the ranks. She combined with him as only an ambitious woman cancombine, and she supplied all he lacked. It filled her mind, and shenever awoke the jealousy that lay like a sleeping python in the heart ofDraycott Wilder. It was when they were in India that Clarice, for thefirst time, lost her grip and allowed her senses to get the better ofher common sense, and she became for a brief time a woman with a verytroublesome heart. Hector Copplestone, a young man newly come to theIndian Civil Service, was sent to their Punjaub station. He made Mrs. Wilder realize her own charm, he made her terribly conscious that shewas older than him, he made her anxious and distracted and madly, idiotically in love with him. She forgot that there were other things inlife, she put aside ambition for a stronger temptation, and she did notcare what Draycott thought or supposed. 

No one ever knew what happened, but everyone guessed that Wilder hadmade trouble. They left India under the same cloud of silence, and theyreappeared in Mangadone to outside eyes the same couple who had pulledtogether for successful years of marriage; and if some whisper, forwhispers carry far in the East, came after them, no one regarded it, andthe Copplestone incident was considered permanently closed. DraycottWilder was the same silent man who was the despair of his dinnerpartners, and Clarice had her old brilliancy and her old way of makingmen pleased with themselves; and though some people, chiefly younggirls, described her as "hard, " she represented a centre of attraction, and her one mad year was a thing of the past. 

Among the men who went to the terraced house in its huge gardens, shealways particularly welcomed Hartley, the Head of the Police. He neverdemanded effort, and he had a good nature and a flow of small talk. Nearly every woman liked Hartley, though very few of them could havesaid why. He had fair, fluffy hair and a pink face; he was just weakenough to be easily influenced, and he fell platonically in love withevery new woman he met without being in the least faithless to theothers. Mrs. Wilder had a corner in her heart for him, and he, inreturn, looked upon Mrs. Wilder as a brilliant and lovely woman verymuch too good for Draycott. He did not know that he took his ideas fromher whenever she wished him to do so; Mrs. Wilder, like a cleverconjurer, palmed her ideas like cards, and upheld the principle of freewill while she did so, and if she had desired to impress Hartley withfifty-two new notions he would have left her positive in his own mindthat they were his own. 

Thus, Clarice Wilder may be classed as that melodramatic type that goesabout labelled "dangerous, " only she had the wit to take off the labeland to advertise herself under the guise of a harmless soothing mixture. 

The bungalow in which the Wilders lived was an immense place, standingover a terraced garden beautifully planted with flowers. Steps, coveredwith white marble, led from terrace to terrace, and down to ajade-green lake where water-lilies blossomed and pink lotus flowersfloated. Dark green trees plumed with shaded purple flowers accentuatedthe massed yellow of the golden laburnums. The topmost flight of stepsled up to the house, and was flanked on either side with variegatedlaurel growing in sea-green pots, and the red avenue, that took itslengthy way from the main road, curved into a wide sweep outside theflower-hung veranda. 

Hartley arrived at the house just as Mrs. Wilder was having tea alone inthe big drawing-room, and she smiled up at him with her curious eyes, that were the colour of granite. Without exactly knowing what her agewas, Hartley felt, somehow, that she looked younger than she was, andthat she did not do so without some aid from "boxes, " but he liked hernone the less for that, and possibly admired her more. He sat down andasked her how she was, and, as he looked at her, he wondered to thinkthat she had ever fainted. Clearly, she was the last woman on earth whocould be accused of Victorian ways, and to see her in her white lacedress, dark, distinguished, and perfectly mistress of her emotions, wasto be bewildered at the memory. She treated the question with scantceremony, and remarked upon the fact that the night had been hot, andthat everyone had felt it. 

"I've got an excellent reason for remembering the date, " said Hartleyreflectively. "By the way, wasn't Absalom, old Mhtoon Pah's assistant, once a dressing-boy or something in your establishment?"

"He was, and then he went sick, and took to this other kind of work. "

"He was quite honest, I suppose?"

"Perfectly honest, " said Mrs. Wilder, with a slight lift of hereyebrows, "and a nice little boy. I hope that question doesn't mean thatyou are professionally interested in his past?" she laughed carelessly. "I am quite prepared to stand up for Absalom; he was the soul ofintegrity. "

Hartley put down his cup on the table. 

"The boy has disappeared, " he said, talking with interest, for thesubject filled his mind. 

"But when, and how? I saw him quite lately. "

Hartley's round, China-blue eyes fixed upon her. 

"Can you tell me when you saw him?"

"One night--evening, I should say--I was out riding and I passed himgoing towards the wharf, not towards the wharf exactly, but to thehouses that lie out by the end of the tram lines. "

"What evening? I wish you could remember for me. "

"It was the night of my own dinner-party. "

"Then that was July the twenty-ninth?"

Mrs. Wilder looked at him, and bit her lip. 

"Was it the twenty-ninth?" Hartley repeated the question. 

"Probably it was, if you say so. I told you just now that I had Burmahead. But where has Absalom gone to?"

Hartley took up his cup again and stirred the spoon round and round. 

"Forgive me for pelting you with questions, but did you see Mr. Heaththat evening?"

"Now, what _are_ you trying to get out of me, Mr. Hartley? Did Mr. Heathtell you that he had seen me?"

Hartley stared at his feet. 

"Heath has got Burma head, too, and won't tell me anything. It mighthelp his memory if you were able to say whether you had seen him or notthat evening. "

Mrs. Wilder's fine eyes glittered into a smile that was not exactlymirthful or pleasant. 

"I don't see that I can possibly say one way or another. I often do. . . I often do see him going about the native quarter when I ridethrough, but I do not write it down in my book, so it is quiteimpossible for me to say. "

"Anyhow, you saw Absalom?"

"Oh, yes, I saw the boy. What a persistent man you are, and you haven'ttold me a word yourself. "

"Absalom was to have got a gold lacquer bowl that you ordered fromMhtoon Pah?"

"Quite correct, " laughed Mrs. Wilder with more of her usual manner. "That old Barabbas has never sent it to me yet, either. I ordered it amonth ago. I love lacquer because it looks like nothing else, andparticularly gold lacquer. "

"Well, all I can tell you is that Absalom had an order from Mhtoon Pahto get the bowl the next morning, if it was to be got, and he went awayas usual the night of the twenty-ninth, and never appeared again. Heathsaw him, and you saw him, and that is pretty nearly all the evidence Ican collect. "

"Evidence?" Mrs. Wilder's voice had a piercing note in it. 

"Yes, evidence. You see the only way to trace a man is to find outexactly who saw him last, and where. "

"Ah, I see. You find out what everyone was doing, and where they were, and you piece the bits in. It's like a jig-saw, and how very interestingit must be. "

Hartley laughed. 

"Not what the other people were doing exactly, but where they were. Itis something to know that you saw the boy, but I wish you could rememberif you saw Heath. "

Mrs. Wilder got up and walked to the window. 

"I do hope he will be found. Did he take my lacquer bowl with him?"

"He had not got it, " said Hartley, in his steady, matter-of-fact voice. 

"Are you _worried_ about it?" She turned and looked across the room. "Why should you be? If Absalom has chosen to leave, I really don't seewhy he shouldn't be allowed to go in peace. "

"I don't know that he did _choose_ to leave; that is just the point. "

He was longing to ask her another question about Heath, and yet he didnot like to press her. 

"Here are some callers, " she remarked, and then, with a short laugh, "Iwonder if they were out and about that evening. If you go on like this, Mr. Hartley, you will make yourself the most popular man in Mangadone. Take my advice and let Absalom come back in his own way. Perhaps he islooking for my bowl. " She turned her head and glanced at some cards thatthe bearer had brought in on a tray. "Show the ladies in, Gulab. "

In a few minutes the room was full of voices and laughter, and Mrs. Wilder became unconscious of Hartley. She remained so unconscious of himthat he felt uncomfortable and began to wonder if he had offended her inany way. He looked at her from time to time, and when he got up to goshe gave him her hand as though she was only just sure that he wasreally there. 

The disappearance of Absalom was taking strange shapes in his mind, andhe had so far come to the conclusion that Heath knew something aboutAbsalom, and his visit to Mrs. Wilder added the puzzling fact to hismental arithmetic that Mrs. Wilder knew something about Heath. It wasone thing to corner Heath, but Heath standing behind Mrs. Wilder'sprotection, became formidable. 

Yet it was not in the Cantonment that Hartley expected to find any clueto the vanished Absalom: it was down in the native quarter. Down therewhere the Chinese eating-houses were beginning to fill, and where thenight life was only just awaking from its slumber of the day, was whereAbsalom, the Christian boy, had last been seen, and it was there, ifanywhere, that he must be searched for and found. 

What possible connection could there be between an upright, Godly manwho went his austere way along the high, cold path of duty, and a womanwhose husband was madly grasping at the biggest prize of his profession?What link could bind life with life, when lives were divided by suchyawning gulfs of space and class and race? To connect Mrs. Wilder withHeath was almost as mad a piece of folly as to connect Absalom with theclergyman, and yet, Hartley argued, he had not set out to do it. Something that had not begun with any act or question of his had broughtabout the junction of the ideas, and he felt like a man in a dark roomtrying to make his way to the window, and meeting with unrecognizableobstacles. 

The small tinkle of the church bell attracted his attention, and, following a sudden whim, he went into the tin building and sat down nearthe door. Mr. Heath did not look down the sparsely-filled church as heread the evening service, and he prayed with an almost violent fervour. Certainly to-night the Rev. Francis Heath was praying as though he wasalone, and the odd imploring misery of his voice struck Hartley. --"Toperceive and know the things that we ought to do, and to have grace andpower faithfully to fulfil the same. "

Heath's voice had broken into a kind of sob, the sound that tells ofstrain and hysteria, but what was there in Mangadone to make arespectable parson strained and hysterical?

V

CRAVEN JOICEY, THE BANKER, FINDS THAT HIS MEMORY IS NOT TO BE TRUSTED

Just as Draycott Wilder stood high in the eyes of the Powers that governthe Civil Service of India, so, too, in his own way, was Craven Joicey, the Banker, a man with a solid reputation. If you build a reputationsolidly for the first half of a lifetime, it will last the latter halfwithout much attention or care, and, contrariwise, a bad beginning isfrequently stronger than any reformation, and stronger than integritythat comes too late. 

Joicey had begun well, and had, as the saying goes, "made his way. " Hewas a large, heavy man, representative in figure and slow and careful ofspeech. He kept the secrets of his bank, and he kept his own secrets, ifhe had any, and was a walking tomb for confidences not known as"tender. " No one would have attempted to tell him their affairs of theheart, but almost anyone with money to invest would go direct to CravenJoicey. He had no wife, no child, and, as far as anyone knew, no kith orkin, and he had no intimate friends. He had one of those strange, shutfaces; a mouth that told nothing, eyes that were nearly asexpressionless as the eyes of Mhtoon Pah, and he had no restlessmovements. A plethoric man, Joicey, a man who got up and sat downheavily, a man who looked at his business and not beyond it, and nevertroubled Society. He probably knew that Heath lived in Mangadone, thatwas if Heath banked with him; otherwise, he might easily not have knownit. 

He knew of the Wilders. He knew what Draycott Wilder owned, and he knewthat Mrs. Wilder had a very small allowance of her own, paid quarterlythrough a Devonshire bank, but more than this he neither knew nor wishedto know of them, and he never went to their house. 

Joicey had not "worn well"; there was no denying that sweating years ofBurmese rains and hot weathers had made him prematurely old. His thickhair was patched with white, and his face was flabby and yellow. CravenJoicey was one of those men, who, if he had died suddenly, would havemade people remember that they always thought him unhealthy-looking. There was nothing, romantic, exciting, or interesting about him; hismind was a huge pass-book, and his brain a network of facts and figures. He played no games, went only seldom to the Club, and knew no one in theplace better than he knew Hartley, which was little, but at any rateHartley dined once or twice in the year with him, and he occasionallydined in return with the Head of the Police. 

Hartley was so occupied with his trouble of mind on the subject ofAbsalom that he very nearly forgot that he had invited Joicey to dinnerthe following Saturday. The police had discovered nothing whatever, andhe had received another visit at his house from the curio dealer. MhtoonPah, in a condition bordering upon frenzy, stated that when he had stoodon his steps in the morning, intending to go to the Pagoda to offer almsto the priests, he had noticed his wooden effigy and gone down to lookcloser at him. The yellow man pointed as was his wont, but over thepointing hand lay a rag soaked in blood. 

Mhtoon Pah, immense and splendid in his silk, had given forth wildnoises as he produced the rag, noises that reminded Hartley irresistiblyof the trumpeting of elephants, but they were terrible to hear. 

"It is enough, " he said, his face quivering. "This is the work of theChinamen. They slit his veins, _Thakin_, they are doing it slowly. The_Thakin_ can understand that Absalom still lives, his blood is fresh andred, it is not dead blood that runs like treacle, it is living bloodthat spouts out hot, and that steams and smokes. _Thakin_, _Thakin_, Icry for vengeance. "

"I'm doing all I can, Mhtoon Pah, " said Hartley, desperately. "I can'tgo and arrest Leh Shin on suspicion, because there isn't a vestige ofsuspicion attached to the man. "

"Not after this?" Mhtoon Pah pointed to the rag that lay loathsomely onthe table. 

"That may be goat's blood, or dog's blood; we can't say it isAbsalom's, " objected Hartley. "Leave the horrid thing there, Mhtoon Pah, and I will have it analysed later on. "

Mhtoon Pah gasped and beat his breast. 

"He was a good boy, he attended the Mission with regularity, and theyare doing terrible things. They wind wires around the finger-nails andthe toe-nails until they turn black and drop off. You do not know theseChinamen, _Thakin_, as I know them. Have you seen the assistant of LehShin?"

Hartley wished that he had not; he frequently wished that he had neverseen that man. 

Mhtoon Pah bent near the Head of the Police and spoke in low, sibilanttones:

"He is a butcher's mate, _Thakin_. He is a slayer of flesh. He kills inthe shambles. Oh, it is true. I saw him slit the mouth of a dog with hisknife for his own mirth--"

"Swine!" said Hartley. 

"Why he left there and went to live with Leh Shin is unknown. He hassecrets. He knows the best mixtures of opium, he knows--"

"I don't want to hear what he knows. "

"He knows where Absalom is. "

"You only think that, " said Hartley, roughly. "It is a dangerous thingto make these assertions. It is only your idea, Mhtoon Pah. "

The Burman groaned aloud and held the rag between his hands. 

"Put that down, " said Hartley. Mhtoon Pah's very agony of desire to findthe boy was almost disgusting, and he turned away from the sight. "Thereis no use your staying here, and no use your coming, unless there ismore of this devil's work, " he pointed to the blood-stained cloth. "Leave the thing here, and I will see what the doctors have to sayabout it. "

"_Thakin_, _Thakin_, " said Mhtoon Pah. "The time grows late. My night'srest is taken from me, and the Chinaman, Leh Shin, walks the roads. Isaw him from my place at sunset. I saw him go by like a cat that prowlswhen night falls and it grows dark. He passed by my wooden image of adancing man, and he touched him as he passed--" he gave a despairinggesture with his heavy hands. "Oh, Absalom, Absalom, my grief is heavy!"

"He will be either found or accounted for, " said Hartley, with adecision and firmness he was far from feeling, and Mhtoon Pah, with benthead, went away out of the room. 

The rain that had held off all day began to come down in pitilesstorrents, blown in by the wind, and fighting against bolts and bars. Itruffled the muddy waters of the river, ran along the kennels of theChinese quarter, drove the inhabitants of Paradise Street indoors andsoused down over the Cantonment gardens, and battered on the travellingcarriage of Craven Joicey, that came along the road, a waterproof overthe pony's back and another covering the _syce_, and Joicey sat insidethe small green box, holding the window-strings under his heavy arms. 

Joicey was not a cheerful companion, and in his present mood Fitzgibbon, the Barrister, would have suited Hartley better; but he had askedJoicey, and Joicey was on his way, thinking about Bank business in allprobability, thinking of money lent out at interest, thinking of carefulledgers and neat rows of figures, and certainly not in the least likelyto be thinking of the Chinese quarter, or of a person of so smallaccount, financially, as Absalom, the Christian native. The river or theships or the back lanes of Mangadone might swallow a thousand Absalomsand make no difference to the Bank, and therefore none to Craven Joicey. 

Absalom, that shadow of the night, had gone to heaven or hell, and leftno bills behind, and it is by bills that some men's memories arerecorded. He was only another grain of red dust blown about by the windof Fate, and though the Rector of St. Jude's might consider that, havingbeen marked by the sign of the Cross, he was in some way different fromthe rest, neither Craven Joicey nor Clarice Wilder could be expected totake very much heed of the fact. 

All stories of disappearance, from time immemorial, have held interest, and everyone has known of some case which has never been explained oraccounted for. Someone who got into a cab and never appeared again, andleft the impression that he had driven over the edge of the world intospace, for the cab, the cab driver, the horse, the vehicle and thepassenger inside were lost from that moment; someone who went for abicycle ride in England, and was found later selling old clothes inChicago; someone who went away by train, someone who went away by boat;the world is full of instances, and they are always tinged with thegreatest mystery of all mysteries, because they foreshadow the ultimatemystery that awaits the soul of man. For this universal reason, itmight be concluded that Joicey might listen with attention to the storyof Absalom, though his lowly station and his total lack of the mostnecessary form of balance, very naturally made him merely a black cypherof no special account in the eyes of a man of figures. 

Certainly Craven Joicey had not worn well. Hartley noticed it as hestood taking off his scarf in the hall, and he noticed it again as theBanker sat sipping a sherry and bitters under the strong light of theelectric lamp. He looked fagged and tired, and though he cheered up alittle as dinner went through, he relapsed into a heavy, silent moodagain, as if he was dragged at by thoughts that had power over him. 

"There is nothing the matter with you, is there, Joicey?" asked hishost. "You don't seem to be up to the mark. "

"What mark?" said Joicey, with a laugh. "Up to your mark, Hartley, or myown mark, or someone else's mark? The average mark in Mangadone is lowwater. There have been a lot of defaulters this year, and even admittingthat the place is rich, there is a good deal more insolvency about thanI like or than the directors care for. It keeps me grinding andgrinding, and wears the nerves. "

"By George, " said Hartley, "I should have said that my own job was aboutthe most nerve-tattering of any. I had an interview with Mhtoon Pah thisafternoon that shook me up a bit. "

"Ah, I heard that his boy has disappeared. "

The door between the dining-and the drawing-room was thrown open, anddinner announced as Joicey spoke, and the conversation took anotherturn. Many things were bothering Joicey--the financial year generally, abig commercial failure, the outlook for the rice crop--and as the mealwore on he grew more dreary, and a pessimism that is part of some men'sminds tinged everything he touched. 

"Did Rydal's disappearance affect you at all, personally?" Hartleyasked, with some show of interest. 

"Not personally, but it cost the Bank close upon a quarter of a lakh. "Joicey drummed his square-topped fingers on the table. "I can't imaginehow he managed to get away. "

Hartley frowned. 

"I had all the landing-stages carefully watched, and the plague policewarned. He must have gone before the warrant was out, that is, if he hasever left the country at all. "

Joicey shrugged his heavy shoulders. 

"In any case, the man's not much use to us, and the money has gone. I'mnot altogether sorry he got away. " His eyes grew full of broodingshadows and he sat silent, still tapping the cloth with his fingers. 

"It's an odd coincidence, " said Hartley, and his face grew keen again. "Mhtoon Pah's boy, Absalom, disappeared that same night. I wish youcould tell me, Joicey, if you saw Heath that evening when you went downParadise Street. It was the same evening that the Bank laid theirinformation against Rydal, the twenty-ninth. "

Joicey had just poured himself out a glass of port, and was raising itto his lips as Hartley spoke, and the hand that held the glass jerkedslightly, splashing a little of the wine on to the front of his whiteshirt. Joicey did not set the glass back on to the table, he held itbetween him and the light, and eyed it, or, rather, it should be saidthat he watched his own hand, and when he saw that it was quite steadyhe set down the wine untasted. 

"Paradise Street? I never go down there. I wasn't in Mangadone thatnight, " his face was dead white with a sick, leprous whiteness. "IfHeath said he saw me, Heath was wrong. "

"Heath didn't say so, " said Hartley. "It was the policeman on duty atthe corner who said that he had seen you. "

"I tell you I wasn't in the place, " said Joicey again. 

Hartley coughed awkwardly. 

"Well, if you weren't there, you weren't there, " he said, pacifically. 

"And Heath, what did Heath say?"

"I told you he said nothing, except that he had seen Absalom. I can'tunderstand this business, Joicey; directly I ask the smallest questionabout that infernal night of July the twenty-ninth I am always met injust the same way. "

"I know nothing about it, " said Joicey, shortly. "I wasn't here and Idon't know what Heath was doing, so there's no use asking me questionsabout him. "

The Banker relapsed into his former dull apathy, and leaned back in hischair. 

"I've had insomnia lately, " he said, after a perceptible pause. "Itplays the deuce with one's nerves. I believe I need a change. Thiscursed country gets into one's bones if one stays out too long. I'veforgotten what England looks like and I've got over the desire to goback there, and so I rot through the rains and the steam and the tepidcold weather, and it isn't doing me any good at all. "

They walked into the drawing-room, Hartley with his hand on Joicey'sshoulder. The Banker sat for a little time making a visible effort totalk easily, but long before his usual hour for leaving he pulled outhis watch and looked at it. 

"It may seem rude to clear off so soon, but I'm tired, Hartley, andshall be much obliged if I may shout for my carriage. "

He looked tired enough to make any excuse of exhaustion or ill-healthquite a valid one, and Hartley was concerned for his friend. 

"Don't overdo it, Joicey, " he said. 

"Overdo what?"

Joicey got up with the heavy lift of an old, weary man, and yet therewas not two years between him and Hartley. 

"The insomnia, " said Hartley. 

"Good night, " replied Joicey shortly, and closed the carriage-doorbehind him. 

He drove along the dark roads, his arms in the window-straps and hishead bent forward. The head of the Mangadone Banking Firm was suffering, if not from insomnia, from something that was heavier than the heaviestnight of sleeplessness, and something that was darker than the darkroad, and something that was deep as the brown waters that carriedoutgoing craft to sea. 

VI

TELLS HOW ATKINS EXPLAINS FACTS BY PEOPLE AND NOT PEOPLE BY FACTS, ANDHOW HARTLEY, HEAD OF THE POLICE, SMELLS THE SCENT OF APPLE ORCHARDSGROWING IN A FOOL'S PARADISE

Social life went its way in Mangadone much as it had before the 29th ofJuly, but Hartley was not allowed to rest and feel comfortable and easyfor very long. Mhtoon Pah waylaid him in the dark when he was ridinghome from the Club, and waited for him for hours in his bungalow. Likehis own shadow, Mhtoon Pah followed him and dogged his comings andgoings, always with the same imploring tale, but never with any furtherevidence. Leh Shin was officially watched, and Leh Shin's assistant wasalso under the paternal eye of authority, but all that authority coulddiscover about him was that he led a gay life, gambled and druggedhimself, hung about evil houses, and had been seen loitering in thevicinity of the curio shop; but, as Paradise Street was an openthoroughfare, he had as much right to be there as any leprous beggar. 

Hartley's peace of mind was soon shattered again, this time by a newelement that Hartley had not thought of, and so he was caught in anothernet without any previous warning. 

Atkins, the rector of St. Jude's bungalow companion, was a dry littleman, adhering to simple facts, and neither a sensationalist nor analarmist; therefore his words had weight. He was a small man, alwaysdressed in clothes a little too small, with his whole mind given up tothe subject of his profession; besides which he was religious, anon-smoker, a teetotaller, and particular upon these points. 

Being but little in the habit of going into Mangadone society, he seldommet Hartley except at the Club, and it was there that he ran him into acorner and asked for a word or two in private. Hartley took him out intothe dim green space where basket chairs were set at intervals, anddrawing two well away from the others, sat down to listen. 

Sweet scents were wafted up on the evening air, and drowsy, dark cloudsfollowed the moonlike heavy wisps of black cotton-wool, drowning thelight from time to time and then clearing off again; and all over thegrass, glimmering groups of men in white clothes and women in trailingskirts filled the air with an indistinct murmur of sound. 

"It is understood at the outset, " began Atkins, clearing his throat witha crowing sound, "that what I have to say is said strictly in a privateand confidential sense. I only say it because I am driven to do so. "

Hartley's basket chair squeaked as he moved, but he said nothing, andAtkins dropped his voice into an intimate tone and went on:

"You came to see Heath one day lately, and I told you he was ill. Well, so he was, but there are illnesses of the mind as well as of the body, and Heath was mind-sick. I am a light sleeper, Hartley. I wake at asound, and twice lately I have been awakened by sounds. "

"The _Durwan_, " suggested Hartley. 

"Not the _Durwan_. If it had been, I would not have spoken to you aboutit. Heath has been visited towards morning by a man, and it was thesound of voices that awoke me. It is no business of mine to pry or totalk, and I would say nothing if it were not that I admire and respectHeath, and I believe that he is in some horrible difficulty, out ofwhich he either will not, or cannot, extricate himself. "

"Who was the man?"

Atkins ignored the question. 

"I admit that I listened, but I overheard almost nothing, except justthe confused sounds of talking in low voices, but I heard Heath say, 'Iwill not endure it, I am bearing too much already. ' I think he spokemore to himself than to the man in his room, but it was a ghastly thingto hear, as he said it. "

"Go on, " said Hartley. "Tell me exactly what happened. "

"I heard the door on to the back veranda open, and I heard the sound offeet go along it--bare feet, mind you, Hartley--and then I went tosleep. That was a week ago. "

"And something of the same nature has occurred since?"

Atkins dried his hands with his handkerchief. 

"I said something to Heath at breakfast about having had a bad night, and he got up at once and left the table. After that nothing happeneduntil last night. I had been out all day, and came home dog-tired. Iturned in early and left Heath reading a theological book in theveranda. I said, I remember, 'I'm absolutely beat, Padré; I have hadenough to-day to give me nine or ten hours without stirring, ' and helooked up and said, 'Don't complain of that, Atkins; there are worsethings than sound sleep. ' It struck me then that he hadn't known what itwas for weeks, he looked so gaunt and thin, and I thought again of thatother night that we had neither of us spoken about. "

"Heath never explained anything?"

"No, I never asked him to. "

"What happened then?" Hartley's voice was hardly above a whisper, and heleaned close to Atkins to listen. 

"I slept for hours, fairly hogged it until it must have been two orthree in the morning, judging by the light, and then I awoke suddenly, the way one wakes when there is some noise that is different to usualnoises, and after a moment or two I heard the sound of voices, and I gotout of bed and went very quietly into the veranda. Heath's lamp wasburning, his room is at the far end from mine, and I stood there, shivering like a leaf out of sheer jumps. I had a regular 'night attack'feeling over me. I heard a chair pushed back, and I heard Heath say in alow voice 'If you come here again, or if you dog me again, I'll hand youover to the police, ' and the man laughed. I can't describe his laugh;it was the most damnable thing I ever listened to, and I thought ofrunning in, but something stopped me, God knows why. 'Take your pay, 'said Heath; I heard him say it, and then I heard the door open again, and the same sound of feet. " He shivered. "They stopped outside my room, and I caught the outline of a head, a huge head and enormous, heavyshoulders, and then he was gone. "

"Why the devil didn't you raise the alarm?" Hartley's voice was angry. "You've got a policeman on the road. Why didn't you shout?"

"Because I was thinking of Heath, " said Atkins a little stiffly. "He isthe man we have both got to think about. Some devil of a native isblackmailing him, and Heath is one of the best and straightest men Iknow. Not one item of all this mystery goes against him in my mind, butwhat I want you to do, is to have the bungalow watched. "

"I shall certainly do that, " said Hartley with decision. "And as foryour opinion of Heath--well, it strikes me as curious that a man of goodcharacter should be a mark for blackmail. "

"I explain facts by people, not people by facts, " said Atkins hotly. "And I have told you--"

"I think it is only fair to say that you have told me something thatlays Heath under suspicion, " said Hartley, slowly. "He behaved veryoddly, lately, when I asked him a simple question, and he chose torefuse to see me when I went to his house. All that was a small matter, but what you tell me now is serious. "

"Serious for Heath, and for that very reason I particularly want himprotected. But as for suspicion, I know the man thoroughly, and that isquite absurd. " Atkins got up and terminated the interview. "It is absurdto talk of suspicion, " he said again, irritably. "I hope you will dropthat attitude, Hartley. If I had imagined for a moment that you werelikely to adopt it, I should have kept my mouth shut. "

He went away, his narrow shoulders humped, and his whole figuretestifying to his annoyance, and Hartley sat alone, watching themoonlight and thinking his own thoughts. He was interrupted by a woman'svoice, and Mrs. Wilder sat down in the chair left vacant by Atkins. 

"What are you pondering about, Mr. Hartley? Are you seeing ghosts ormoon spirits? You certainly give the idea that you are immenselypreoccupied. "

"Do I?" Hartley laughed awkwardly. "Well, as a matter of fact, I was notthinking of anything very pleasant. "

"Can I help?"--her voice was very soft and alluring. 

"No one can, I am afraid. "

She touched his arm with a little intimate gesture, and her eyes shonein the moonlight. 

"How can you say that? If I were in any sort of fix, or in any sort oftrouble, I would ask you to advise me, and to tell me what to do, beforeI would go to anyone else, even Draycott, and why should you leave meoutside your worries?"

"You see, that's just it, they aren't exactly mine. If they were Iwould tell you, but I can't tell you, because what I was thinking aboutwas connected entirely with someone else. "

Mrs. Wilder's eyes narrowed, and she lifted her slightly pointed nose avery little. 

"Ah, now you make me inquisitive, and that is most unfair of you. Don'ttell me anything, Mr. Hartley, except just the name of the personconcerned. I'm very safe, as you know. Could you tell me the name, orwould it be wrong of you?"

"The name won't convey very much to you, " said Hartley, laughing. "I wasthinking of the Padré, Heath. That doesn't give you much clue, does it?"

It was too dark for him to see a look that sprang into Mrs. Wilder'seyes, or perhaps Hartley might have found a considerable disparitybetween her look and her light words. 

"Poor Mr. Heath, he is one of those terribly serious, conscientiouspeople, who go about life making themselves wretched for the good oftheir souls. He ought to have lived in the Middle Ages. I won't ask you_why_ you are thinking about him"--she got up and lingered a little, andHartley rose also--"but you know that you should not think of anyoneunless you want to make others think of them, too; it isn't at all safe. I shall have to think of Mr. Heath all the way home, and he is _such_ agaunt, scraggy kind of thought. "

"I wish I could replace him with myself, " said Hartley, in a burst ofadmiration. 

Mrs. Wilder accepted his compliment graciously and walked across thegrass to the drive, where her car panted almost noiselessly, as is theway of good cars, and he put her in with the manner of a jewellerputting a precious diamond pendant into a case. He watched the cardisappear, and considered that some men are undeservedly lucky in thislife. 

Hartley was nearly forty, that dangerously sentimental age, and he beganto wonder if, by chance, he had met Clarice Wilder years ago in aDevonshire orchard, life might not have been a wonderful thing. Hecalled her a "sweet woman" in his mind, and it was almost a pity thatMrs. Wilder did not know, because her sense of humour was subtle andacute, and she would have thoroughly enjoyed the description of herself. She could read Hartley as quickly as she could read the telegrams in the_Mangadone Times_, and she could play upon him as she played upon herown grand piano. 

She had not asked any questions, and she knew nothing of what Atkins hadsaid about Heath; but her face was set and tense as she drove towardsher bungalow. She was certainly thinking very definitely, quite asdefinitely as Hartley had been thinking as he watched the moonlightplaying hide-and-seek with the shadows of the palm branches and thedarkness of the trees, and her thoughts left no pleasant look upon herface or in her eyes; and yet Hartley, on his way to the bungalow wherehe lived, was thinking of her in a white dress and a shady hat, with afleecy blue and white sky overhead and the scent of apple-blossom in theair. 

The power of romance is strong in adolescence, but it is stronger stillwhen the turnstile of years is reached and there is finality in the air. Hartley was built for platonics; Fate gave him the necessary touch ofthe commonplace that dispels romance and replaces it with a kind ofdeadly domesticity; and yet Hartley was unaware of the fact. 

He had never thought of being "in love" with Mrs. Wilder, partly becausehe felt it would be "no use, " and partly because she had never seemed toexpect it from him, but as he walked along the road he began to findthat her manner had of late altered considerably. She seemed to take aninterest in him, and though she had always been his friend, her newattitude was charged with invisible electricity. 

So far as Mrs. Wilder was concerned, Hartley was to her what a sittinghen would be to a sporting man. You couldn't shoot the confiding thing;but you might wring its neck if necessary, or push it out of the waywith an impatient foot. She knew her power over him to a nicety, and sheknew of his secret desire for "situations, " because her instinct wasnever at fault; but she felt nothing more than contempt, slightlycharged with pity towards him. Hartley was a good-natured, idiotic man, and Hartley had principles; Clarice Wilder had none herself, though shefelt that they were definite factors in any game, but she also believedthat principles were things that could be got over, or got at, by anywoman who knew enough about life to manage such as Hartley. 

All the same, it was not of Hartley that she thought. She had been quitetruthful when she said that he had suggested Heath to her mind, andthat she would have to consider his gaunt face and hollow cheeks duringher drive. 

If he had sat on the vacant seat beside her, the Rev. Francis Heathcould hardly have been more clearly before her eyes, and could hardlyhave drawn her mind more strongly, and it was because of her thought ofhim that she preserved her steady look and strange eyes. 

A strong woman, a woman with character, a woman who once she saw herway, was able to follow it faithfully, wherever it twisted, wherever itwound, and wherever it eventually brought her. No one could picture herflinching or turning back along a road she had set out to follow; if ithad run in blood, she would have gone on in bare feet, not picking hersteps, and yet Hartley dreamed of apple orchards and an Eve in a whitemuslin dress. 

VII

FINDS THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH READING GEORGE HERBERT'S POEMS, AND LEAVESHIM PLEDGED TO A POSSIBLY COMPROMISING SILENCE

The Reverend Francis Heath was sitting in his upstairs room, for of latehe had avoided the veranda. It was the leisure hour of the day, the slowhour when the light wanes and it is too early to call for a lamp; thehour when memory or fear can both be poignant in tropical climates. 

The house was very still, Atkins had gone to the Club and the servantshad all returned to their own quarters. Outside, noises were many. Birds, with ugly, tuneless notes that were not songs but cries, flittedin the trees, and the rumble of traffic on the road came up in theevening air, broken occasionally by the shrill persistence of an exhaustwhistle or the clamour of a motor-horn, and above all other sounds thelong-drawn, occasional hoot from a ship anchored in the river highway. There was noise, and to spare, outside, but within everything was still, except for the chittering of a nest of bats in the eaves, and thesudden, relaxing creak of bamboo chairs, that behave sometimes as thoughghosts sat restlessly in their arms. 

The sunlight that fell into the garden and caught its green, turning itinto flaming emerald, climbed in at Mr. Heath's window, and lay acrosshis writing-table; it touched his shoulder and withdrew a little, touched the lines on his forehead for a moment, touched the open bookbefore him, and fell away, followed by a shadow that grew deeper as itpassed. It faded out of the garden like a memory that cannot be heldback by human striving. The distances turned into shadowy blue, and fromblue to purple, until only a few flecks of golden light across thepearl-silver told that it was gone eternally; that its hour was spent, for good or ill, and that Mangadone had come one evening nearer to theend of measureless Time; but the Rev. Francis Heath did not regard itsgoing. His face was sad with a terrible, tragic sadness that is thesadness of life and not death, and yet it was of death and not of lifethat he thought. A little book of George Herbert's poems lay open beforehim and he had been reading it with a scholar's love of quaintphraseology:

 "I made a posy, while the days ran by; Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band. But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they, By noon, most cunningly did steal away, And wither'd in my hand. "

He read the lines over and over again, and gave a deep, heart-brokensigh, bending his face between his hands, and bowing his shoulders asthough under a heavy weight. His gaunt frame was thin and spare, hisblack alpaca coat hung on it like a sack, and his whole attitude spokeof sorrow. He might have been the presentment of an unwilling ghost, whostood with the Ferryman's farthing under his palm, waiting to be takenacross the cheerless, dark waters to a limbo of drifting souls. He tookhis hands from before his face and clasped them over the book, lookingout of the window to the evening shadows, as if he tried to find peacein the very act of contemplation. 

The sad things he came in daily contact with had conquered his faith inlife, though they had not succeeded in killing his trust in God'seventual plan of redemption; and his mind wandered in terrible places, places he had forced his way into, places he could never forget. Hesuffered from all a reformer's agony, an agony that is the smallreflection of the great story of the mystic burden heavy as the sins ofthe whole world, and he tried, out of the simple, childlike fancy of thewords he read, to grasp at a better mind. 

Heath was one of those men who could not understand effortless faith; hewas crushed by his own lack of success, and bowed down by his ownfailure. Since he could not rout the enemy single-handed, he believedthat the battle was against the Hosts of the Lord. He knew no leisurefrom the war of his own thoughts, and as he clasped his hands, his facegrew tense and set, and his eyes haggard and terrible. For a moment hesat very still, and his eyes followed the lines written by a man who hadthe faith of a little child:

 "But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they, By noon, most cunningly did steal away. "

Heath had never gathered flowers, either as a lesson to himself or agift for others; they hardly spoke of careless beauty to him, they wereemblems of lightness and thoughtlessness, and Heath had no time to stopand consider the lilies of the field. 

He moved suddenly like a man who is awakened from a thought heavier thansleep, and listened with a hunted look, the look of a man who is afraidof footsteps; he stood up, gathering his loose limbs together andwatching the door. Steps came up the staircase, steps that stumbled alittle, and if Heath had possessed Mhtoon Pah's art of reading the walkof his fellow creatures, he would have known that he might expect awoman and not a man. 

"Mr. Heath, " a low voice called in the passage, and Heath's tensionrelaxed, giving place to surprise. 

The voice was strange to him, and he passed his handkerchief over hisface and walked to the door, just as his name was called again, in thesame low, penetrating voice. 

"Who wants me?" he asked, almost roughly, and then he saw a tall, darkwoman standing at the top of the staircase. 

"Mrs. Wilder, " he said in surprise, and she made a little imperiousmovement with her hand. 

"I did not call your servant, I came up, because I wanted to find youalone. You are alone?"

"Certainly, I am alone. "

"May I come in?"

Heath held the door open for her to pass, and she walked in, lookingaround the darkening room with hard, curious eyes. 

She took the chair he gave her, in silence, and sat down near thewriting-table, and, feeling that she would speak after a time, Heathtook his own place again and waited. 

"I hardly know where to begin, " she said, always speaking in the samelow, intent voice. "Do you recall the evening of the twenty-ninth?"

An odd spasm caught Heath's face, and he paused for a moment before heanswered. 

"I do recall it. "

"Perhaps you remember seeing me? I was riding along the road when Ifirst passed you, and you were walking. "

"I remember that I did pass you then, and also that I saw you later. "

Heath's sombre eyes were on her face, and his fingers touched a goldcross that hung from his watch-chain. 

"You passed me, and you passed Absalom, the Christian boy, and you havebeen questioned about Absalom. "

"I have, " he said heavily. "Why do you ask?"

Mrs. Wilder took a quick breath. 

"Because I am afraid that you may be asked again. You understand, Mr. Heath, that I know it was the merest chance that brought you there thatevening, but, as you were there, and as Mr. Hartley has got it into hishead that you know something more than you have told him, I beg of youto bear in mind that if you mention my name you may get me into serioustrouble. You would not do that willingly, I think?"

"I certainly would not. What motive took you there is a question foryour own conscience. It is not for me to press that question, Mrs. Wilder. "

She pressed her lips together tightly. 

"I went there to see an old friend who was in great trouble. "

"And yet you have to keep it secret?"

"Haven't we all our secrets, Mr. Heath?" Her voice was raised a little. "Will you pledge me your solemn word to keep this knowledge from anyonewho asks?" She put her elbows on the table and drew closer to him. 

"I will respect your confidence, " he said slowly. "But is it likely thatHartley will ask me?"

Mrs. Wilder made a gesture of denial. 

"I _think_ not, but who can tell? This thing has been like lead on mymind and will not let me rest. Oh, Mr. Heath, if you knew what I havealready paid, you would be sorry for me. "

"I am sorry, " he said gently. "More sorry for you than you can tell. You, too, saw Absalom, and spoke to him?"

"He has nothing to do with what I came here about, "--her tone grewimpatient. "I only wanted to make sure that I was safe with you. It wasno little thing that drove me to come. I am a proud woman, Mr. Heath, and I do not usually ask favours, yet I ask you now--"

"Not a favour, " he said, taking her up quickly. "God knows I have everyreason to help you if I can. Does Hartley suspect you? Does he questionyou? Does he try to wring admissions out of you?"

In the darkness Heath's voice rang hard and, metallic, like the voice ofa man whose thoughts return upon something that maddens him. 

"He has not done so, but he has asked me questions that made mefrightened. It is a terrible thing to be afraid. "

"And Joicey?" said Heath in a quiet voice. "I saw Joicey, but he did notstop to speak to me. Has he, too, been interrogated?"

"So far as I know, he has not. But this question presses only on me. What took you there is, I feel sure, easily accounted for, and what tookMr. Joicey there is not likely to be a matter of the smallestimportance; it is _I_ who suffer, it is on me that all this weight lies. If the police begin investigations they come close upon the fact that Iwent there to meet a man whom my husband has forbidden me to meet. Anylittle turn of evidence that involves me, any little accident thatobliges me to admit it, and I am lost, "--her voice thrilled and pleaded. 

"It is you who are lost, " he echoed dully. "I can understand how youfeel. If I can ease your burden or lessen the anxiety you suffer from, you may depend upon me, Mrs. Wilder. This matter is a dark road where I, too, walk blind, not knowing the path I follow, but, at least, I cangive you my word that under no circumstances shall I be led to mentionyour name. You can be sure of that, Mrs. Wilder. If I can add yourtrouble to my own burden I shall not feel its weight, but I wouldcounsel you to be honest with your husband. Tell him the truth. "

"I will, " said Mrs. Wilder, with an acquiescence that came too quickly. "I assure you that I will, but even when I do, you see what a positionthe least publicity places me in?"

Heath got up and paced the floor with long, restless strides. 

"Publicity. The open avowal of a hidden thing; the knowledge that thewhole world judges and condemns, and does not understand. "

"That is what I feel. "

After all, he was more human than she had expected. Clarice Wilder hadlooked upon the Rev. Francis as a hermit, an ascetic, whosecomprehension was limited; and her eyes grew keen as she watched hisgaunt figure. 

"To be dragged down, to be accused, to be cast so low, " he continued, inhis sad, heavy voice, "so low that the lowest have cause to deride andto scorn. " He stopped before her. "Is it true that I can save you fromthat?"

"It is true. "

She did not tell him that she had lied to Draycott; it did not appearnecessary; neither did she tell him that Draycott's memory was long andsure and unerring. 

"Then, if there is one man in all God's universe, "--Heath cast out hisarms as he spoke--"one man above all others whom you could appeal to, could trust most entirely, that man is myself. Give me your burden, yourdistress of mind, and I will take them; I cannot say more--"

"Of course, it may never be necessary for you to--to avoid telling Mr. Hartley, " broke in Mrs. Wilder quickly. Heath was getting on her nerves, and she rose to her feet. "I cannot thank you sufficiently, and I fearthat I have upset you, made you feel my own cares too profoundly, "--hervoice grew almost tender. "I have never known such ready sympathy, butyou feel too intensely, Mr. Heath. You make my little trouble your own, and you have made me very grateful. Are you in any trouble yourself?"

Heath stopped for a moment, an outline against the light of the window. She thought he was going to speak, and she waited with an odd feeling ofexcitement to hear what was coming, when he suddenly retired back intohis usual manner. 

A light was travelling up the staircase, casting great shadows beforeit, and when the boy came to the door of the Padré Sahib's room, he sawhis master saying good-bye to a tall, dark lady who smiled at him andgave him her hand. 

"Good night, Mr. Heath, I hardly know how to thank you sufficiently. "

She hurried down the staircase, and as she walked out, she met Atkinscoming in on his bicycle. He jumped off as he saw her, and spoke insurprise. 

"I have just been calling on the Padré, " replied Mrs. Wilder pleasantly, as he commented with ever-ready tactlessness upon her presence in theCompound. "One of my servants is ill; a member of his community. By theway, do you think that Mr. Heath is quite well himself?"

"Indeed I do not think so. He overworks. I have a great admiration forHeath. "

"He must be rather depressing in the rains, " she said, with a carelesslaugh. "He positively gave me the shivers. I can hardly envy you boxedup there with him. I believe he sees ghosts, and I think they must behorrid ghosts or he couldn't look as he does. "

Her car was waiting down the road, and Atkins walked beside her and sawher get in. Mrs. Wilder was very charming to him; she leaned out andsmiled at him again. 

"Do take care of the Padré, " she called as she drove off. 

"There goes a sensible, good-looking woman, " thought Atkins, and hethought highly of Mrs. Wilder for her visit to Heath. He said so to theRector of St. Jude's as they dined together, remarking on the fact thatvery few women bothered about sick servants, and he was surprised at thecold lack of enthusiasm with which Heath accepted his remark. 

"That was what she said?"

"Yes, and I call it unusual in a country where servants are treated likemachines. I've never known Mrs. Wilder very well, but she is aninteresting woman; don't you think so, Heath?"

"I don't know, " said Heath absently. "I never form definite opinionsabout people on a slight knowledge of them. "

Atkins felt snubbed, but he only laughed good-naturedly, and Heathrelapsed into silence. 

Mrs. Wilder was dining out that night, and she looked so superblyhandsome and so defiantly well that everyone remarked upon her; and evenDraycott Wilder, who might have been supposed to be used to her beautyand her wit, watched her with his slow, following look. Hartley was notat the dinner-party, but afterwards echoes of its success reached him, and a description of Mrs. Wilder herself that thrilled his romanticsense as he listened. 

Hartley was worried about the Padré, and he had warned the policeman towatch the Compound at night; but all the watching in the world did notexplain the cause of these visits. There was a connection somewhere andsomehow between Heath and the missing Absalom, and Hartley wondered ifhe could venture to speak to Mrs. Wilder again about the night of the29th of July, and implore her to let him know if she had seen Heath withAbsalom. 

It seemed, judging by what Atkins had heard, that Heath was paying forsilence, and Hartley disliked the idea of working up evidence againstthe Padré. The more he thought of it the less he liked it, and yet hisduty and his sense of responsibility would not let him rest. Mrs. Wilderhad said that she had seen Heath and Absalom, and had then refused tosay anything more, but Hartley saw in her reserve a suggestion offurther knowledge that could not be ignored or denied. 

Mhtoon Pah was quieter for the moment. He believed that Leh Shin wasbeing cautiously tracked, and the pointing image had held no furthertraces of bloodshed upon his yellow hands. Hartley had grown to loathethe grinning figure, and to loathe the whole tedious, difficult tragedyof the lost boy. If it had lain in the native quarter he could havefound interest in the excitement of the chase, but if it ramified intothe Cantonment, Hartley had no mind for it. He was a man first, asociable, kindly man, and, later, an officer of the law. 

VIII

SHOWS HOW THE CLOAK OF DARKNESS OF ONE NIGHT HIDES MANY EMOTIONS, ANDMRS. WILDER IS FRANKLY INQUISITIVE

Darkness brooded everywhere, but the gloom of night is a darkness thatis impenetrable only to our eyes because we creatures of the hard glareof daylight cannot see in the strange clearness that brings out thestars. Only in the houses of men real darkness has its habitation. Underclose roofs, confined within walls, shut into rooms, and lurking incorners: there, darkness may be found, and because man made it, it hasits own special terror, as have all the creatures of man's hand. Dark, menacing and noiseless, the shadows flock in as daylight wanes, filingup like heavy thoughts and sad thoughts, and casting a gloom with theircoming that is not the blackness of earth's restful night. 

Mrs. Wilder paced her room with the steps of a woman whose heart drivessleep out with scorpion-whips of memory; and she went softly, for soundtravels far at night, and Draycott Wilder, in the next room, was a lightsleeper. She was thinking steadily, and she was trying to force her willacross the distance into the stronghold of Hartley's innerconsciousness. 

Night brought no more rest to Mrs. Draycott Wilder than it did to CravenJoicey, the Banker, but Joicey did not sit in the dark. Madness lies inthe dark for some minds, and he had turned on the electric light, thatshowed his face yellow and weary. On the wall the lizards, awakened bythe sudden glare, resumed their fly-catching, and scuttled with a dry, scurrying sound over the walls, breaking the silence with a perpetual"chuck-chuck" as they chased each other. Joicey looked as though he wasdreaming evil dreams, and nothing of his surroundings was real to him. The room became another room, the tables and chairs grew indistinct, theface of a small _Gaudama_ on the mantel-piece became a living face thatmenaced him, and the "chuck-chuck" of the lizards, the rattle of dicefalling on to a board at some remote distance miles and miles away, andyet strangely audible to his dull ears. Still he sat there, and flashesof fancies came and went. Sometimes he stood in an English garden, witha far-away sunlit glimpse of glittering waters, and a cuckoo crying in awood of waving trees, and then he knew that he was a boy, and that hehad forgotten everything that had happened since; and then, withoutwarning, he was swept out of the garden and stood under Eastern trees, lost in a wild place, with the haunting face of the image at hisshoulder. The face altered. Sometimes it was Mhtoon Pah's pointing man, and what he pointed at was never clear. The mistiness bothered himhorribly. 

The _Durwan_ outside played on a wistful little flute, thinking that hismaster was asleep; he heard it, and it did not concern him; he was deadto all outward things just then, and the flute only added to the mysteryof the dream that spun itself in his brain. He wandered in a place sonear actual things and yet so far from them, that the gigantic mistakeof it all, and the consciousness that the inner life could at timesconquer the outer life, made him fall away between the two conditions, lost and helpless. His head nodded forward, and his lower lip dropped, and yet his eyes were open, as he sat facing the small squatting Buddha, whose changeless face changed only for him. 

The three little flute-notes tripped out after each other with nosemblance at a tune, repeating and reiterating the sound in the darkoutside, and Joicey listened as though something of weight depended uponhis hearing steadily. The sound was the one thing that made him knowthat he was real, and once it ceased, or he ceased to hear it, he wouldbe across the gulf and terribly lost; a mind without a body, let loosein a world where there were no landmarks, no known roads, nothing butwindy space, and he was afraid of that place, and feared terribly to gothere. 

Something shuffled on the stone veranda, another sound, and sound was ofvalue to Craven Joicey, since it made a vital note in the circlingnumbness around him. He could hear whispering voices, and the thump ofthe _Durwan's_ stick, as that musically-minded man walked round to theback of the house, where his lighted window showed that Craven Joiceydid not sleep. Again a voice whispered, and a low sound of discreetknocking followed. 

Joicey sprang up and called out hoarsely:

"Who is it?"

"Sahib, Sahib"--the _Durwan's_ whine was apologetic. "Is the Sahibawake?"

"Who wants me?"

"Leh Shin, the Chinaman. "

Joicey wiped his face with his handkerchief and pulled open the doorwith a violent movement. 

"Come in, " he said, trying to speak naturally. "What is it, Leh Shin?"

The Chinaman held a tweed hat in his hand and stole into the room like ashadow. 

"What now, Leh Shin?"

Joicey spoke in Yunnanese with the fluency of long habit, and eventhough he was angry he kept his voice low as though he feared to beoverheard. 

"The Master of Masters will speak for me, " said the Chinaman, standingbefore him. "All day the police stand near to my house, and at nightthey do not leave it. At one word from the Master, whose speech isconstructed of gold and precious metals, they can be withdrawn, and forthat word I wait--" He made a quick gesture with his tweed cap. 

"You will gain nothing by coming to my house, you swine, " said Joicey, his eyes staring and his veins standing out on his forehead. "I will seewhat Mr. Hartley will do, but if you drag in my name or refer him to meyou will do yourself no good, do you hear? No good. "

Leh Shin watched him passively and waited until he had finished. 

"I will swear the oath, " he said, blinking his eyes. "I will not speakthe name of the Master, but my doors are locked, my house is a house forthe water-rats, and until the big Lord frees me I am a poor man. "

Joicey sat down heavily on a low chair. 

"It shall be stopped, " he said desperately. "I will see that there is nomore of this police supervision; you may take my word for it. "

The Chinaman stood still, moving one foot to the other. 

"In dreams the Master has spoken these promises to me before. Can I besure that it is not in a dream that the Master speaks again?"

"I am awake, " said Joicey, bitterly. "Mr. Hartley is looking for theboy, and if the boy were found, all search would stop, "--he eyed theChinaman carefully, but the mask-like face did not change. 

"And the little boy? Perhaps, Ruler and King, the little boy is gonedead. "

"You ask me _that_, you devil?"

"It is for the servant to ask, " said Leh Shin, dropping his lids for asecond. 

"Now, get out, " said Joicey, between his clenched teeth. "And if youcome here to me again, at night, I'll kill you. "

"The Great One will not do that, " said Leh Shin, placidly. "Myassistant waits for me. It would be known as fire is known when theforest is dry. To-morrow or next day, if the police are gone, my littlehouse will be open again. " He spoke the words with deep emphasis. 

"Get out, " said Joicey, turning away his head. 

Leh Shin looked at him with a sudden, oblique glance like the flash of aknife. 

"Speak no more, Lord of men and elephants; the _Durwan_ is now outsidethe door, and he listens. "

"Good-night, " said Joicey loudly, and he clicked off the light and wentto bed. 

If the darkness was close in the large houses of the Cantonment, it wasshut into the very essence of itself in the curio shop in ParadiseStreet. It hid the carved devils from one another, it obliterated thestone monsters that no one ever bought, and which had grown to belong tothe shop itself; it dropped its black veil over the green dragons, andthe china ladies, and the silver bowls and the little ivories, hidingeverything out of sight; but it did not hide the figure outside in thestreet. The little man, with his pointed headdress and short jacket, hadthe clear darkness all to himself. He was just as polite by night as hewas by day, and he bowed and ushered imaginary buyers up the stone stepswith the same perpetual civility, and the same unceasing smile, thatbagged out his varnished cheeks into joviality. 

Dark as it was inside the shop, it must have been darker along therat-burrows of stairs, and the loft-like rooms near the roof, but eitherup above or down below, the scent of cassia and sandal-wood clungeverywhere inside the curio shop, smelling strongest around the glasscases and bales of delicate silks. 

Mhtoon Pah's _Durwan_ slept across the doorway, and was therefore theonly object for the attention of the little man, and likewise, therefore, he did not point to his master, who came in, in the dead, heavy hours before dawn. He could not have been far; there was hardlyany dust on his red velvet slippers, and he brushed what there was fromthem with a careful hand. As he placed his lamp on the floor, the lightthrew odd shadows up the walls, turning that of Mhtoon Pah himself intoa grotesque and gigantic mass of darkness, and when he stooped and stooderect it jumped with a sudden living spring. 

Mhtoon Pah moved about the shop on light feet. He bent here and there toexamine some of the objects closely, with the manner and gesture of aman who loves beautiful things for their own sakes as well as for theprofit he hoped to gain from their sale. When he had twice made a tourof inspection, he placed an alabaster Buddha in the centre of a carvedtable and sat down before it. The Buddha was dead white, with a redchain around his neck, and on his head a gold cap with long, gem-setears hanging to the shoulders, and Mhtoon Pah sat long in front of thefigure, swaying a little and moving his lips soundlessly. He appearedlike a man who is self-mesmerized by the flame of a candle, and his faceworked with suppressed and violent emotion; at any moment it seemed asthough he might break the silence with some awful, passion-tossedsound. 

Suddenly, he stopped in his voiceless worship, and, leaning forwardquickly, extinguished the lamp. If he had heard any sound, it wasapparently from below, for he crouched on the ground with his head closeto the teak boarding, and crawled with slow, noiseless care towards thedoor. A silk curtain covered the window, hiding the interior of the shopfrom the street, and, when he reached the low woodwork above which ithung, he twitched the curtain back with a sudden movement of his handand raised himself slowly until his head was on a level with the glass. 

Mhtoon Pah grew suddenly rigid, and the thick black hair on his headseemed to bristle. Pressed close against the window, with only a slenderbarrier of glass between them, was the face of Leh Shin, the Chinaman. Aray of white moonlight fell across them both, and its clear radiancelighted up every feature of the curio dealer's face, changing its browninto a strange, ghastly pallor. For a moment they stood immovable, staring into each other's eyes, and the shadows behind Mhtoon Pah in theshop, and the shadows behind Leh Shin in the street, seemed to listenand wait with them, seemed to creep closer and enfold them, seemed todraw up and up on noiseless feet and hang suspended around them. Themoment might have endured for years, so full was it of menace andpassion, and then the man outside moved quickly and the moonlightflooded in across the face and shoulders of the Burman. 

For a second longer he remained as though fascinated, and then MhtoonPah wrenched at the door and thundered back the heavy bolts. There wereflecks of foam on his lips, and his eyes rolled as he dashed through thedoor and out down the steps, rending the air with cries of murder. Hewas too late, the Chinaman had gone. When the street flocked out to seewhat the disturbance meant, Mhtoon Pah was crouching on his steps in akind of fit. 

"I have seen the face of the slayer of Absalom, " he shrieked, when thecrowd had carried him in, and recovered him to his senses. 

"Is he a devil?" asked a young Burman, in tones of joyful excitement. "Adevil with iron claws has been seen several nights lately. "

"A Chinese devil, " groaned Mhtoon Pah, speaking through his clenchedteeth. "One who shall yet be hanged for his crime. "

"Ah! ah!" said the watchers. "He dreams that it is a man, but it isknown that a devil has walked in Paradise Street, his jaws open. Certainly he has eaten little Absalom. "

Dawn was breaking, the pale, still hour that is often the hour of death;and a cool breeze rippled in the date palms and in the flat green leavesof the rubber plants, and the festoons of succulent green growths thatclimbed up the houses of the Cantonments, and dawn found the Rev. Francis Heath sleeping quietly. He was lying with one arm under hishead, and his worn face in almost child-like repose. Wherever he was, sleep had carried him to a place of peace and refreshment. When he awokehe would have forgotten his dream, but for the moment the dreamsufficed, and he rested in the circle of its charm. 

All the time that we are young and careless and happy, we are buildingretreats for memory that make harbours of rest in later years, when thestorms come with force. All the old things that did not count, come backto calm and to restore. The school-room, where the light flickered on aspecial corner of the ceiling, telling the children to come out andplay; the tapping of the laurels outside the church windows, and themusty smell of red rep cushions along the pew where the hours were veryslow in passing; the white clover in the field behind the garden, got ateasily through a hole in the privet hedge. The play of light and shadowover the hills of home, the dusk at nightfall, and the homely cawing ofrooks. All the delicious things that went with the smell of ripestrawberries under nets, where thieving birds fluttered until thegardener let them free again; and the mystery of sparks flying up thechimney when the winter logs blazed. Every simple joy is stored away insome lumber corner of the minds of men, and when sleep comes, sometimesthe old things are taken out again. 

The Rev. Francis Heath, like the rest of the world, had his own secretdoorway that led back to wonderland, and it may have been that he wasfar away from Mangadone in this child-world which is so hard to findagain, as he slept, and the outside world grew from grey to green, andfrom green to misty gold. The sunlight flamed on the spire of thePagoda, it danced up the brown river and threw long shadows before itscoming, those translucent shadows that no artist has ever yet been ableto paint. It turned the mohur trees blood-red, and the grass to shiningemerald green, and Mangadone looked as though it had just come freshfrom the hands of its Creator. 

Mhtoon Pah, recovered from his fit, was in his shop early, and hehimself went out to cleanse the effigy outside with a white duster, andto set his wares in order. It was a good day for sales, as a liner hadcome in and brought with it many rich Americans, and Mhtoon Pah was gladto sell to such as they. His stock-in-trade was beautiful andattractive, and in the centre of the table, where the unset stonesglittered and shone on white velvet, there stood a bowl, a gold lacquerbowl of perfect symmetry and very great beauty. He poised it on hishands once or twice and examined it carefully. As it was already sold itwas not to remain in the curio shop, but Mhtoon Pah was a careful man, and he desired that Mrs. Wilder should fetch it herself; besides, heliked her car to stand outside his shop, and he liked her to come in andlook at his goods. Very few people who came in to look, went awaywithout having bought several things they did not in the least want. Mhtoon Pah knew exactly how to lure by influence, and he knew that Mrs. Wilder could no more turn away from a grey-and-pink shot silk than Evecould refuse the forbidden fruit. 

He spread out a sea-blue Mandarin's coat, embroidered with peaches, andsmall, crafty touches of black here and there, and looked at it with theloving eye of a connoisseur. His whole shop was a fountain of colour, and he was not unworthy of it in his silk petticoat. A ray of sunlightfell in through the door and touched a few threads of gold in the coatas Mhtoon Pah hung it up to good advantage, and turned to see a customercome in. It was the Rev. Francis Heath; and Mhtoon Pah's face fell. "Reverends" were not good buyers, specially when they had not any wives, and Mr. Heath took no notice of the attractive display as he stood, black and forbidding, in the centre of the shop. 

"I have come here, Mhtoon Pah, to ask for news of Absalom, " he said, meeting his eyes forcefully. "Where is he?"

Mhtoon Pah bowed low, as befitted the dignity of his guest, who was, after all, a _Hypongyi_, even though he wore no yellow robes. 

"It is unknown, " he said, in a heavy voice. "The Reverend himself mightknow, since the Reverend saw my little Absalom that night. "

"You _must_ have suspicions?"

Mhtoon Pah's face worked violently. 

"Leh Shin, " he whispered. "Look there for what is left. "

Heath retreated before his fury. 

"You yourself sent the boy there. "

"_Wah! Wah!_ I sent him and he did not return. "

"What are you talking about?" said the fresh, gay voice of Mrs. Wilder. "Where is my lacquer bowl, Mhtoon Pah?" She came in, bright as themorning outside, and smiled at the Rev. Francis Heath. "So you have gotit for me. "

"I did not get it, Lady Sahib, " said Mhtoon Pah. "It came here, how Iknow not. I found it outside my shop in the care of the wooden imagewhen I went to dust his limbs this morning. "

Mrs. Wilder laughed. 

"In that case I shall not have to pay for it. But what do you mean, Mhtoon Pah?"

"It is blood money, " said Mhtoon Pah, with a wild gasp. "Only one manknew of the bowl, only one man could have put it there. I shall tellHartley Sahib; the _Thakin_ will strike surely and swiftly. "

"He will do nothing of the kind, " said Mrs. Wilder, with a quick look atHeath. "Give me my bowl, Mhtoon Pah; you are letting yourself dreamfoolish things. Absalom"--she tapped the polished floor with herwell-shaped foot--"will come back and explain everything himself, andthen--whoever is responsible--will bear the penalty. "

"They have tied his head to his elbows, and set snakes to sting him, "said Mhtoon Pah. "This have they done, and worse things, Lady Sahib. "

Mrs. Wilder shivered. 

"Give me my bowl, you horrible old man. Absalom is blacking boots in aNew York hotel, weeks ago. --Ah! what a coat! Are you buying anything, Mr. Heath?"

"I am going to the school, " he answered slowly. 

"Then let me drive you there. Send me up the Mandarin's coat, MhtoonPah, and I will haggle another day. "

Heath followed her reluctantly down the steps. He wished she had notmade a point of taking him in her motor, but he felt instinctively sorryfor her, which fact, had she known it, would have surprised andaffronted her. 

"Will you come and dine with us one night?" she asked, looking at himwith her fine eyes; "it would give us great pleasure, and I do not thinkyou have met my husband. "

"I rarely do dine out, " said Heath, staring before him as the car backedround in the limited space of Paradise Street. 

"Then make this an exception. I won't ask you to a function, just aquiet little family party. "

"You are very kind. "

He was still abstracted, and hardly seemed to hear her, and, when he gotout and shut the door, she leaned from the window, smiling like wearyroyalty. 

"I will write and arrange an evening later on. It is a promise, Mr. Heath. "

"I will come, " he replied, in the same preoccupied voice, as he raisedhis battered _topi_. 

"What has he been doing?" she asked herself, in surprise, and again andagain she put the same question to herself, not only that morning, butoften, later on, and with ever-increasing curiosity. 

IX

MRS. WILDER IS PRESENTED IN A MELTING MOOD, AND DRAYCOTT WILDER ISFORCED TO RECALL THE LINES COMMENCING "A FOOL THERE WAS"

It was a bright morning with a high wind blowing and a breath offreshness in the air that has a charm to inspire a better outlook uponlife. Everywhere it made itself felt in Mangadone, and like Pippa in thepoem, the wind passed along, leaving everything and everybody a littlebetter for its coming. It passed through the open veranda of the hugehospital, and touched the fever patients with its cool breath; ithurried through the Chinese quarter, blew along Paradise Street, dustingthe gesticulating man, and went on up the river, pretending to make thebrown water change its muddy mind and run backwards instead of forwards. It paid a little freakish attention to Mrs. Wilder's dark hair, and itcooled the back of Hartley's neck, as they rode along together, by theway of a lake. 

They had met quite accidentally, and Hartley, who had been vaguelywishing for an opportunity to speak to Mrs. Wilder, seized upon it andoffered himself as her escort. She agreed with complimentary readiness, and they turned along a wooded road, where the shadows were deep andwhere Hartley felt the gripping hands of romance loosen hisheart-strings. 

Mrs. Wilder listened to him, or appeared to do so, which is much thesame in effect, and Hartley was not critical. She was a good listener, as women who have something else to think about often are; and so theyrode along the twisting path, and the wind sang in the plumes of thebamboo trees, and Hartley believed that it sang a romantic lyric ofplatonic admiration, exquisitely hinted at by a tactful man, andproperly appreciated by a very beautiful woman. 

"By the way, " she said carelessly, "have you found that wretched littleAbsalom yet? What a bother he has been since he took it into his head togo off to America, or wherever it is he went to. "

"I am glad you mentioned him, " said Hartley, his face growing suddenlyserious. "I have a question or two that I want very much to ask you. "

"A question or two? That sounds so very legal. Really, Mr. Hartley, Ibelieve you credit me with having Absalom's body hanging up in one of my_almirahs_. Honestly, don't you really believe that I had a hand inputting him out of the way?"

She laughed her hard little laugh, and shot a look at him over hershoulder. 

"You do know something, some little thing it may be, but something thatmight help me. "

"About Absalom, or about someone else?"

"About whoever you saw him with. "

Hartley pushed his pony alongside of hers, but her face revealednothing, and was quite expressionless. 

"Whoever I saw him with?" she echoed reflectively. "Ah, but it is solong ago, Mr. Hartley, I can't even remember now whether I was out ornot that evening. "

"You are only playing with me, " said Hartley a little irritably. "Thepoliceman on duty at the cross-roads below Paradise Street saw you. "

Her face became suddenly so drawn and startled that Hartley regrettedhis words almost as he spoke them. 

"Wait a minute, Mr. Hartley, " she said, in a strained, hard voice. "Youhave to explain to me why you have asked your men questions connectedwith me. "

"I did not ask questions; I was told. "

She pulled up her pony, and, turning her head away from him, looked outsilently over the dip of ground below them. Hartley did not break hersilence. He saw that he had come close to some deep emotion, and hewatched her curiously, but Mrs. Wilder, even if she was conscious of hislook, appeared quite indifferent to it. He could form no idea along whatroad her silent concentration led her; but he knew that she pursued anidea that was compelling and strong. He knew enough of her to know thateven her silence was not the silence that arises out of lack of subjectfor talk, but that it meant something as definite and clear as thoughshe spoke direct words to him. 

The Head of the Police would have given much at that moment to havebeen able to penetrate her thoughts, but he only stared at her with hisblue eyes a little wider open than usual, and waited for her to speak. She looked before her steadily, but not with the eyes of a woman whodreams; Mrs. Wilder was thinking definitely, and while Hartley waited, her mind travelled at speed across years and came to a halt at themoment where she now found herself, and from that moment she looked outforcefully into the future. 

Usually, in the tragic instants of life there is very little time forthought before the need for action forces the will, with relentlesshands. Clarice Wilder knew as well as she knew anything that herposition was one of some peril, and that much more than she could weighor measure at that moment lay beyond the next spoken word. She wastelling herself to be careful, steadying her nerve and reining in adesire to pour out a flood of circumstantial evidence, calculated toconvince the Head of the Police. 

If there is one thing more than another that the man or the woman drivenagainst the ropes should avoid, it is prolixity; the snare that catchescraft in its own net. Clarice Wilder desired to be overpowering, redundant and extreme in the wordy proof of her innocence of purposethat evening of July the 29th, but she held back and waited steadfastlyuntil she was quite sure of herself again, and then she turned her headand glanced at Hartley with a smile. 

"How silent you are, " she said gently. 

Hartley flushed and looked self-conscious. 

"To be quite candid, that was what I was thinking of you, " he repliedawkwardly. 

"What were we saying?" went on Mrs. Wilder. "Oh, of course, I remember. You thought I could tell you something about poor Mr. Heath, didn't you?I only wish I could, but it was so long ago. I do remember the evening. It was very hot and I rode along by the river to get some fresh air, "her eyes grew hazy. "I can remember thinking that Mangadone looked as ifit was a great ball of amber, with the sun shining through it, but asfor being able to tell you what Mr. Heath was doing, or who he was with, it is impossible. You should have pinned me down to it the day youcalled on me, when this troublesome little boy first went off. " Shegathered up the reins, and Hartley mounted reluctantly. "I am so sorry. I would love to be able to help you, but I cannot remember. "

If Hartley had been asked on oath how it was that Mrs. Wilder had ledhim clean away from the subject under discussion, to somethinginfinitely more satisfying and interesting, he could not have sworn toit. They loitered by the road and came slowly back to the bungalow, where they parted at the gate, and he watched her go in, hoping shemight turn her head, but she did not, and Hartley took his way towardshis own house and thought very little of Absalom or the Rev. FrancisHeath. One thing he did think of, and that was that Mrs. Wilder hadlooked at him earnestly, and said that she wished he was not "mixed up"in anything likely to bring uneasiness to the mind of the Rector of St. Jude's Church. "Mixed up" was a curious way of expressing his connectionwith the case, but Hartley felt that he knew what she meant. He pulledat his short moustache and wished with all his heart that he really didknow; but all the wishes in the world could not help him out of aprofessional dilemma. 

Mrs. Wilder had not looked round, though she very well knew that Hartleywas waiting and hoping that she would, and once she had turned the firstbend she touched the pony with her heel and cantered up the hill, throwing the reins to the _syce_ who came in answer to her impatientcall. 

"Idiot, " she said, as she shut the door of her room and flung her _topi_on the bed, and she repeated the word several times with increasinganimosity and vigour. She hated Hartley at that moment, and felt underno further obligation to hide her real feelings; and then Mrs. Wildersat down and thought hard. 

The mental power of exaggerating danger is limitless, and she could notdeny that her fear was playing tricks with her nerves. She knew that shehad done creditably under the strain of acute nervous tension, but shefelt also that much more of the same thing would be unendurable. 

Draycott came in to luncheon, and she was there to receive him, but evento his careless eye, Clarice was oddly abstracted, and he glanced at hercuriously, wondering what it was that occupied her mind and made herfrown as she thought. 

She could not get away from the grip of her morning interview. Try asshe would, she could not shake it off. It caught her back in the middleof her talk, made her answer at random, and held her with a terriblepower. She considered that there were a thousand other things she mighthave said or done, a hundred ways by which she might have appealed toHartley, and yet her common sense told her that the less she said on thesubject the better it would be, if, in the end, the Rev. Francis Heathwas led into the awful pitfalls of cross-examination. Anyone may forgetand recall facts later, but to state facts that may be used as evidenceis to stand handcuffed before inexorable justice, and Mrs. Wilder hadleft her hands free. 

"Is anything the matter?" Draycott jerked out the question as he got upto leave the room. "You seem rather silent. "

Clarice laughed, and her laugh was slightly forced. 

"I went for a ride this morning, and met Mr. Hartley. He is the mostexhausting man I ever met. "

"I hope you told him so, " said Wilder shortly. "He's about herefrequently enough, even though he _does_ bore you. "

Something in his voice made her eyes focus him very clearly anddistinctly. 

"I have a very good mind to tell him, " she said easily, "but he isblessed with a skin that would turn the edge of any ordinary hatchet; hewould think I was merely being 'funny. '"

"It's an odd fact, " said Draycott with a sneer in his eyes, "thathowever much a woman complains of a man's stupidity, she will let himhang about her, and make a grievance of it, until she sees fit to drophim. When that moment arrives she can make him let go, and lower awayall right. Just now Hartley is hanging on quite perceptibly, and if itentertains you to slang him behind his back, I suppose you will slanghim, but he won't drop off before you've done with him, Clarice, if Iknow anything of your methods. " Her face flushed and she began to lookangry. "Mind you, I don't object to Hartley. As you say, he's a fool, asilly, trusting ass, the sort of man who is child's-play to a girl ofsixteen. If you must have a string of loafers to prove that yourattractions outwear _anno domini_, I must accept Hartley, and otherHartleys, so long as you continue to play the same game. _Hartleys_, Isaid, Clarice. "

There was no doubt about the emphasis he laid upon the name. 

"You flatter Mr. Hartley considerably, " she said, but her voice wasconciliatory and her laugh nervous. 

"He represents a type; a type that some married men may be thankfulcontinues to exist. God!" he broke out violently, "if he could hear youtalk of him, it would be a lesson to the fool, but he won't hear you. Noman ever does hear these things until the knowledge comes too late to beof any use to him. You have got to have your strings"--he shrugged hisshoulders--"because your life isn't here, in this house; it is at theClub, and at dinners and races and so on, and to be left to yourhusband is the beginning of the end. Don't deny it, Clarice, it's noearthly use. Women like you have your own ideas of life, I suppose, andI ought to be thankful they're no worse. "

He stood by the door all the time he spoke, and his colourless face andpale eyes never altered. 

"You're talking absolute nonsense, " said Mrs. Wilder, preserving anamiable tone. "We _have_ to entertain, Draycott, and you can't round onme for what I have done for years. It has helped you on, and you knowit. "

"I wasn't talking of that, " he said drearily. "I was talking of you. You're getting old, for a woman, Clarice, and when you're worried, asyou are to-day, you show it; though how an imbecile like Hartley got atyou to the extent of making you worried, I don't pretend to guess. "

"Old, " she said angrily. "You aren't troubling to be particularlypolite. "

"No, I'm damnably truthful; just because it makes me wonder at you allthe more. You can go on smiling at any number of idiots, because youmust have the applause, I suppose. You don't even believe in it--_now_. "

His allusion was definite, and Mrs. Wilder felt about in her mind forsome way to change the conversation. Quagmires are bad ground forwalking, and she was in a hurry to reach _terra firma_ again. She cameround the table and slipped her arm through his. 

"After all these years. Draycott--be a little generous. "

If she had fought him, some deep, hidden anger in his cold heart wouldhave flared up, but her gesture softened him and he patted her hand. 

"I know, " he said slowly. "Only I can't quite forget. I simply can't, Clarice. "

She smiled at him and touched his face with a light hand. 

"Shall I tell you why? Because even if I am old--and thirty-six isn't sovery dreadful--you are still in love with me. "

She went with him to the door and smiled as he drove away, smiled andwaved as he reappeared round a distant bend, and watched him return hersignal, and then she went back into the large drawing-room and her facegrew grey and pinched, and she sat with her chin propped on her hands, thinking. 

She had proved that there are more fools in the world than those who goabout disguised as Heads of Police, and had added another specimen tothe general list, but she found no mirth in the idea as she consideredit. 

X

IN WHICH CRAVEN JOICEY IS OVERCOME BY A SUDDEN INDISPOSITION, ANDHARTLEY, WITHOUT LOOKING FOR HIM, FINDS THE MAN HE WANTED

It seemed to Hartley that Fate had dealt very hardly with him. He wasinterested in the case of the boy Absalom, and he felt that thepossibility of clearing it up was well within reach, and then he foundhimself face to face with an unpleasant and painful duty. 

All his gregarious sociable nature cried out against any act that wouldcause a scandal in Mangadone, the magnitude of which he could hardlygauge but only guess at; and yet, wherever he went, the thought hauntedhim. His feelings gave him no rest, and he remained inactive andlistless for several days after his ride with Mrs. Wilder. If she hadtold him that she implored him personally to drop the case he could nothave felt more certain that she desired him to do so. She workedindirectly upon his feelings, a much surer way with some natures than adirect appeal, and the thought brought something akin to misery into themind and heart of the police officer. 

Absalom had gone, leaving no visible footprint to indicate whither hehad vanished, but the inexorable detail of circumstance aftercircumstance led on to a very definite conclusion. The wooden figureoutside the curio dealer's shop pointed up his master's steps, and didno one any wrong, but the awful fixed finger of changeless factindicated the creeper-covered bungalow of the Rev. Francis Heath. 

Hartley sat in his room, his elbows on the writing-table, and stared outbefore him. A sluicing shower had come up suddenly, obscuring all thebrightness of the day, and the eaves of the veranda dripped mournfullywith a sound like the patter of a thousand tiny feet; the patter soundedlike the falling of tears, and he wondered if Heath, too, listened tothe light persistent noise, and read into it the footsteps of departinghopes and lost ideals, or merely all the terrible monotonous detail thatpreceded an act that was a crime. 

Hartley had dealt considerably with criminal cases, but never withanything the least like the case of the boy Absalom, and thespeculations that came across his mind were new to him. He realized thata criminal of the class of the Rev. Francis Heath is a criminal who isdriven slowly, inch by inch, into action, and each inch given only atthe cost of blood and tears. It was little short of ghastly to considerwhat Heath must have gone through and suffered, and what he still mustsuffer, and must continue to suffer as he went along the dark lonelinessof the awful road into which he had turned. 

People who have pity and to spare for the murdered body, or for the dupewho has suffered plunder, think very little of the agony of mind andthe horror of the man who has held a good position, secure and honoured, and who falls into the bottomless abyss of crime and detection. Hartleyhad never considered it before. He was on the side of law and order, andhe was incapable of even dimly visualizing any condition of affairs thatcould force him into illegal action, and yet he felt in the darknessafter some comprehension of the mind of the Rector of St. Jude's ParishChurch. 

The rain passed over, and the veranda was crossed with strips of yellowsunlight, the pale washed sunlight of a wet evening, and still the dripfrom the eaves fell intermittently with its melancholy noise, so softlynow, as hardly to be heard, and Hartley got up, and, putting on his hat, walked across the scrunching wet gravel, and out on to the road, makinghis way towards the Club. 

Far away, gleams of light lay soft over the trees of the park, the greensad light that is only seen in damp atmospheres. There was no gladnessin the day, only a sense of deficiency and sorrow, even in its lingeringbeauty; and the lake that reflected the trees and the sky was deadlystill, with a brooding, waiting stillness. Hartley stopped as he wenttowards the further gates of the park, and watched the glassyreflections with troubled eyes. No breeze touched the woods intomovement, and the long, yellow bars of evening light were full of dimstillness. The very lifelessness of it affected Hartley strangely. Except where, here and there, a flash of the low sunset caught thewater, the whole prospect was motionless, and he stood like a manspellbound by the mystery of its silence. 

Hartley had chosen the less frequented road through the Park, and therewas no one in sight when he had stopped to look at the pale sheet ofwater with its mirrored reproduction of tree and sky. It held himstrangely, and he felt a curious tension of his nerves, as thoughsomething was going to happen. The thought came, as such thoughts docome, out of nowhere in particular, and yet Hartley waited with a senseof discomfort. 

When he turned away angry at his own momentary folly, he stooped andpicked up a stone and threw it into the motionless beauty of the water, breaking it into a quick splash, marring the clearness, and confusingthe straight, low band of gold cloud which broke under the wideningcircles. As he stooped, a man had come into sight, walking with a slow, heavy step, his eyes on the ground and his head bent. He came on withdragging feet and a dull, mechanical walk, the walk of a man who istired in body and soul. He did not look at the lake, nor did he even seeHartley, who turned towards him at once with sudden relief. 

When Hartley hailed him cheerfully, Joicey stopped dead and looked up, staring at him as though he were an apparition. He took off his hat andwiped his forehead. 

"Where did you spring from, Hartley?" he asked. "I did not see anyonejust now. " There was more irritation than warmth in his greeting of thepolice officer. 

"I was moonstruck by the edge of that confounded lake. It was so stillthat it got on my nerves. "

"Nerves, " said Joicey abruptly. "There's too much talk of nervesaltogether in these days. "

Joicey, like all large men with loud voices, was able to give animpression of solidity that is very refreshing and reviving at times, but, otherwise, Joicey was not looking entirely himself. He passed hishandkerchief over his face again and laughed dully. 

"You're going to the Club, I suppose?"

"I was going there, but now I'll join you and have a walk, if I may. It's early for the Club yet. "

He turned and walked on beside the Banker, who appeared, if anything, less in the humour for conversation than was usual with him. They leftthe lake behind them, now a pallid gleam flecked with wavering light ina circle of deep shadows that reached out from the margin. 

"Any news?" asked Hartley without enthusiasm. 

"Not that I have heard. "

Silence fell again, and they walked out on to the road. Pools ofafternoon rain still lay here and there in the depressions, but Joiceytook no heed of them, and splashed on, staining his white trousers withliquid mud. 

"By the way, " he said, clearing his throat as though his words stuckthere, "have you heard anything more in connection with thedisappearance of that boy you were talking of the other evening?"

Hartley did not reply for a moment, and just as he was about to speak, Mrs. Wilder's car passed, and Mrs. Wilder leaned forward to smile at theHead of the Police; a small buggy followed with some more friends ofHartley's, and then another car, and the road was clear again. 

"I believe I am on the right track, but I don't like it, Joicey. I'mdamned if I do. "

"Why not?"

"It comes too close to home, "--Hartley spoke with a jerk. "A hatefuljob--I thought I'd tell you--" He spoke in broken sentences, and hiswords affected the Banker very perceptibly. 

"Can't you drop it?"

Joicey came to a standstill, and his voice was lowered almost to awhisper. 

"I wish to Heaven I could, but it's a question of duty, "--he couldhardly see Joicey's face in the gathering gloom. "I suppose you guesswhat I'm driving at, Joicey, though how you guess, I don't know. "

"I think I'll say good night here, Hartley, "--the Banker's voice wasunnatural and wavering. "I can't discuss it with you. It's got to beproved, " he spoke more heatedly. "What have you got? Only the word of astinking native. I tell you it's monstrous. " He stopped and clutchedHartley's arm, and seemed as though he was staggering. 

"What has come over you, Joicey; are you ill?"

"I'll sit down here for a moment, "--Joicey walked towards a low wall. "Sometimes I get these attacks. I'm better after they are over. Better, much better. Leave me here to go back by myself, Hartley. You need haveno fear, I'm over it now; I'll rest for a little and then go my wayquickly. Believe me, I'd rather be alone. "

Very reluctantly, Hartley quitted him. He felt that Joicey was ill, andmight even be beginning the horrible phase of "breaking up, " which comeson with such fatal speed in a tropical climate. He went back after hehad gone a mile along the road, but Joicey was no longer there. It wastoo late to think of going to the Club, for the road that Joicey andHartley had followed led away from the residential quarter of Mangadone, and he disliked the idea of going back to his own bungalow and waitingthrough the dismal hour that lies across the evening between the time tocome in and the time to dress for dinner. 

Had there been a friendly house near, Hartley would have gone in on thechance of finding someone at home, but as there was not, he made thebest of existing circumstances and took his way along the road towardshis own bungalow. He could not deny that his walk with Joicey had onlyserved to depress his spirits, and he was sorry to think that his friendwas so obviously in bad health. The world seemed an uncomfortable place, full of gloomy surprises, and Hartley wished that he had a wife to goback to. Not a superb being like Mrs. Wilder, who was encircled by thehalo of High Romance, but just an ordinary wife, with a friendly smileand a way of talking about everyday things while she darned socks. Somewhere in his domestic heart Hartley considered sock-mending abeautiful and symbolic act, and yet he could not picture Mrs. Wilderoccupied in such a fashion. 

A man with a wife to go back to is never at the same loose end as a manwho has no need ever to be punctual for a solitary meal, and Hartleywalked quickly because he wanted to get clear of his depression, ratherthan for any reason that compelled him to be up to time. 

The gathering darkness drew out the flare over the city, and, here andthere, lamps dotted the road, until, turning up a short cut, he was intothe region of trams once more. The lighted cars, filled with gay Burmeseand soldiers from the British Regiment, and European-clad, dark-skinnedcreatures of mixed races, looked cheerful and encouraged to betterthoughts. Hartley crossed the busy thoroughfare below the Pagoda stepsand went on quickly, for he recognized the outline of Mhtoon Pah on hisway to burn amber candles before his newly-erected shrine. He was in nomood to talk to the curio dealer just then, and he avoided him carefullyand plunged down a tree-bowered road that led to the bridge, and fromthe bridge to the hill-rise where his own gate stood open. 

It pleased him to see that lamps were lighted in the house, and he feltconscious that he was hungry, and would be glad of dinner; he made uphis mind to do himself well and rout the tormenting thoughts thatpursued him, and to-morrow he would see Francis Heath and have the wholething put on paper once and for all. He even whistled as he came alongthe short drive and under the portico, where a night-scented flowersmelt strong and sweet. His boy met him with the information that therewas a Sahib within waiting. A Sahib who had evidently come to stay, fora strange-looking servant in the veranda rose and salaamed, and sat downagain by his master's kit with the patience of a man who looks out uponeternity. 

Hartley hardly glanced at the servant. Visitors, tumbling from anywhere, were not altogether unusual occurrences. Men on the way back from ashoot in the jungles of Upper Burma, men who were old school friends andwere doing a leisurely tour to Japan and America, men of his ownprofession who had leave to dispose of; all or any of these might arrivewith a servant and a portmanteau. Whoever it was, Hartley waspredisposed to give him a welcome. He had come just when he was wanted, and he hurried in, a light of pleasure in his blue eyes. 

Near the lamp, a book of verses open on his knee, sat Hartley'sunexpected guest. He was slim, dark, and vital, but where his arrestingnote of vitality lay would have been hard to explain. No one can tellexactly what it is that marks one man as a courageous man, and anotheras a coward, and yet, without need of any test, these things may beknown and judged beforehand. The man whose eyes followed the lines:

 "They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep"--

was as distinctive as he well could be, and yet his face was notexpressive. His dark, narrow eyes were dull, and his finely-cut featuressmall and perfect, rather than bold and strong; his long hands were thehands of a woman more than those of a man, and his figure was slight toboyishness. 

When Hartley let his full joy express itself in husky, cheery words ofsurprise, his visitor said very little, but what he did say was spokenin a pleasant, low voice. 

"Coryndon, " said Hartley again. "Of all men on earth I wanted to see youmost. You've done what you always do, come in the 'nick. '"

Coryndon smiled, a languid, half-amused gleam of mirth. 

"I am only passing through, my job is finished. "

"But you'll stay for a bit?"

"You said just now that I was here in the 'nick'; if the nick isinteresting, I'll see. "

"I'll go and arrange about your rooms, " said Hartley, and he appearedtwice his normal size beside his guest, as a St. Bernard might lookstanding by a greyhound. "We will talk afterwards. "

Coryndon watched him go out without change of expression, and, slidingback into his chair, took up his book again. 

 "They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep. "

Coryndon leaned back and half closed his eyes; the words seemed potent, as with a spell, and he called up a vision of the forsaken Palace wherewild things lived and where revels were long forgotten--solitude andruin that no one ever crossed to explore or to see--with the eyes of aman who can rebuild a mighty past. Solitude in the halls and marblestairways, ruin of time in the fretted screens, and broken cisternsholding nothing but dry earth. Nothing there now but the lion and thelizard, not even the ghost of a light footfall, or the tinkle of glassbangles on a rounded arm. 

Coryndon had almost forgotten Hartley when he came back, flushed andpleased, and full of a host's anxiety about his guest's welfare. 

"I hope you haven't been bored?"

"No, " said Coryndon, touching the book, "I've been amusing myself in myown way, " and he followed Hartley out of the room. 

XI

SHOWS HOW THE "WHISPER FROM THE DAWN OF LIFE" ENABLES CORYNDON TO TAKETHE DRIFTING THREADS BETWEEN HIS FINGERS

Very probably Hartley believed that he knew "all about" Coryndon; heknew at least, that the Government of India looked upon him as the bestman they had to unravel the most intricate case that murder or forgery, coining or fraud of any sort, could tangle into mysterious knots. Coryndon had intuition and patience, and once he undertook a case hefollowed it through to the ultimate conclusion; and so it was thatCoryndon stood alone, a department in himself, possibly aided by thepolice and the shadower, but capable of discovering anything, once hebent his mind to the business of elucidation. 

Beyond the fact that he had been born somewhere in a jungle clearing inUpper Burma, and that at ten years old he had gone to India to a schoolin the Hills, then had vanished for years to reappear in the service ofthe Government, his story was not known to anyone except himself. No onedoubted that he had "a touch of the country" in his blood. It displayeditself in unmistakable physical traits, and his knowledge of its manytongues and languages was the knowledge that first made him realizethat his future career lay in India. 

Colonel Coryndon, his father, died just as the boy was leaving school, and left him a little money; just enough to keep him from the iron yokeof clerkship, and to allow of his waiting for what he wanted. Behind hisdark eyes lived a brain that could concentrate with the grip of a viseupon any subject that interested him, and he puzzled his masters at hisschool. Coryndon was a curious mixture of imagination and strong commonsense; few realize that it is only the imaginative mind that can seebehind the curtain that divides life from life, and discern motives. 

He saw everything with an almost terrible clearness. Every detail of aroom, every line in a face, every shop in a street he walked through, every man he spoke with, was registered in his indelible book of facts. This, in itself, is not much. Men can learn the habit of observation asthey can train their minds to remember dates or historical facts, but, in the case of Coryndon, this art was inherent and his by birth. Hestarted with it, and his later training of practising his odd capacityfor recalling the smallest detail of every day that passed onlyintensified his power in this direction. With this qualification alonehe could have been immensely useful as a secret agent, but in additionto this he had also his other gift, his intuition and power of alteringhis own point of view for that of another man, and seeing his subjectthrough the eyes of everyone concerned in a question. 

His nervous vitality was great, and there were plenty of well-educatednative subordinates who believed him gifted with occult forces, sincehis ways of getting at his astonishing conclusions were never explainedto any living soul, because Coryndon could not have explained them tohimself. 

His identity was well known at Headquarters, but beyond that limit itwas carefully hidden from the lower branches of the executive, as toowide and too public recognition would have narrowed his sphere ofaction. As Wesley declared the whole world to be his parish, so thewhole of Asia was Coryndon's sphere of action, and only at Headquarterswas it ever known where he actually might be found, or what employmentoccupied his brain. He came like a rain-cloud blown up soundlessly onthe east wind, and vanished like morning mists, and no one knew what hehad learnt during his silent passing. 

Men with voices like brass trumpets praised and encouraged him, and menwho knew the dark byways of criminal investigation were hardly jealousof him. Coryndon was a freak, an exception, a man who stood beyondcompetition, and was as sure as he was mysterious. He was "explained" ina dozen ways. His face, to begin with, made disguise easy, and the touchof the country did much for him in this respect. He had played behindhis father's up-country bungalow with little Burmese boys and talked intheir speech before he knew any English; the Bazaar was an open book tohim, and the mind of the native, so some men said with a shade ofcontempt, not too far from his own to make understanding impossible. 

Besides all this, there were those other years, after he left the schoolunder the high snow ranges, when Coryndon had vanished entirely, and ofthese years he never spoke. And yet, with all this, Coryndon wasunmistakably a "Sahib, " a man of unusual culture and brilliant ability. He had complete powers of self-control, and his one passion was his loveof music, and though he never played for anyone else, men who had comeupon him unawares had heard him playing to himself in a way that was assurprising as everything else about Coryndon surprised and astonished. 

He had dreamed as a boy, and he still dreamed as a man. The subtlebeauty of a line of verse led him into visionary habitations as fair asany ever disclosed to poet or artist. He could lose himself utterly inthe lights and shadows of a passing day, while he watched for a doomedman at the entrance of a temple, or brooded over painted sores and criedto the rich for alms by a dusty roadside; a very different Coryndon tothe Coryndon who looked at Hartley across the white cloth of the rounddinner-table. 

The truth about Coryndon was that he read the souls of men. Mhtoon Pahhad boasted to Hartley that he read the walk of the world he looked at, but Coryndon went much further; and as Hartley talked about outwardthings, whilst the Boy and the _Khitmutghar_ flitted in and out behindthem, carrying plates and dishes, his guest was considering him with aquiet and almost moonstruck gravity of mind. He knew just how farHartley could go, and he knew exactly what blocked him. Hartley was tiedinto the close meshes of circumstance; he argued from without and workedinward, and Coryndon had discovered the flaw in this process before heleft his school. 

When they were alone at last, Hartley pushed his chair closer toCoryndon and leaned forward. 

"One moment. " Coryndon's voice was lowered slightly, and he strolled tothe door. 

"Boy, " he called, and with amazing alacrity Hartley's servant appeared. 

"Tell my servant, " he said, speaking in English, "that I want the cigartin. "

"Do you believe he was listening?"

"I am sure of it. "

Hartley flushed angrily, and he was about to speak when Coryndon's mancame into the room, salaaming on the threshold, carrying a black tin. 

"Would you like a little stroll in the garden?" said Coryndon. "It wouldbe pleasant before we sit down, " and Hartley followed him out. 

"Did you bring any cigars down?"

Hartley spoke for the sake of saying something, more than for anyreasonable desire to know whether Coryndon had done so or not, and hisreply was a low, amused laugh. 

"In ten minutes Shiraz will do a little juggling for your servants, " hesaid placidly. "There are no cigars in the tin. I hope you didn't wantone, Hartley? He will probably tell them that I am a new arrival, picked up by him at Bombay. Whatever he tells them, they will find himamusing. "

A misty moonlight lighted the garden with a soft, yellow haze, and theharsh rattling of night beetles sounded unusually loud and noisy in thesilence. 

"You said that you had just finished a job?"

"I have, and now I am on leave. The Powers have given me four months, and I am going to London to hear the Wagner Cycle. I promised myselfthat long ago, and unless something very special crops up to prevent me, I shall start in a week from now. "

They took another silent turn. 

"Did your last job work out?"

"Yes. It took a long time, but I got back into touch with things I hadbegun to forget, and it was interesting. Shall we go back into thehouse?"

"Come in here, " said Hartley, taking his way into the sitting-room. "Ihave some notes in my safe that I want you to look at. The truth is, Coryndon, I'm tackling rather a nasty business, and if you can help me, I'll be eternally grateful to you. It has got on my nerves. "

Coryndon bowed his head silently and drew up a chair near the table. Allthe time that Hartley talked to him, he listened with close attention. The Head of the Police went into the whole subject at length, tellingthe story as it had happened, and leaving out, so far as he knew, nopoint that bore upon the question. First he told of the disappearance ofthe boy Absalom, the grief and frantic despair of Mhtoon Pah, and hisvisit to Hartley in the very room where they sat. 

"He was away from the curio shop that night, you say?"

"Yes, at the Pagoda. He is building a shrine there. His statement to mewas that he went away just after dark, and the boy had already left anhour before. "

Coryndon said nothing, but waited for the rest of the story, and, bit bybit, Hartley set it before him. 

"Heath saw Absalom, and admitted it to me, " he said, pulling at hisshort, red moustache. "Even then he showed a very curious amount ofirritation, and refused to say anything further. Then he lied to me whenI went to the house, and there is Atkins' testimony to the fact that heis paying a man to keep quiet. "

"Has the man reappeared since?"

"Not since I had the house watched. "

Coryndon's eyes narrowed and he moved his hands slightly. 

"Next there is the very trifling evidence of Mrs. Wilder. It doesn'tcount for much, but it goes to prove that she knows something of Heathwhich she won't give away. She knows something, or she wouldn't screenhim. That is simple deduction. "

"Quite simple. "

"Now, with reference to Joicey, " went on Hartley, with a frown. "I don'tpersonally think that Joicey knows or remembers whether he did seeHeath. My Superintendent swears that he did go down Paradise Street onthe night of the twenty-ninth, but Joicey is ill, and he said he wasn'tin Mangadone then. He has been seedy for some time and may have mixed updates. "

"You attach no importance to him?"

"Practically none. " Hartley leaned back in his chair and lighted acheroot. 

Coryndon touched the piece of silk rag with his hand. 

"This rag business is out of place, taken in connection with Heath. "

"I don't accuse Heath, Coryndon, but I believe that he _knows_ where theboy went. The last thing that was told me by Mhtoon Pah was that thegold lacquer bowl that was ordered by Mrs. Wilder was found on the stepsof the shop. Though what that means, the devil only knows. Mhtoon Pahconsiders it likely that the Chinaman, Leh Shin, put it there, but Ihave absolutely nothing to connect Leh Shin with the disappearance, andI have withdrawn the men who were watching the shop. "

"Interesting, " said Coryndon slowly. 

"Can you give me any opinion? I'm badly in need of help. "

Coryndon shook his head, his hand still touching the stained rag idly. 

"I could give you none at all, on these facts. "

Hartley looked at him with a fixed and imploring stare. 

"In a place like this, to be the chief mover, the actual incentive todisclosing God knows what, is simply horrible, " he said in a rough, pained voice. "I've done my share of work, Coryndon, and I've taken myown risks, but any cases I've had against white men haven't been againstmen like the Padré. "

Coryndon gave a little short sigh that had weariness in its sound, weariness or impatience. 

"What you have told me involves three principals, and a score ofothers. " He was counting as he spoke. "Any one of them may be the manyou are looking for, only circumstances indicate one in particular. Youare satisfied that you have got the line. I could not confidently saythat you have, unless I had been working the case myself, and hadfollowed up every clue throughout. "

Hartley got up and paced the room, his hands deep in the pockets of hisdinner jacket. 

"I am convinced that Heath will have to be forced to speak, and, I mayas well be honest with you--I don't like forcing him. "

Coryndon was not watching his host, he was leaning back in his chair, his eyes on a little spiral of smoke that circled up from his cigarette. 

"I wish that damned little Absalom had never been heard of, and that itwas anybody's business but mine to find him, if he is to be found. "

If Coryndon's finely-cut lips trembled into an instantaneous smile, itpassed almost at once, and he looked quietly round at Hartley, who stillpaced, looking like an overgrown schoolboy in a bad mood. 

"I wish I could help you, Hartley, but I have not enough to go on. Asyou say, the case is unusual, and it makes it impossible for me toadvise. " He got up and stretched himself. "There is one thing I willdo, if you wish it, and, from what you said, you may wish it; I willtake over the whole thing--for my holiday, and the Wagner Cycle willhave to wait. "

Hartley came to a standstill before his guest. 

"You'll do that, Coryndon?"

"The case interests me, " said Coryndon, "otherwise, I should not suggestit. " He paused for a moment and reflected. "I shall have to make yourbungalow my headquarters; that is the simplest plan. Any absences may beaccounted for by shooting trips and that sort of thing. That part of itis straightforward enough, and I can see the people I want to see. "

"You shall have a free hand to do anything you like, " said Hartley. "Andany help that I can give you. "

Coryndon looked at him for a moment without replying. 

"Thank you, Hartley. Our methods are different, as you know, but when Iwant you, I will tell you how you can help me. "

He walked across the room to where two tumblers and a decanter of whiskystood on a tray, and, pouring himself out a glass of soda water, sippedit slowly. 

"Here are my notes, " said Hartley, in a voice of great relief. "Theywill be useful for reference. "

Coryndon folded them up and put them in his pocket. 

"Most of what is there is also in my official report. "

Coryndon nodded his head, and, opening the piano, struck a light chord. After a moment he sat down and played softly, and the air he played camestraight from the high rocks that guard the Afghan frontier. Like abreeze that springs up at evening, the little love-song lilted andwhispered under his compelling fingers, and the "Song of the BrokenHeart" sang itself in the room of Hartley, Head of the Police. Where itcarried Coryndon no one could guess, but it carried Hartley into a veryrose-garden of sentimental fatuity, and when the music stopped he gave adeep grunting sigh of content. 

"I'll get some honest sleep to-night, " he said as they parted, and tenminutes afterwards he was lying under his mosquito-curtains, obliviousto the world. 

Coryndon's servant, Shiraz, was squatting across the door that led intothe veranda when his master came in, and he waited for his orders. Hewould have sat anywhere for weeks, and had done so, to await thedoubtful coming of Coryndon, whose times and seasons no man knew. 

When he was gone, Coryndon took out the bulky packet of notes andextracted the piece of rag, which he locked carefully away in adispatch-box. He then cleared a little space on the floor, and put thepapers lightly over one another. Setting a match to them, he watchedthem light up and curl into brittle tinder, and dissolve from that stageinto a heap of charred ashes, which he gathered up with a careful handand put into the soft earth of a fern-box outside his veranda door. Thisbeing done, he sat down and began to think steadily, letting the namesdrift through his brain, one by one, until they sorted themselves, andhe felt for the most useful name to take first. 

"Joicey, the Banker, is a man of no importance, " he murmured to himself, and again he said, "Joicey the Banker. "

It was nearly dawn when he got between the cool linen sheets, and wasasleep almost as his dark head lay back against the soft white pillow. 

XII

SHOWS HOW A MAN MAY CLIMB A HUNDRED STEPS INTO A PASSIONLESS PEACE, ANDRETURN AGAIN TO A WORLD OF SMALL TORMENTS

By the end of a week Coryndon had slipped into the ways of Mangadone, slipped in quietly and without causing much comment. He went to the Clubwith Hartley and made the acquaintance of nearly all his host's friends, and they, in return, gave him the casual notice accorded to a passingstranger who had no part or lot in their lives or interests. Coryndonwas very quiet and listened to everything; he listened to a great dealin the first three days, and Fitzgibbon, a barrister, offered to takehim round and show him the town. 

Coryndon was "shown the town, " but apparently he found a lasting joy insight-seeing, and could witness the same sights repeatedly withoutfailing interest. He climbed the steps to the Pagoda, under the guidanceof Fitzgibbon, the first afternoon they met. 

"Won't you come, too, Hartley?" asked the Barrister. 

"Not if I know it. I've been there about sixty times. If Coryndon wantsto see it, I'm thankful to let him go there with you. "

Fitzgibbon, who had a craze for borrowing anything that he was likelyto want, had persuaded Prescott, the junior partner in a rice firm, tolend him his car, and as he sat in the tonneau beside Coryndon, hepointed out the places of interest. Their way lay first through theresidential quarter, and Hartley's guest saw the entrance gate andgardens of Draycott Wilder's house. 

"The most interesting and certainly the best-looking woman in Mangadonelives there, a Mrs. Wilder. Hartley ought to have told you about her; heis rather favoured by the lady. Her husband is a rising civilian. Mrs. Wilder has bought Asia, and is wondering whether she'll buy Europenext. "

Coryndon hardly appeared impressed or even interested. 

"So she is a friend of Hartley's?" he said carelessly. "I hadn't heardthat. "

Fitzgibbon laughed. 

"It's something to be a friend of Mrs. Wilder--that is, in Mangadone. "

They sped on over the level road, and the car swung through the streetsthat led towards the open space before the temple. 

"That is the curio dealer's shop. Don't get any of your stuff there. Theman's a robber. "

"Which shop?" asked Coryndon patiently. 

"We're past it now, but it was the one with a dancing man outside of it, a funny little effigy. "

Coryndon's eyes were turned to the Pagoda, and he was evidentlyinattentive. 

"It strikes you, doesn't it?" asked Fitzgibbon, in the tones of agratified showman. "It always does strike people who haven't seen itbefore. "

"Naturally, when one has not seen it before, " echoed his companion, asthe car drew up. 

Coryndon stood for a moment looking at the entrance, and surveying thehuge plaster dragons with their gaping mouths and vermilion-red tongues. They were ranged up a green slope, two on either side of the brownfretted roof that covered the steep tunnel that led up a flight of morethan a hundred steps to the flat plateau, where the golden spire toweredhigh over all, amid a crowd of lesser minarets. 

Surrounded by baskets of roses and orchids, little silk-clothed Burmesegirls sat on the entrance steps, and sold their wares. Fitzgibbon wouldhave hurried on, but Coryndon, in true tripper fashion, stopped andbought an armful of blossoms. 

"What am I to do with these things?" he asked helplessly. 

"Oh, you'd better leave them before one of the _Gaudamas_, and acquiremerit. If you let them all plunder you like this, we'll never get to thetop. "

Flight after flight, the two men climbed slowly, and Coryndon stood atintervals to watch the crowd that came up and down. The steps were sosteep that the arch above them only disclosed descending feet, butCoryndon watched the feet appear first and then the rest of the hurryingor loitering men and women, and he sat on a seat beside a littlegathering of yellow-robed _Hypongyis_ until Fitzgibbon lost allpatience. 

"There is a whole town of piety to see up at the top. Come on, man; wehave hours of it yet to get through. Don't waste time over those stalls. Every picture of the Buddha story was made in Birmingham. "

Progressing a little faster, Fitzgibbon piloted Coryndon past a stallwhere yellow candles and bundles of joss-sticks in red paper cases weresold at a varying price. 

"I must get some of these, " objected Coryndon, who added a rupee's worthof incense and a white cheroot to his collection. 

When they passed through the last archway and gained the plateau, helooked round with eyes that spoke his keen interest. Even though he hadbeen there many times before, Coryndon looked at the sight with eyesthat grew shadowed by the dreaming soul that lived within him. 

Twilight was gathering behind the trees; only the gold-laced spires of athousand minarets caught the last light of the sun. On the plateau belowthe great pillar, that glimmered like a golden sword from base tobell-hung _Htee_, lay what Fitzgibbon had described as "a little town ofpiety. " A village of shrines and Pagodas, each built with seven roofs, open-fronted to disclose the holy place within; some large as a smallchapel; some small, giving room only for the figure of the _Gaudama_. Here and there, the votive offerings had fallen into decay, and thegold-leaf covering the Buddha was black and dilapidated by the passingof years, for there is no merit to be acquired in rebuilding orrenovating a sacred place. From innumerable shrines, uncounted Buddhaslooked out with the same long, contemplative eyes; in bronze, in jade, in white and black marble, in grey stone and gilded ebony, thepassionless face of the great Peace looked out upon his children. 

Near to where Coryndon and the Barrister stood together, in thepeach-coloured evening light, a large shrine with a fretted roof wasthronged with worshippers, and Coryndon stood on the steps and lookedin. The floor of black, polished marble dimly reflected the immense goldpillars that supported a lofty ceiling, lost entirely in the gloom, andbefore a blaze of candles and a floating veil of scented grey smoke apriest bowed himself, and prayed in a low, chanting voice. The face ofthe Lord Buddha behind the rails was lighted by the wind-blown flame ofmany tapers, so that it almost looked as though he smiled out of hisfar-away Nirvana upon his kneeling worshippers, who could ask nothing ofhim, not even mercy, since the salvation of a man is in his own hands. 

Before the rails, a settle with low gilt legs was covered with offeringsof flowers, that added their scent to the heavy air, and on a smalltable a feast of cakes and sweets was placed, to be distributed later onamong the poor. Coryndon disposed of his burden of pink and white rosesand little magenta prayer-flags, and lighted a bundle of joss-sticks, before they came out again and wandered on. 

As the daylight faded the lights from the shrines and the small boothsgrew stronger, and the rising night wind, coming in from the river, rangthe silver bells around the spires, filling the whole air with tinklingsound, and the slow-moving crowd around them laughed and joked, likepeople at a fair. His eyes still full of dreams, Coryndon followed withthem, keeping one small packet of amber candles to light in honour ofsome other Buddha in another shrine. 

"Funny devils, these Burmese, " remarked the Barrister. "They never cleanup anything. Look at the years of tallow collected under that spikedgate that is falling off its hinges. That black little Buddha insidemust once have been a popular favourite, but no one gives him anythingnow. "

They turned a corner past a booth where bottles full of pink and yellowfluid, and green leaves, wrapped around betel-nut, appeared to be thechief stock-in-trade, and a noise of hammering struck on their ears. Here a new shrine was being erected and was all but completed. A fewChinamen, who had been working at it, were putting their tools intocanvas bags, preparatory to withdrawing like the remaining daylight. 

"This is Mhtoon Pah's edifice, " said Fitzgibbon, coming to a standstill. "He doesn't seem to have spared expense, either. Shall we go in?"

The shrine was not a very large one, and the entrance was like theentrance to a grotto at an Exhibition. Tiny facets of glass were crustedinto grass-green cement, shining like a thousand eyes, and, seated on avermilion lacquer daďs, a Buddha, with heavy eyelids that hid hisstrange eyes, presided over an illumination of smoking flame. The smellof joss-sticks was heavy on the air, and the filigree cloak worn by theBuddha was enriched with red and green glass that shone and glittered. 

"They say the caste-mark in his forehead is a real diamond, " remarkedthe Barrister. "I don't suppose it is, but at least it is a goodimitation. "

Coryndon was not listening to him; he had gone close to the marblerails, and was lighting his little bunch of yellow tapers. He lightedthem one by one, and put each one down on the floor very slowly andcarefully, and when he had finished he turned round. 

"Mhtoon Pah is the man who has the curio shop?" he asked. 

"The very same. It gives you some idea of his percentage on sales, what?"

Coryndon joined in his laugh, and they went out again into the street ofsanctity. Fitzgibbon was now getting exhausted, for his companion'sdesire to "do" the Pagoda was apparently insatiable; and he askedinterminable questions that the Barrister was totally unable to answer. 

Coryndon seemed to find something fresh and interesting around everycorner. The white elephants delighted him, particularly where greencreepers had grown round their trunks, giving them a realistic effect ofenjoying a meal. The handles off very common English chests-of-drawers, that were set along a rail enclosing a sleeping Buddha, pleased him likea child, as did the bits of looking-glass with "Black and White Whisky, "or "Apollinaris Water, " inscribed across their faces. 

"That sort of thing seems to attract them, " explained Fitzgibbon. "Inone of the shrines there is a fancy biscuit-box at a Buddha's feet. Ithas got 'Huntley and Palmer' on the top, and pictures of children andswans all around it. Funny devils, I always say so. "

At length he had to drag Coryndon away, almost by main force. 

"I'd like to have seen Mhtoon Pah, " he objected. "He ought to be on viewwith his chapel. "

"Shrine, Coryndon. You can see him in his shop, " and they began thedescent down the steep steps. 

"Look, " said the Barrister quickly, "there is Mhtoon Pah. No, not theman in white trousers, that's a Chinaman with a pigtail under his hat;the fat old thing in the short silk _loongyi_ and crimson head-scarf. "

Coryndon hardly glanced at him, as he passed with a scent of spice andsandal-wood in his garments; his attention had been attracted by a boothwhere men were eating curry. 

"It is a curious custom to sell food in a place like this, " he remarkedto the Barrister. 

"It's part of the Oriental mind, " replied his guide. "No one understandsit. No one ever will; so don't try and begin, or you'll wear yourselfout. "

When they got back to the Club it was already late, and the hall of thebar was crowded with men, standing together in groups, or sitting inlong, uncompromising chairs under the impression that they werecomfortable seats. 

"Hullo, Joicey, " said the Barrister, as he fell over his legs. "I'mdog-beat. Been doing the Pagoda with Coryndon. Do you know eachother--?" He waved his hand by way of introduction, and Coryndon took anempty chair beside the Banker, who heaved himself up a little in hisseat, and signalled to a small boy in white, who was scuffling withanother small boy, also in white, and ordered some drinks. 

"I am new to it, " explained Coryndon, and his voice sounded tired, asthough the Pagoda had been a little too much for him. 

Joicey did not reply; he was looking away, and Coryndon followed hiseyes. Near the wide staircase, and just about to go up it, a man wasstanding, talking to a friend. He was dressed in an ill-cut suit ofwhite, with a V-shaped inlet of black under his round collar; he held a_topi_ of an old pattern under his arm, and the light showed his facecadaverous and worn. Joicey was holding the arm of his chair, and hisunder-lip trembled. 

"Inexplicable, " he muttered, and drank with a gulping sound. 

"What did you say?" asked Coryndon politely. 

"Say? Did I say anything? I can't remember that I did. " The Banker'svoice was irritable, and he still watched the clergyman. 

"What strikes me about the Pagoda is the strong Chinese element in thedesign. I am told that there are a lot of Chinamen in Mangadone. Ishould like to see their quarter. "

"Hartley should be able to arrange that for you. "

Joicey was evidently growing tired of Coryndon's freshness andenthusiasm, and he passed his hand over his face, as though the dampheat of the night depressed his mind. 

"Hartley is very busy, " said Coryndon, with the determination of a manwho intends to see what he has come to see. "I don't like to beperpetually badgering him. Could I go alone?"

"You could, " said Joicey shortly. 

"I want to miss nothing. "

Coryndon turned his head away and looked at the crowded room, fixing hisgaze on a whirring fan that hung low on a brass rod, and when he lookedround again, Joicey had got up and was making his way out into thenight. Fitzgibbon was surrounded by several other men, and there was nosign of his friend Hartley, so he got up and slipped out, standinghatless, until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness. 

The strong lights from the veranda encroached some way into the gloom, and, here and there, a few people still sat around basket tables, enjoying the evening air. Coryndon looked at them, with his head bentforward, a little like a cat just about to emerge through a door into adark passage. For a little time, he stood there, watching and listening, and then he turned away and walked out along the footpath, as though ina hurry to get back to his bungalow. 

XIII

PUTS FORWARD THE FACT THAT A SUDDEN FRIENDSHIP NEED NOT BE BASED UPON ASUDDEN LIKING; AND PASSES THE NIGHT UNTIL DAWN REVEALS A SHAMEFUL SECRET

Some ten days after Coryndon had taken up his quarters with Hartley, heinformed his host that he intended to disappear for a time, and that hewould take his servant, Shiraz, with him. He had been through everyquarter of Mangadone before he set out to commence operations, and thewhole town lay clear as a map in his mind. 

Hartley was dining out, "dining at the Wilders', " he said casually, andhe further informed Coryndon that Mrs. Wilder had asked him to bring hisfriend, but no amount of persuasion could induce Coryndon to forgo anevening by himself. He pointed out to Hartley that he never went intosociety, and that he found it a strain on his mind when he required tothink anything through, and, with a greater show of reluctance than hereally felt, Hartley conceded to his wish, and Coryndon sat down to asolitary meal. He ate very sparingly and drank plain soda water, andwhilst he sat at the table his long, yellow-white fingers played on thecloth, and his eyes followed the swaying punkah mat with an odd, intense light in their inscrutable depths. 

He had made Hartley understand that he never talked over a case, andthat he followed it out entirely according to his own ideas, and Hartleyhonestly respected his reserve, making no effort to break it. 

"When the hands are full, something falls to the ground and is lost, "Coryndon murmured to himself as he got up and went to his room. "Shiraz, " he called, "Shiraz, " and the servant sprang like a shadow fromthe darkness in response to his master's summons. 

"To-night I go out. " Coryndon waved his hand. "To-morrow I go out, andof the third day--I cannot tell. Let it be known to the servant peoplethat, like all travelling Sahibs, I wish to see the evil of the greatcity. I may return with the morning, but it may be that I shall belate. "

"_Inshallah, Huzoor_, " murmured Shiraz, bowing his head, "what is thewill of the Master?"

"A rich man is marked among his kind; where he goes the eyes of all menturn to follow his steps, but the poor man is as a grain of sand in thedust-storm of a Northern Province. Great are the blessings of the humbleand needy of the earth, for like the wind in its passing, they areinvisible to the eyes of men. "

Shiraz made no response; he lowered the green chicks outside the doorsand windows, and opened a small box, battered with age and wear. 

"The servant's box is permitted to remain in the room of the LordSahib, " he said with a low chuckle. "When asked of my effrontery in thismatter, I reply that the Lord Sahib is ignorant, that he minds not thedignity of his condition, and behold, it is never touched, though theleathern box of the Master has been carefully searched by Babu, thebutler of Hartley Sahib, who knows all that lies folded therein. "

While he spoke he was busy unwrapping a collection of senah bundles, which he took out from beneath a roll of dusters and miscellaneousrubbish, carefully placed on the top. The box had no lock and was merelyfastened with a bit of thick string, tied into a series of cunningknots. 

When he had finished unpacking, he laid a faded strip ofbrightly-coloured cotton on the bed, in company with a soiled jacket anda tattered silk head-scarf, and, as Shiraz made these preparations, Coryndon, with the aid of a few pigments in a tin box, altered his facebeyond recognition. He wore his hair longer than that of the averageman, and, taking his hair-brushes, he brushed it back from his templesand tied a coarse hank of black hair to it, and knotted it at the backof his head. He dressed quickly, his slight, spare form wound round thehips with a cotton _loongyi_, and he pulled on the coat over a thin, ragged vest, and sat down, while Shiraz tied the handkerchief around hishead. 

The art of make-up is, in itself, simple enough, but the very much moresubtle art of expression is the gift of the very few. It was hard tobelieve that the slightly foreign-looking young man with Oriental eyescould be the pock-marked, poverty-stricken Burman who stood in hisplace. 

Slipping on a light overcoat, he pulled a large, soft hat over his head, and walked out quickly through the veranda. 

"Now, then, Shiraz, " he called out in a quick, ill-tempered voice. "Comealong with the lamp. Hang it; you know what I mean, the _butti_. Theseinfernal garden-paths are alive with snakes. "

Shiraz hastened after him, cringing visibly, and swinging a hurricanelamp as he went. When they had got clear of the house and were near thegate, Coryndon spoke to him in a low voice. 

"Pull my boots off my feet. " Shiraz did as he was bidden and slipped hismaster's feet into the leather sandals which he carried under his widebelt. "Now take the coat and hat, and in due time I shall return, thoughnot by day. Let it be known that to-morrow we take our journey of sevendays; and it may be that to-morrow we shall do so. "

"_Inshallah_, " murmured Shiraz, and returned to the house. 

By night the streets of Mangadone were a sight that many legitimatetrippers had turned out to witness. The trams were crowded and thenative shops flared with light, for the night is cool and the day hotand stifling; therefore, by night a large proportion of the inhabitantsof Mangadone take their pleasure out of doors. In the Berlin Café thelittle tables were crowded with those strange anomalies, black men andwomen in European clothes. There had been a concert in the PresentationHall, and the audience nearly all reassembled at the Berlin Café forlight refreshments when the musical programme was concluded. 

Paradise Street was not behindhand in the matter of entertainment: therewas a wedding festival in progress, and, at the modest café, a thickconcourse of men talking and singing and enjoying life after their ownfashion; only the house of Mhtoon Pah, the curio dealer, was dark, andit was before this house, close to the figure of the pointing man, thatthe weedy-looking Burman who had come out of Hartley's compound stoppedfor a moment or two. He did not appear to find anything to keep himthere; the little man had nothing better to offer him than a closeddoor, and a closed door is a definite obstacle to anyone who is not ahousebreaker, or the owner with a key in his pocket; so, at least, theBurman seemed to think, for he passed on up the street towards the riverend. 

From there to the colonnade where the Chinese Quarter began was adistance of half a by-street, and Coryndon slid along, apologeticallyclose to the wall. He avoided the policeman in his blue coat and highkhaki turban, and his manner was generally inoffensive and harmless ashe sneaked into the low entrance of Leh Shin's lesser curio shop. Alarge coloured lantern hung outside the inner room, and a couple ofcandles did honour to the infuriated Joss who capered in colour on thewall. 

All the hidden vitality of the man seemed to live in every line of hislithe body as he looked in, but it subsided again as he entered, and hestared vacantly around him. 

There was no one in the shop but Leh Shin's assistant, who was finishinga meal of cold pork, and whose heavy shoulders worked with his jaws. Heceased both movements when Coryndon entered, and continued again as hespoke, the flap of his tweed hat shaking like elephants' ears. Heinformed Coryndon, who spoke to him in Yunnanese, that Leh Shin was out, so that if he had anything to sell, he would arrange the details of thebargain, and if he wanted to buy, he could leave the price of thearticle with the trusted assistant of Leh Shin. 

It took Coryndon some time to buy what he needed, which appeared to benothing more interesting than a couple of old boxes. The Burman neededthese to pack a few goods in, as he meditated inhabiting the empty, rat-infested house next door but one to the shop of Leh Shin. Uponhearing that they were to be neighbours, the assistant grew sulky andinformed Coryndon that trade was slack if he wished to sell anything, but his eyes grew crafty again when he was informed that his newacquaintance did not act for himself, but for a friend from Madras, whohaving made much money out of a Sahib, whose bearer he had been for someyears, desired to open business in a small way with sweets and grain andsuch-like trifles, whereby to gain an honest living. 

The assistant glanced at the clock, when, after much haggling, the dealwas concluded, and the Burman knotted the remainder of his money in asmall corner of his _loongyi_, and stood rubbing his elbows, looking atthe Chinaman, who appeared restless. 

"Where shall I find Leh Shin?" The Burman put the question suddenly. "Inwhat house am I to seek him, assistant of the widower and thechildless?"

The boy leered and jerked his thumb towards the direction of the river. 

"Closed to-night, follower of the Way, " he said with a smothered noiselike a strangled laugh. "Closed to-night. Every door shut, every lighthidden, and those who go and demand the dreams cannot pass in. I, only, know the password, since my master receives high persons. " He spat onthe floor. 

Coryndon bowed his head in passive subjection. 

"None else know my quantity, " he murmured. "These thieves in the lesserstreets would mix me a poison and do me evil. "

The assistant scratched his head diligently and looked doubtfully at theBurman. 

"And yet I cannot remember thy face. "

"I have been away up the big river. I have travelled far to that Island, where I, with other innocent ones, suffered for no fault of mine. "

Leh Shin's assistant looked satisfied. If the Burman were but latelyreturned from the convict settlement on the Andaman Islands, it wasquite likely that he might not have been acquainted with him. 

To all appearances, the bargain being concluded, and Leh Shin beingabsent from the shop, there was nothing further to keep the customer, yet he made no sign of wishing to leave, and, after a little preamble, he invited the assistant to drink with him, since, he explained, heneeded company and had taken a fancy to the Chinese boy, who, in histurn, admitted to a liking for any man who was prepared to entertain himfree of expense. Leh Shin's assistant could not leave the shop foranother hour, so the Burman, who did not appear inclined to wait solong, went out swiftly, and came back with a bottle of native spirit. 

Fired by the fumes of the potent and burning alcohol, the Chinamanbecame inquisitive, and wished to hear the details of the crime forwhich his new friend had so wrongfully suffered. He looked so evil, sogreasy, and so utterly loathsome that he seemed to fascinate the Burman, who rocked himself about and moaned as he related the story of hiswrong. His words so excited the ghoulish interest of his listener thathis bloated body quivered as he drank in the details. 

"And so ends the tale of his great evil; he that was my friend, " saidCoryndon, rising from his heels as he finished his story. "The hourgrows late and there is no comfort in the night, since I may not findoblivion. " He passed his hand stupidly over his forehead. "My memory islost, flapping like an owl in the sunlight; once the road to the houseby the river lay before me as the lines upon my open palm, but now theway is no longer clear. "

"I have said that it is closed to-night, so none may enter. There is apassword, but I alone know it, and I may not tell it, friend of an evilman. "

"There are other nights, " whined the Burman, "many of them in thepassing of a year. When I have the knowledge of thee, then may I seekand find later. " He rubbed his knees with an indescribable gesture ofmean cringing. 

The Chinese boy drank from the bottle and smacked his lips. 

"Hear, then, thou convict, " he said in a shrill hectoring voice. "By theway of Paradise Street, along the wharf and past the waste place wherethe tram-line ends and the houses stand far apart. Of the houses ofcommerce, I do not speak; of the mat houses where the Coringyhis live, Ido not speak, but beyond them, open below to the water-snakes, and builtabove into a secret place, is the house we know of, but Leh Shin is notthere for thee to-night, as I have already spoken. "

He felt in the pouch at his waist for a rank black cigar, which hepushed into his mouth and lighted with a sulphur match. 

"Who fries the mud fish when he may eat roast duck?" he said, with aharsh cackle that made the Burman start and stare at him. 

"_Aie! Aie!_ I do not understand thy words. " The Burman's face grewblank and he went to the door. 

"Neither do you need to, son of a chained monkey, " retorted the boy, full of strong liquor and arrogance. "But I tell thee, I and my mate, Leh Shin, hold more than money between the finger and the thumb, "--hepinched his forefinger against a mutilated thumb. "More than money, see, fool; thou understandest nothing, thy brain is left along with thychains in the Island which is known unto thee. "

"Sleep well, " said the Burman. "Sleep well, child of the Heavens, Iunderstand thee not at all, " and with a limp shrug of his shoulders, heslid out of the narrow door into the night. 

Coryndon gave one glance at the sky; the dawn was still far off, but inspite of this he ran up the deserted colonnade and walked quickly downParadise Street, which was still awake and would be awake for hours. Once clear of the lessening crowd and on to the wharf, he ran again;past the business houses, past the long quarter where the Coringyhis andcoolie-folk lived, and, lastly, with a slow, lurking step, to the closevicinity of a house standing alone upon high supports. He skirted roundit, but to all appearances it was closed and empty, and he sat downbehind a clump of rough elephant-grass and tucked his heels under him. 

His original idea, on coming out, had been merely to get into touch withLeh Shin, and make the way clear for his coming to the small, emptyhouse close to the shop of the ineffectual curio dealer, and now heknew, through his fine, sharp instinct, that he was close upon the trackof some mystery. It might have nothing to do with the disappearance ofthe Christian boy, Absalom, or it might be a thread from the hiddenloom, but, in any case, Coryndon determined to wait and see what wasgoing to happen. He was well used to long waiting, and the Orientalstrain in his blood made it a matter of no effort with him. Someone washidden in the lonely house, some man who paid heavily for the privacy ofthe waterside opium den, and Coryndon was determined to discover whothat man was. 

The night was fair and clear, and the murmur of the tidal river gentleand soothing, and as he sat, well hidden by the clump of grass, he wentover the events of the evening and thought of the face of Leh Shin'sassistant. Hartley had spoken of the bestial creature in tones ofdisgust, but Hartley had not seen him to the same peculiar advantage. Line by line, Coryndon committed the face to his indelible memory, looking at it again in the dark, and brooding over it as a lover broodsover the face of the woman he loves, but from very different motives. Hewas assured that no cruelty or wickedness that mortal brain couldimagine would be beyond the act of this man, if opportunity offered, andhe was attracted by the psychological interest offered to him in thestudy of such a mind. 

The ripples whispered below him, and, far away, he heard the chiming ofa distant clock striking a single note, but he did not stir; he sat likea shadow, his eyes on the house, that rose black, silent, and, to allappearances, deserted, against the starry darkness of the sky. He hadgot his facts clear, so far as they went, and his mind wandered out withthe wash of the water, and the mystery of the river flowed over him; thesilent causeway leading to the sea, carrying the living on its bosom, and bearing the dead beneath its brown, sucking flow, full of its ownlife, and eternally restless as the sea tides ebbed and flowed, yetmusical and wild and unchanged by the hand of man. Coryndon loved movingwaters, and he remembered that somewhere, miles away from Mangadone, hehad played along a river bank, little better than the small nativechildren who played there now, and he saw the green jungle-clearing, thered road, and the roof of his father's bungalow, and he fancied he couldhear the cry of the paddy-birds, and the voices of the water-men whocame and went through the long, eventless days. 

Even while he thought, he never moved his eyes from the house. Suddenlya light glimmered for a moment behind a window, and he sat forwardquickly, forgetting his dream, and becoming Coryndon the tracker in thetwinkling flash of a second. The inmates of the house were stirring atlast, and Coryndon lay flat behind his clump of grass and hardlybreathed. 

He could hear a door open softly, and, though it was too dark to discernanything, he knew that there was a man on the veranda, and that the manslipped down the staircase, where he stood for a moment and peeredabout. He moved quietly up the path and watched it for a few minutes, and then slid back into the house again. Coryndon could hear whispersand a low, growled response, and then another figure appeared, a Sahibthis time, by his white clothes. He used no particular caution, and cameheavily down the staircase, that creaked under his weight, and took thetrack by which Coryndon had come. 

Silhouetted against the sky, Coryndon saw the head and neck of aChinaman, and he turned his eyes from the man on the path to watch thisoutline intently; it was thin, spare and vulture-like. Evidently LehShin was watching his departing guest with some anxiety, for he peeredand craned and leaned out until Coryndon cursed him from where he lay, not daring to move until he had gone. 

At last the silhouette was withdrawn and the Chinaman went back into thehouse. He had hardly done so when Coryndon was on his feet, runninghard. He ran lightly and gained the road just as the man he followedturned the corner by Wharf Street and plodded on steadily. In thedarkness of the night there are no shadows thrown, but this man had ashadow as faithful as the one he knew so well and that was his companionfrom sunrise to sunset, and close after him the poor, nameless Burmanfollowed step for step through the long path that ended at the house ofJoicey the Banker. 

Coryndon watched him go in, heard him curse the _Durwan_, and then heran once more, because the stars were growing pale and time wasprecious. He was weary and tired when he crept into the compound outsidethe sleeping bungalow on the hill-rise, and he stood at the gate andgave a low, clear cry, the cry of a waking bird, and a few minutesafterwards Coryndon followed Joicey's example and cursed the _Durwan_, kicking him as he lay snoring on his blanket. 

"Open the door, you swine, " he said in the angry voice of a belatedreveller, "and don't wake the house with that noise. "

Even when he was in his room and delivered himself over to theministrations of Shiraz, he did not go to bed. He had something to thinkover. He knew that he had established the connection between Joicey theBanker and the spare, gaunt Chinaman who kept a shop for miscellaneouswares in the dark colonnade beyond Paradise Street. Joicey had a shortmemory: he had forgotten whether he had met the Rev. Francis Heath onthe night of the 29th of July, and had imagined that he was not there, that he was away from Mangadone; and as Coryndon dropped off to sleep, he felt entirely convinced that, if necessary, he could help Joicey'smemory very considerably. 

XIV

TELLS HOW SHIRAZ, THE PUNJABI, ADMITTED THE FRAILTIES OF ORDINARYHUMANITY, AND HOW CORYNDON ATTENDED AFTERNOON SERVICE AND CONSIDERED THEVEXED QUESTION OF TEMPERAMENT. 

The day following Coryndon's vigil outside the lonely house by the riverwas dull and grey, with a woolly sky and a tepid stillness that hunglike a tangible weight in the air. Its drowsiness affected even thenative quarter, but it in no way lessened the bustle of preparations fordeparture on the part of Coryndon, who ordered Shiraz to pack enoughclothes for a short journey, and to hold himself in readiness to leavewith his master shortly after sunrise the following day. His master alsogave him leave to go to the Bazaar and return at his own discretion, ashe was going out with Hartley Sahib. 

It was about noon, when the sun had struggled clear of the heavy clouds, that Shiraz found himself in the dark colonnade locking an empty housebehind him with his own key, and, being a stately, red-bearded followerof the Prophet, with a general appearance of wealth and dignity, hewalked slowly until he came to the doorway of Leh Shin's shop. His stepcaused the Chinaman to look up from the string bed where he lay, gaunt, yellow and unsavoury, his dark clothes contrasting with the flowingwhite garments of the venerable man who regarded him through hisspectacles. 

"The hand of Allah has led me to this place, " said Shiraz in his low, reflective tones. "I seek for a little prayer-mat and a few bowls ofbrass for my food; likewise, a bed for myself, and a bed of lesser valuefor my companion. Hast thou these things, Leh Shin?"

Leh Shin went into his back premises and returned with the bowls and theprayer-mat. 

"The bed for thyself, O Haj, and the bed of lesser value for thy friend, I shall make shift to procure. Presently I will send my assistant, theeyes of my encroaching age, to bring what you need. "

"It is well, " said Shiraz, who was seated on a low stool near the door, and who looked with contemplative eyes into the shop. 

Leh Shin huddled himself on to the string couch again, and the slowprocess of bargain-driving began. Pice by pice they argued the question, and at last Shiraz produced a handful of small coin, which passed fromhim to the Chinaman. 

"I had already heard of thee, " said Leh Shin, scratching his loosesleeves with his long, claw-like fingers. "But thy friend, the Burman, who spoke beforehand of thy coming, and who still recalls the mixture ofhis opium pipe, I cannot remember. " He hunched his shoulders. "Yet eventhat is not strange. My house by the river is a house of many faces, yet all who dream wear the same face in the end, " his voice croonedmonotonously. "All in the end, from living in the world of visions, become the same. "

Shiraz bowed his head with grave courtesy. 

"It was also told to me that you served a rich master and have stored upwealth. "

"The way of honesty is never the path to wealth, " responded Shiraz, intones of reproof. "So it is written in the Koran. "

Leh Shin accepted the ambiguous reply with an unmoved face. 

"Thy friend is under the hand of devils?"

He put the remark as an idle question. 

"He is tormented, " replied Shiraz, pulling at his beard. "He is muchdriven by thoughts of evil, committed, such is his dream, by anotherthan himself; and yet the _Sirkar_ hath said that the crime was his own. The ways of Allah are veiled, and Mah Myo is without doubt no longerreasonable; yet he is my friend, and doth greatly profit thereby. "

"Ah, ah, " said the Chinaman, placing a hubble-bubble before his guest, who condescended to shut the mouthpiece in under his long moustache, while he sat silently for nearly half an hour. 

"Dost thou sell beautiful things, Leh Shin?" he asked. "I have a gift tobestow, and my mind troubles me. The Lady Sahib of my late mastersuffered misfortune. She was robbed by some unknown son of a jackal, andthereby lost jewels, the value of which was said to be great, though Iknow not of the value of such things. "

Leh Shin curled his bare toes on the edge of his bed and looked at themwith a great appearance of interest. 

"Was the thief taken, O son of a Prophet?"

"He was not. I have cried in the veranda, to see the Lady Sahib'ssorrow, and I have also prayed and made many offerings at the Mosque, but the thief escaped. Now that my service with the Lord Sahib isfinished, and as he has assisted my poverty with small gifts, I wouldlike to make a present to the Lady Sahib. Some trifling thing, costing asmall sum in rupees, for her grief was indeed great, and it may avail toconsole her sorrow. "

"For which sorrow thou, also, wept in the veranda, " added Leh Shin. 

"The Lady Sahib had many bowls of lacquer, some green, some red, somespotted like the back of a poison snake, but she lacked a golden bowl, and, should I be able to procure one for a moderate price, it would addgreatly to her pleasure in remembering her servant, for, says not theWise One, 'a gift is a small thing, but the hand that holds it may notbe raised to smite. '"

Shiraz, all the time he was speaking, had regarded the Chinaman frombehind his respectable gold-rimmed spectacles, and he noticed that LehShin did not seem to care for the subject of lacquer, for his facedarkened and he stopped scratching. 

"I deal not in lacquer, " he said quickly. "Neither touch thou theaccursed thing, O Shiraz. Leave it to Mhtoon Pah, who is a sorcerer andwhose lies mount as high as the topmost pinnacle of the Pagoda. " TheChinaman's lips drew back from his teeth, and he snarled like a dog. "Iwill not speak of him to thee, but I would that the face of Mhtoon Pahwas under my heel, and his eyeballs under my thumbs. "

"Yet this golden bowl has been in my thought, " the voice of Shirazflowed on evenly. "And I said that here, in Mangadone, I might find suchan one. Thou art sure that lacquer is accursed to thine eyes, Leh Shin?That thou hast not such a bowl by thee, neither that thy assistant, whenhe seeks the bed for myself and the lesser bed for my friend, could notlook craftily into the shop of this merchant, and ask the price as hepasseth, if so be that Mhtoon Pah has such a bowl to sell?"

Leh Shin spat ferociously. 

"There was a bowl, a bowl such as you describe, O servant of Kings, andI thought to procure it, for word was brought me that Mhtoon Pah hadneed of it, and I desired to hold it before him and withdraw it again, and to inspire his covetousness and rage and then to sell it from my ownhand, but he leagues with devils and his power is great, for, behold, Honourable Haj, the bowl that was mine was lost by the man from the seaswho was about to sell it to me. Lost, in all truth, and after the lapseof many days, Mhtoon Pah had it in his shop, and sold it to the LadySahib. "

"The hands of a man of wealth are more than two, " said Shirazoracularly. 

"Nay, not so, for all thy learning, Pilgrim from the Shrine of Mahomet. The hands of this merchant, at the time I speak, were as my hands, orthine, " he held out his claws and snatched at the air as though it washis enemy's throat. "For his boy, his assistant, the Christian Absalom, who served him well, and whom Mhtoon Pah fed upon sweets from thevendor's stall, was suddenly taken from him, and has vanished, like thesmoke of an opium pipe. "

Shiraz expressed wonder, and agreed with Leh Shin that sorcery had beenused, shaking his head gravely and at length rising to his feet. 

"The shadows lengthen and the hour of prayer draws near. It is time forthe follower of the Prophet to give a poor man's alms at the gate of theMosque, and to pray and praise, " he said. "Thy assistant tarries, LehShin; let him go forth with speed and place my purchase in thy keeping, since I met thee in a happy hour, and shall return upon the morrow fromthe _Serai_, where it is Allah's will that I pass the night in peace. "

Walking with a slow, regular pace, he left the native quarter, andtaking a tram, got out on the road below the bungalow where Hartley'sservant waited in the veranda. 

"Thy Sahib has cursed thy beard and thine age, and says that he willreplace thee with a younger man if thy dealings in the Bazaar are ofsuch long duration. "

"Peace, owl, " said Shiraz. "The Sahib can no more travel without myassistance than a babe of one day without his mother. Presently, whenthe Sahib has drunk a peg, he will return to reason. "

"The Sahib is not within; he has but now gone out once more, askingfrom my Sahib for the loan of a prayer-book. Doubtless, there is a_Tamasha_ at the 'Kerfedril, ' and Coryndon Sahib goes thither to pray. "

"I shall place the buttons in his shirt, and recover an eight-anna piecefrom the floor, which the master dropped yesterday, to deliver to himwhen he shall return. Seek to be honest in thy youth, my son, for inlater life it will repay thee. "

Hartley's boy had not been mistaken when he heard Coryndon ask for aprayer-book and saw him go out on foot. The small persistent belloutside St. Jude's Church was ringing with desperate energy to collectany worshippers who might feel inclined to assemble there for evensong, and the worshippers when collected under the tin roof numbered nearly adozen. 

It was a bare, barn-like Church, for the wealth of the Cantonment hadflowed in the direction of the Cathedral. The punkah mats flappedlanguidly, and the lower part of the church was dark, only the chancelbeing lighted with ungainly punkah-proof lamps, and the two altarcandles that threw their gleam on a plain gold cross, guttered in theheat. A strip of cocoa-nut matting lay along the aisle, and the chanceland altar steps were covered in sad, faded red. The organist did notattend except on Sundays or Feast Days, and the service was plain, conducted throughout by the Rev. Francis Heath. 

Coryndon took a seat about half-way up the nave, and when Heath cameinto the church, he watched him with interest. He liked to watch a man, whom it was his business to study, without being disturbed, and Heath'sface in profile, as he knelt at the reading desk, or in full sight as hestood to read the lesson, attracted the fixed gaze of, at least, onemember of the small congregation. There was no sermon and the servicewas short, and as he sat quietly in his place, Coryndon wondered whatfrenzied moment of fear or despair could have driven this man into thecompany of Joicey and Mrs. Draycott Wilder, unconscious perhaps of theirconnection with him, but linked nevertheless by an invisible thread thatwound around them all. 

Beyond the fact that he had seen Mrs. Wilder, he had not taken her underthe close observation of his mental microscope. She stood on one sideuntil such time as he should have need to probe into her reasons forsilence, and he wondered if Hartley was right, and if, by chance, theearnest face of the clergyman, with its burning, stricken eyes, hadappealed to her sympathy. Could it be so, he asked himself once ortwice, but the immediate question was the one that Coryndon gave hismind to answer, and just then he was forming an impression of the Rev. Francis Heath. 

He looked at his hands, at his thin neck, at the hollows in his cheeksand the emotional quiver at the corner of his mouth, and he knew the manwas a fanatic, a civilized fanatic, but desperately and even horribly inearnest. A believer in torment, a man who held the vigorous faith thatmakes for martyrdom and can also pile wood for the fires that burn thebodies of others for the eventual welfare of their souls. Unquestionably, the Rev. Francis Heath was a man not to be judged by anaverage inch rule, and Coryndon thought over him as he listened to hisvoice and watched his strained, tempest-tossed face. Whether he wasinvolved in the disappearance of Absalom or not, he recognized thatHeath was a strong man, and that his ill-balanced force would need verylittle to make him a violent man. It surprised him less to think thatHartley attached suspicion to the Rector of St. Jude's than it had atfirst, and he left the church with a very clear impression of theclergyman put carefully away beside his appreciation of Leh Shin'sassistant. He had caught just a glimpse of the personality of the man, and was busy building it up bit by bit, working out his idea by firsttrying to fathom the temperament that dwelt in the spare body and droveand wore him hour after hour. 

The Rev. Francis Heath had paid some Chinaman to keep silence, butthough he might pay a Chinaman, he could do nothing with his ownconscience, and it was with a hidden adversary that he wrestled day andnight. Coryndon's face was pitiless as the face of a vivisectingsurgeon. Had she known of his mission, Mrs. Wilder might have beaten herbeautiful head on the stones under his feet, and she would have gainednothing whatever of concession or mercy. 

Atkins and the Barrister were dining with Hartley that night, and asCoryndon never cared to hurry over his dressing, he went at once to hisroom and called Shiraz. 

"All is well, my Master, " said Shiraz, in a low voice. "But it would bewise if the Master were to curse his servant in a loud voice, since itis expected that he will do so, and the monkey-folk in the servants'quarter listen without, concealing their pleasure in the Sahib's wrath. "

When the proceedings terminated and Coryndon had accepted his servant'slong excuse for his delay, the doors were closed, Shiraz having firstgone out to shake his fist at Hartley's boy. 

"Thus much have I discovered, Lord Sahib, " said Shiraz, when he hadexplained that the house was in readiness and the necessary furniturebought and stored temporarily at the shop of Leh Shin, the Chinaman. "There is an old hate between these two men, he of the devil shop, andthe Chinaman, a hate as old as rust that eats into an iron bar. "

Coryndon lay back in his chair and listened without remark. 

"Among many lies told unto me, that is true; and again, among many lies, it is also true that he had not, neither did he ever possess, the goldlacquer bowl, on the subject of which my Master bade me question him. Heknows not how Mhtoon Pah found it, but he believes that it was through asorcery he practised, for the man is as full of evil as the chattilifted from the brink of the well is full of water. "

Coryndon smiled and glanced at Shiraz. 

"And you think so also, grandson of a Tucktoo, for though you are old, your white hairs bring you no wisdom. "

"I am the Sahib's servant, but who knoweth the ways of devils, sincetheir footprints cannot be seen, neither upon the sand of the desert norin the snows of the great hills?"

"Did he speak of Absalom?"

"He told me, Protector of the Poor, that the boy, though of Christiancaste, was to Mhtoon Pah as the apple of his eye, and that he fed himupon sweets from the vendor's stall. Let it be said, for thy wisdom tounravel, that therefore Leh Shin felt mirth in his mind, knowing thatthe heart of his foe was wrung as the _Dhobie_ wrings the soiledgarment. "

Shiraz fell silent and looked up from the floor at the face of hismaster, who got up and stretched himself. 

"Is my bath ready, Shiraz?"

"All is prepared, though the _pani walla_, a worker of iniquity, stealsthe wood for his own burning; therefore, the water is not hot, and illis done to the good name of Hartley Sahib's house. "

When he was dressed he strolled into the drawing-room, and sat down atthe piano, playing softly until Hartley came in. 

"Shall you be away long, do you suppose?" he asked, looking withinterest at Coryndon's smooth, black head. 

"I may be, but it is impossible to tell. If I want you, I will send amessage by Shiraz. "

The dinner passed off without incident, and not once did Coryndon openthe secret door of his mind, to add to the strange store of facts he hadgathered there. He wanted nothing from Atkins, who knew less of the Rev. Francis Heath than he did himself, and he had to sustain his rôle ofignorance of the country. The two men stayed late, and it seemed toCoryndon that when men talk they do more than talk, they tell manythings unconsciously. 

Perhaps, if people realized, as Coryndon realized, the value ofrestrained speech, we should know less of our neighbours' follies andweaknesses than we do. There was a noticeable absence of interest inwhat anyone else had to say. Atkins had his own foible, Fitzgibbon his, and Hartley, who knew more of the ways of men, a more interesting, butnot less egoistic platform from which he desired to speak. They seemedto stalk naked and unashamed before the eyes of the one man who nevergave a definite opinion, and who never asserted his own theories orurged his own philosophy of life. 

Coryndon listened because it amused him faintly, but he was glad whenthe party broke up and they left. What a planet of words it was, hethought, as he sat in his room and reflected over the day. Words thatought to carry value and weight, but were treated like so many loosepebbles cast into void space; and he wondered as he thought of it; andfrom wondering at the wordy, noisy world in which he found himself, hewent on to wonder at the greater silence that was so much more powerfulthan words. "The value of mystery, " was the phrase that presented itselfto his mind. 

During the evening, three men had enjoyed all the pleasure ofself-betrayal, and, from the place where he stood, unable ever toexpress anything of his own nature in easy speech, he wondered at them, with almost childlike astonishment. Fitzgibbon, garrulous and loose oftongue, Atkins, precise and easily heated to wrath, conscious of somehidden fear that his dignity was not sufficiently respected, andHartley, who had something to say, but who oversaid it, losing gripbecause of his very insistence. Not one of them understood the value ofreserve, and all alike strove to proclaim themselves in speech, notknowing that speech is an unsound vehicle for the unwary, and thatpersonality disowns it as a medium. 

Out of the mouth of a man comes his own condemnation: let him prosperwho remembers this truth. The value of mystery, the value of silence, and above all things, the supreme value of a tongue that is a servantand not a master; Coryndon considered these values and wondered again atthe garrulity of men. Talk, the fluid, ineffectual force that fills theworld with noise, that kills illusions and betrays every latentweakness; surely the high gods laughed when they put a tongue in themouth of man. He pinched his lips together and his eyes lighted with apassing smile of mirth. 

"In Burma, there are no clappers to the bells, " he said to himself. "Each man must strike hard before sound answers to his hand, and trulyit is well to think of this at times. " And, still amused by the fleetingmemory of the evening, he went to bed and slept. 

XV

IN WHICH THE FURTHERING OF A STRANGE COMRADESHIP IS CONTINUED, AND ABEGGAR FROM AMRITZAR CRIES IN THE STREETS OF MANGADONE

Trade was slack in the shop of Leh Shin, the Chinaman. He had sat in theodorous gloom and done little else than feel his arms and rub his legs, for the greater part of the day. His new acquaintance, Shiraz, had takenover possession of his goods, scrutinizing them with care before he didso, in case the brass pots had been exchanged in the night for inferiorpots of smaller circumference, and in the end he had departed into hisown rat-burrow, two doors up the street, where his friend the Burman wasalready established in a gloomy corner. Leh Shin heard of this throughhis assistant, who had followed the coolie into the house, andinvestigated the premises as he stood about, with offers of assistancefor his excuse. 

"They have naught with them, save only a box that has no lock upon it, and also the boxes bought from thy shop, Leh Shin, but these are empty, for I looked closely, when they talked in the hither room, where theyare minded to live. Jewels, didst thou say? Then that fox with the redbeard has sold them and the money is stored in some place of security. "

"Ah, ah, " said the Chinaman, his eyes dull and fixed. 

"And 'ah, ah' to thee, " retorted the assistant, who found the responselacking in interest. "I would I knew where it was hidden. "

With a sudden change of manner he squatted near the ear of Leh Shin andtalked in a soft whisper. 

"Is not the time ripe, O wise old man, is not the hour come when thoumayst go to the house of the white Sahib and demand a piece for closedlips?"

He pursed up his small mouth and pointed at it. 

Leh Shin shook his head. 

"I am already paid, and I will not demand further, lest he, whom we knowof, come no more. Drive not the spent of strength; since the price issufficient, I may not demand more, lest I sin in so doing. "

The assistant glared at him with angry eyes. 

"Fool, and thrice fool, " he muttered under his breath, but Leh Shin didnot heed him, and did not even appear to hear what he said. For a longtime the old Chinaman seemed wrapped in his thought, and at last he gotup, and leaving the shop, went towards the principal Joss House thatfaced the river. 

Coryndon had chosen the empty shop in the Colonnade for two reasons. Itwas near Leh Shin, and near the strange assistant, who interested himnearly as much as Leh Shin himself, and also it had the additionaladvantage of being the last house in the block. A narrow alley full ofrefuse of every description lay between it and the next block, and therickety house had doors that opened to the front, and to the side, andby way of a dark lane directly from the back, making ingress or egress amatter of wide choice. 

The shop front was shuttered, and left to the rats and cockroaches, andup a flight of decrepit and shaky stairs, Shiraz had made what shift hecould to provide comfort for his master in the least dilapidated room inthe house. The walls were thin, and the plaster of the low ceiling wassmoke-grimed and dirty. The "bed of lesser value" was stored away in thegarret that lay beyond, and the prayer-mat was placed alongside thetoil-worn wooden _charpoy_, that was at least fairly clean and had allfour legs intact; and under this bed, the box that held a strangeassortment of clothing was put safely away. At the bottom of anotherbox, one of those bought by Coryndon himself from Leh Sin's assistant, Shiraz had laid a suit of tussore silk, a few shirts and collars, andanything that his master might require if he wished to revisit those"glimpses of the moon" in the Cantonments; for Shiraz neglected nothing, and had a genius for detail. 

A hurricane lamp, that threw impartial light upon all sides, stood on around table, and lighted the small room, and at one corner Coryndon sat, clad in his Burmese _loongyi_ and white coat, thinking, his chin on hisfolded hands. He had taught himself to think without paper or pens, andto record his impressions with the same diligent care as though he wrotethem upon paper. He could command his thoughts, and direct them towardsone end and one issue, and he believed that notes were an abomination, and that, in his Service, memory was the only safe recorder of progress. 

He was fully aware that he was hunting what might well be a cold line, and he thought persistently of Leh Shin, putting the other possibleissues upon one side. Hartley had allowed himself to be dominated by apredisposition to account for everything through Heath, and Coryndonwarned himself against falling into the same snare with Leh Shin. Hethought of the Chinaman's shop, and he knew that it was built on thesame plan as his own dwelling. There was no basement, and hardly anyroom beyond the open ground-floor apartment and the two upper rooms. Nowhere, in fact, to conceal anything; and its thin walls could notcontain a single cry for help or prayer for mercy. It was possible tohave drugged the boy and smothered him as he lay unconscious, but unlessthe murderers had chosen this method, Absalom could not have met his endin the Chinaman's shop. There remained the house by the river toinvestigate, and there remained hours and days, and possibly weeks, ofclose watching, that might reveal some tiny clue, and for that Coryndonwas determined to wait and watch until it lay in the hollow of his palm. 

Acting the part of a man more or less astray in his wits, he wanderedout either late or early, with the vague, aimless step of a dreamer, andstood about, staring vacantly. Leh Shin's shop attracted him, and hewould squat on the ground either just outside the narrow entrance, orjust within, and, with flaccid, dropping mouth, stare at the hangingarray of secondhand clothes, making himself a source of endlessentertainment for the boy, who found him easy to annoy and distress, andconsequently practised upon him with unwearying pleasure. 

"Wise one, where are the jewels stolen by thy Master?" he asked, throwing the dregs of his drink over the Burman's bare feet. 

"Jewels, jewels? Nay, friend, jewels are for the rich; for the Raj andthe Prince; I have never seen one to hold in my hand and to considerclosely. As for the Punjabi, he is no master of mine. I did him aservice--nay, I have forgotten what the service was, as I forget allthings, save only the guilt of the evil man, once my friend. "

"Tell me once more thy story. "

The Burman cowered down and whimpered. 

"Since I put it into speech for thy ears, my trouble of mind has grown, like moonlight in the mist. I may not speak it again. They, yonder, would hear, " he pointed at the clothes, that napped a little in the hot, heavy wind that came in strong with the scents and smells of the Bazaar. 

"Oh, oh, " said the boy, with a crackling laugh. "I will tell them not tospeak or stir. I have power over them, and they shall repeat nothing. Tell me the story, fool, or I will drive thee from thy corner, and thechildren shall throw mud upon thee in the streets. "

Again and again the drama was repeated, and as Coryndon became part ofthe day's amusement to Leh Shin's assistant, he grew to know exactlywhat both the boy and his master did during the hours of the day. Unknown and unsuspected, the Burman went in and out as they went in andout. He appeared at the house by the river, he sat with his legsdangling over the drop from the Colonnade into the streets, and he woreout the hours in idleness, the dust of the Bazaar powdering his hair andgriming his face, but behind his vacant eyes, his quick brain was aliveand burning, and he felt after Leh Shin with invisible hands. 

Coryndon was never at the mercy of one idea only, and he began to see, very soon after he had investigated the two houses--the ramshackle shopand the riverside den--that if he intended to progress he could notafford to sit in the street and drink in the café opposite Leh Shin'sdwelling for an interminable space of weeks. He had limitless patience, but he was quick of action, and saw any flaw in his own system as soonas a flaw appeared. Leh Shin was suspicious, and took precautions whenhe went out at night, and this in itself made it dangerous to becontinually upon his heels in a character he knew and could recognize. So long as there was anything to gain by remaining in his Burmeseclothing, Coryndon used it, avoiding the Chinaman and cultivating thesociety of his assistant, but he soon began to realize that if he wereto follow as closely as he desired, he could not do so in his presentdisguise. 

All day he sat watching the crowded street, shivering, though the sunwas warm, and breaking his silence with complaints that the fever wasupon him, and that he was sick, and that he could not eat. He whimperedand whined so persistently that the assistant drove him off, for hefeared infection, and fancied he might be sickening for the plague. 

"Neither come thou hither, until thou art fully recovered, " he added, "lest I use my force upon thee. "

If a certain beggar who had sat for a whole month outside the GoldenTemple at Amritzar was to become reincarnated in the person of the idiotBurman, the Burman must have a reason to offer to the inquisitive forhis temporary absence. Sickness is sudden and active in the streets ofany Bazaar, and when Shiraz learnt that he was to keep within the houseand report the various stages of the fever of his friend, he salaamedand drew out the battered box from under the bed, and folded away the_loongyi_ and coat with care. 

Coryndon explained his plan of coming and going when the streets weresilent, and when he could do so without being noticed. If he came in thedaytime and asked for alms, Shiraz was to open and call him in toreceive food, but he would only do this in great emergency, as thebeggar did not wish to establish any connection with the Punjabi. If, onthe other hand, it was a matter of necessity for the Burman to reappear, Shiraz was to walk along the street and bestow alms in the beggar'sbowl; and on the first opportunity Coryndon would return and make thenecessary change. The first difficulty was to get out of the house, andto be in the street by twilight, when the close operation of watchingwould have to begin. 

"The doors of the merciful are ever open to the poor; yet there is greatdanger in going out by the way of the Bazaar. "

"There is a closed door at the back that I have well prepared, " saidCoryndon, pulling a bit of sacking over his bent shoulders. "Rememberthat an oiled hinge opens like the mouth of a wise man. "

The addition of one to the brotherhood of vagrancy that is part of everyEastern Bazaar calls the attention of no one, and being a newcomer, Coryndon contented himself with accepting a pitch in a district wherealms were difficult to obtain and small in value, but his humility didnot keep him there long, and he made a place for himself at the top ofParadise Street, in the shadow of an arched doorway, where a house withcarved shutters and horseshoe windows was slowly mouldering through thefirst stages of decay. From here he could see down the Colonnade, andalso watch the shop of Mhtoon Pah, as he alternately cursed or blessedthe passers, according to their gifts or their apathy. 

The heavy, slouching figure of the assistant went by to take up hismaster's place in the waterside house, and the beggar wasted no time inglancing after him. He knew his destination, and had no need to troubleabout the ungainly, walloping creature, who kicked him as he passed. Itwas fresh, out in the street, and pleasant, and in spite of his mustyrags and his hidden face, Coryndon enjoyed the change of occupation. 

He saw the place much as it had been on the evening of July the 29th. Mhtoon Pah came out and sat on his chair, smoking a cheroot, andobserving the street. In a good humour it would appear, for when thebeggar cringed past and sent up his plea for assistance, the curiodealer felt in his pouched waist-sash and threw him a coin. 

"Be it requited to thee in thy next life, O Shrine-builder, " murmuredthe beggar, and he squatted down on the ground a little further on. 

He saw Shiraz come out and stand at the door, preparatory to settingforth to the Mosque. Saw him lock it carefully and proceed slowly andwith great dignity through the crowd. He passed close to the beggar, buttook no notice of him, lifting his garments lest they should touch him, and for this the beggar cursed him, to the entertainment of those wholistened. 

Blue shadows like wraiths of smoke enfolded the street at the far end, and the clatter and noise grew stronger as the houses filled after theday of toil. In one of the prosperous dwellings a gramophone was setnear the window, and the song floated out over the street, themusic-hall chorus from the merchant's house mingled in with the cry ofvendors hawking late wares at cheap prices. 

A hundred years ago, except for the gramophone and an occasional_gharry_, the street might have been the same. The same amber light thatheld only a short while after sunset, the same blue misty shadows, thesame concourse of colour and caste, the same talk of food, and the sameidle, loitering and inquisitive crowd. 

Coryndon watched it with eyes of love. Half of his nature belonged tothis place and was part of it. He understood their idleness, their smallpleasures, their kindness and their cruelty; and though the dominance ofthe white race was strongest in him, he loved these half-brothers of hisbecause he understood them. 

Two young _Hypongyi_ came past where he sat, and as they had nothingelse to give, gave him their blessing and a look of pity. 

"He did ill in his former life, " said the elder of the two. "The balanceis adjusted thus, and only thus. "

"Great is the justice of the Law, " replied the other, rubbing his shavencrown reflectively, and then some noise of music or laughter attractedthem and they ran up the street to see what it might be, for they wereyoung, and there was no reason why they should not enjoy simplepleasures. 

Coryndon knew that Leh Shin would certainly go to the Joss House thatnight, and he knew that upon these occasions the Chinaman prayed long, and that it would be dark before he entered the place of worship. Foranother hour his time was free to watch the street, and withoutattaching any particular consequence to the fact, he saw Mhtoon Pah getup, rub his hands on his knees and lift his chair inside the door, whichhe closed with a noise of dragging chains and creaking bolts. 

Slowly the last gleam withdrew, and the dust lost its effect of amber, and the trees grew dark, and little whispering winds clapped the palmleaves one on another with a dry, barking sound. Children still screamedand played, and dogs yelped and offered to show fight, and still peopleon foot came and went, and the dusk drew down a veil and the greaternoise subsided into a lower key. 

The beggar was no longer there, his place was empty and he had gone. 

XVI

IN WHICH LEH SHIN IS BREATHED UPON BY A JOSS, AND EXPERIENCES THE TERROROF A MAN WHO TOUCHES THE VEIL BEHIND WHICH THE IMMORTALS DWELL. 

Of all the savage desires that riot in the hearts of men, the lust ofrevenge is probably the strongest. Civilization has done its best tocontrol and curb wild impulse; but as long as a cruel wrong rankles, ora fierce longing to square an old account remains, there will be handsthrust out to take the naked sword of the Lord into their own finitegrasp, and there will be men who will be content to pay the price sothat they may see the desire of their eyes. 

The Oriental has above the white races an illimitable patience inawaiting his hour for retribution, for the heart of the East does notforget and can hold a purpose silently through the dust-blown, sunlityears, waiting for the dawn of the appointed day. 

When Leh Shin set out towards the Joss House, he was repeating aprocedure that had become constant with him of late. He knew that a Josswas revengeful and terrible in matters of hate, therefore his prayerwould be understood in the strange region of power where the Great Onesdwelt. His religion was a mixture of the teachings of Buddha, Confucius, and Shinto, for long absence from his own country and constantassociation with the Burmese and Japanese had blended and confused theoriginal belief that he had learnt in far-away Canton. To this basis wasadded the grossest form of superstition, and the wildest fancies of abrain muddled with the fumes of opium, but the one thing clear to himwas, that a Joss, though an immortal being, was able to comprehendhatred. 

The gods punished terribly, slaying with plague and pestilence, destroying life by flood and years of famine, and so Leh Shin knew thatthey were very like men, taking full advantage of their fearful powerand punishing the smallest neglect with the utmost rigour. He couldappeal to a great invisible cruel brain and demand assistance for hisown limited desire for revenge, knowing that it was an attribute ofthose whose help he sought, but he went in fear, with pricking nerves, because his belief was strong in the power of the monsters heworshipped. 

The Joss House stood in a wide street near the river; a stone courtyardseparated it from the thoroughfare, and the building itself was raisedon a terrace, led up to by two shallow flights of steps. The roof was amarvel of sea-green mosaic, coiled over by dragons with flaming redtongues and staring glass eyes, each dragon a wonder of fretted fins andivory teeth and claws. Upon each of the three roofs was set reliefmosaic, of beautiful workmanship, representing houses and ships andbridges, with tiny men and women, and little trees, all as small as achild's plaything, but complete, proportioned and entire. Huge stonepillars covered with devils and crawling lizards supported the longportico that ran the full length of the building, and between eachpillar an immense paper lantern gleamed like a dim moon. 

Leh Shin stood outside for a few moments and then plunged in, like a manwho is not sure of his nerve and cannot afford to wait too long lest hisdetermination to face what lay inside should fail him. On feast days theJoss House was a gay place, full of lights and people crowding in andout, and there was no room for fear, for even a Joss is not alarming incompany with many men, but when Leh Shin went in, the place wasdeserted, and it seemed to him that the unseen power was terribly nearin the darkness. 

It was a vast, lofty building inside, supported by gold pillars andblack pillars, and in the centre near the door was a tank-shaped wellwhere pots of flowering plants and palms were set with no particular eyeto regularity or effect. As they shivered and rustled in the dark, theywere full of a suggestion of the fear that made Leh Shin's heart as coldas a stone in a deep pool. Raised on a jade plinth, a low round pillarstood directly in front of the rose-red curtains that were drawn acrossthe sanctuary space, and on the top of the pillar a bronze jar held onescented stick, that burned slowly, like a winking, drowsy eye, its slowspiral of incense creeping up into the air and losing itself in the higharches of the pointed roof. Between the pillar and the sanctuaryitself, was a small table covered with an embroidered shawl, worked inspangles that glittered and shone, and beneath the table were a numberof smooth stones. 

Leh Shin locked his hands together and passed up the aisle, close towhere the palm trees rustled and stirred, and fear was upon him likethat of a hungry dog. He crossed a line of light cast by some candles, and it seemed to him that the curtains moved as he approached. The JossHouse was apparently empty, and yet it did not seem empty. Invisibleeyes watched behind the carved screens that shut out the priests' houseson either side, invisible ears might easily catch the lowest whisper ofhis prayer. Soundless impressions of moving things that had no shapehaunted his consciousness, and he started in panic as his own shadowfell before him when he stepped across the burning candles and slid intothe close alley between the table and the shrine. 

He bent down suddenly and, feeling on the cold marble of the floor, tookup two of the stones and beat them together with the loud clapping noisewhich proclaimed a suppliant. Bowed in the close space, he repeated hisprayer the requisite number of times, and it seemed to Leh Shin that theJoss heard and accepted: the Joss who took visible shape in his mind, with a face half-human and half-bestial, and who capered with a drawnsword in his hand. 

Over his head the heavy curtains swayed again, and the tittering noisefrom a nest of bats sounded like ghostly laughter. His prayer had drawnpower to his aid, out of the unknown place where the gods live, andloosed it in response to his cry. He was only Leh Shin, a poor Chinamanwho kept a miserable shop in the native quarter and an opium den downwhere the river water choked and gurgled at night, but he felt that hehad touched something in the terrible shadows, and once more he beat thestones together, his face pouring with sweat. As the noise echoed upagain, the last candle fell dying into a yellow pool of melted wax, andwent out with an expiring flicker; and Leh Shin beat his hands againstthe darkness that shut upon him like a wall. He sprang to his feet andran, and as he went wings seemed to bear down behind him. There wasterror alive in the Joss House, and before that terror he fled pantingand trembling, fearful that hands would close upon his black garmentsand drag him back, holding him until he went mad. As he made for thedoor he fancied he saw a shadowy form move in the gloom and clear hispath, and it added the last touch of panic to his mind. 

He leaned against an outer pillar for support, and gradually the noiseof the street drew him back again to reality and to the solid facts oflife once more. He had been badly scared, for in some cases when nothingthat can be expressed in words takes place, an infinitely greater thing, that no words can express, has occurred mentally. To Leh Shin'sbewildered mind it was clear that he had actually felt a Joss breatheupon him, and that he had heard its footsteps follow him across themarble floor; the Joss who had shaken the curtains and extinguished thecandles. 

Still bewildered, Leh Shin crossed the courtyard and sat down on thekerb; his head swam and he felt along his legs with shaking hands. Abelated fruit seller went by, and he bought a handful of dates, stuck ona small rod and looking like immense beetles, and as he ate hisconfidence in life gradually returned. The Joss was at a safe distancein his house and there was the street to give courage to his heart; thestreet where men walked safe and secure, and where a worse fear than thefear of death did not prowl secretly. 

After a little while, he got up from the stifling dust and walked slowlyon. The streets flared with lights and the gold letters painted large onsignboards in huge Chinese characters shone out, making a brave show. There were open restaurants where he could have gone in, and there werehouses of entertainment, hung with paper lanterns, that invited passerswith a sound of music, but Leh Shin continued his mechanical walk, having another purpose in his mind. 

He turned out of the lighted glare of the shops and struck along a backalley, where one street lamp gave the sole illumination, and stopping ata low, arched door cut deep in a wall, he knocked and was admitted. Inside the entrance was another door heavily clamped with iron, whichgave admission down a long, narrow passage to a room beyond. It was asmall room, not unlike a prison, with heavy iron bars against thecorridors, and it was quite bare of furniture except for two dealtables, around which a crowd of men stood playing for money withimpassive faces and greedy, grasping hands. There was no mixture of raceamong the men who gambled; they were all Chinese, most of them clad inindigo-blue trousers and tight vests, though some of them wore whiteshirts and rakish straw hats. The young men had close-clipped hair andlooked like clever bull-terriers, but the older men wore long pigtailswound round their heads in black, rope-like coils. The noise of dominoesthrown out by the man who held the bank and the rattle of dice werealmost the only sounds in the room. 

Under one table there was a small shrine, where a diminutive Josspresided over the fortunes of Chance, but Leh Shin did not go to it aswas his usual habit before he began to play. He even eyed it uneasilyand kept at the further end of the room. 

He played with varying success for an hour, for two hours, and the thirdhour was running out before he shuffled off down the close passage, hisscanty winnings tied in the corner of a rag stuffed into his belt, andwas let out through the heavily barred doors into the street. Thealley-way was deserted, and Leh Shin went down the kennel into the openplace with the walk of a man who has something definite to do. A beggar, who had been sitting huddled under the wall of a house opposite, cranedhis neck out of the shadows, and followed him quickly. 

Leh Shin had passed this last hour deliberately, so as to bring himselfto some appointed place neither earlier nor later than he desired toget there, and Coryndon woke to the excitement of the chase again as hefollowed along the Colonnade. It was easy to walk quickly under the roofthat ran from the entrance down to the turn that led into ParadiseStreet, and Leh Shin did not even pause as he passed his own doorway butmade on rapidly until he came out at the far end. The hour was verylate, and the street silent. A drop in the temperature had driven thesleepers who usually preferred the open to the closeness of walls, within, and the whole double row of houses slept with gaping windows andopen doors. 

Mhtoon Pah's curio shop was entirely closed. Every window had outershutters fastened, and no gleam of light showed anywhere, up or down thehigh narrow front. When Leh Shin stopped in front of the doorway thebeggar sat down opposite to him a little further down the street, hishead bowed on his bosom. He watched Leh Shin prowl carefully round andclimb with monkey-like agility from the rails to the window-ledge, wherehe peered in through the shutters, raising a broken lath to see into theinterior. 

Coryndon watched him with intent interest. The night was moonless, heknew that if a match were struck in the interior of the shop it wouldshine through the raised lath, and it was for that sight that his eyesstrained and ached with intense concentration. The patience of theChinaman made Coryndon feel that he was watching for something definiteto happen, and at length a yellow bar cut suddenly across the dark. Coryndon's heart beat so loud that he feared its sound might be heardacross the narrow street, and he gripped his hands together. The curioshop was no longer dark, for someone had come in with a lamp; Coryndoncrept forward, his eyes on the Chinaman, who had slipped back on to theground and had raced up the steps, beating against the door violently. 

"Come out, father of lies, come out and speak with me. I have news ofthy Absalom. "

The beggar was at the foot of the steps now, close beside the dancingimage, who smiled and called his attention to the rigid figure of LehShin. 

"So thou hast news for me, unclean one? Of this shall the police hearfull knowledge two hours after dawn. Where hast thou hidden the body ofthe boy who was the light of mine eyes, who was ever eager and honest inbusiness?"

"Thou knowest, traitor, " said the Chinaman, his voice hoarse withpassion, "what is dark unto others is clear unto me. Have I not the taleof thy years written in the book of my mind?"

For a moment there was dead silence, and then a voice full of smoothmalice and cruelty made answer to Leh Shin. 

"Get thee to thy bed, fool. "

"I wait, " Leh Shin's voice cracked and trembled, "and when the hour thatis already written for thy destruction comes like the night-bat, it is_I_ who shall proclaim it to thee; thus I have demanded, and thus itshall fall out. "

"O fruitful boaster, O friend of many years, thy words cause me greatmirth. Get thee to thy kennel, lest I do indeed come forth and twist thyvulture's neck. "

A laugh of scorn was the only response to Mhtoon Pah's threat, and theChinaman turned and came down the steps. 

"Alms, alms, " whined a sleepy voice. "The poor are the children of theHoly One. I am blind and I know not the faces of men. Alms, alms, thatthy merit may be written in the book. "

"Ask of him that is in that house, " said Leh Shin, pointing to the curioshop. "Strike him with thy pestilence that his fatness fall from him andhis bones melt, and I will give thee golden rewards. "

The secret passion of the words was so intense that the beggar wassilenced, and Leh Shin passed on. He went from Paradise Street to asmall burrow near the Colonnade, and turned into a mean house where thepaper lantern still burned in token that the owners were awake. It wasquite clean inside, and divided into large cubicles. In each cubicle wasa table, covered with oilcloth, at the head of which was placed a redlacquer pillow and a little glass lamp that gave the only light neededin the long, low room. On the tables lay Burmen and Chinamen, some rigidin drugged sleep, and some smoking immense pipes with small, cup-likereceptacles that held the opium. The proprietor was alert and wakeful ashe flitted about, an American cigarette between his lips, in thisstrange garden of sleep. 

"I am weary, " said Leh Shin. "Let me rest here. "

"It is great honour, " replied the small, wizened old man, with thelaugh. "What of thine own house by the river?"

"My limbs fail me. To-night my assistant supplies the needs of those whoask, for I had a business. "

"And I trust thy business hath prospered with thee?"

Leh Shin stretched himself out on a table near the door. 

"I await the hour of prosperity, "--he twisted a needle in the brown massthat was offered to him and held it over the lamp. "Evil are the days ofa life whilst an old grudge burns like hot charcoal in the heart. "

"It is even so, " agreed the proprietor, and he hurried away from thenoose of talk that Leh Shin would have cast around him. 

The beggar, having followed Leh Shin as far as the opium den, returnedalong the Colonnade and knocked at the door of the house where Shirazwaited anxiously for his master. 

"Is my bath prepared, Shiraz? I must wash before I sleep, and I shallsleep late. "

Coryndon was weary. No one who has not watched through hours of strainand suspense knows the utter weariness of mind and body that followsupon the long effort of close attention, and he fell upon his bed in ahuddled heap and slept for hour after hour, worn out in brain and body. 

XVII

TELLS HOW CORYNDON LEARNS FROM THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH WHAT THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH NEVER TOLD HIM. 

When Coryndon sat up in his bed, and recalled himself with a jerk fromthe drowsiness of night to the wakefulness of broad daylight, he calledShiraz to give to him instructions. 

After dark, his master told him, he was going to return to theCantonments, and during his absence there were some matters which he haddecided to leave unreservedly in the hands of Shiraz. He was tocultivate his acquaintance with Leh Shin, the Chinaman, worming his wayinto his confidence and encouraging him to speak fully of the old hatredthat was still like live fire between him and the wealthy curio dealer. Revenge may or may not take the shape and substance of the originalwrong done, and the limited intelligence of the Chinaman would suggestpayment in the same coin, so it was necessary for Coryndon to know theactual facts of the ancient grudge. Further than this, Shiraz was to goto the shop of Mhtoon Pah, and discover anything he could in the courseof conversation with the Burman. 

"Mark well all that is said, that when I return it may be disclosed tomine eyes through thy spectacles, " he concluded, tying the ragged endsof his head-scarf over his forehead. 

He went down the staircase with a slow, dragging step, leaning on therail of the Colonnade when he got out into the street, and halting, witha vacant stare, outside the shop of Leh Shin. 

"So thy devils have not yet caught thee and scalded thee with oil, orburned thee in quicklime?" jeered the boy, as he watched a coolie sweepout the shop. 

He was chewing a raw onion, and he swung his legs idly, for there wasnothing to do, and, on the whole, he was glad to have the mad Burman tobait for half an hour's entertainment. 

"The sickness is heavy upon me, my legs are loaded as with wet sand, andmy mouth is parched like a rock in the desert, " whined the Burmanplaintively. 

"Nay, nay, not _thy_ legs, and _thy_ tongue. The legs and the mouth ofthe evil man, thy friend, O dolt. "

The Burman shook his head stupidly. 

"The will of the Holy Ones is that I shall recover, and my friend hassaid that I shall go a journey. I go by the terrain this night atsunset. "

"Whither doth he send thee, unclean one?"

The Burman smiled with a sudden look of cunning. 

"That is a word unspoken, and neither will I tell it. Thy desire to knowwhat concerns thee not is as great as thy fatness. "

With a doggedness that is often part of some forms of mania, the Burmansquatted in the dust, and under no provocation could he be induced tospeak. After midday he indicated by lifting his fingers to his mouththat he intended to go in search of food; having worked Leh Shin'sassistant into a state of perspiring wrath by the simple process ofreiterating in pantomime that he was dumb. It must be admitted thatCoryndon got no small amount of pleasure out of his morning'sentertainment, and he doubled himself up as though in pain as he draggedhimself back to the house. 

The vanished beggar's tracks were entirely obliterated, and when theBurman went off in a _gharry_ in company with Shiraz, the whole streetknew that he was being sent away on a secret mission of greatimportance. 

To know something that other people do not know is to be in some waytheir superior. It is a popular fallacy to believe that we all of us aregifted with special insight. The dullest bore believes it of himself, but when it comes to the possession of an absolute fact superioritybecomes unmistakable, particularly in circumscribed localities, and LehShin's assistant remembered how the sudden dumbness of the crazy Burmanhad irked his own soul. He told a little of what he professed to know, and having done so, refused to admit more, and so it was current in theBazaar that the friend of the rich Punjabi was gone to receive moneypaid for jewels, and that the place of his destination was known only toLeh Shin's assistant, who, having sworn on oath, would by no meansdivulge the name of the place. 

Even Leh Shin, who awoke late, appeared interested, and asked questionsthat made the gross, flabby boy think hard before he replied; and themystery that attached itself to the departure of the Burman lent anadded interest to Shiraz, who returned after the usual hour of prayer atthe Mosque, and paced slowly up the street, meditating upon a verse fromthe Koran. The evening light softened and the shadows grew long, makingthe Colonnade dark a full hour before the street outside was wrapped inthe smoky gloom of twilight and the charcoal fires were lighted to cookthe evening meal, and by the time that the first clear globes ofelectric light dotted Paradise Street Coryndon was back in his room anddressed ready to go out to dinner. 

Hartley received the wanderer with enthusiasm, and began at once bytelling him that he had an invitation for him which was growing stale bylong keeping. Mrs. Wilder was giving a very small party and both theHead of the Police and his friend were invited. 

"I accepted definitely for myself, and conditionally for you, " saidHartley cheerfully. "Now I will ring up Wilder and tell him that theprodigal has reappeared, and that you will come. "

Coryndon submitted to the inevitable with a good grace; it was one ofhis best social qualifications, and arose from a keen sensitiveness thatmade it nearly impossible for him ever to disappoint anyone. He hadhoped for a quiet evening, when he might expect to get to bed early andhave time to think over every tiny detail of his time in the MangadoneBazaar; but as this was not possible, he agreed with sufficient alacrityto deceive his kind host. 

His face was drawn and tired, and his eyes were heavy; he noticed thisas he glanced into his glass, but after all it did not matter. Hissocial importance was small, and for to-night he was nothing more thanan adjunct of Hartley, a mere postscript put in out of formalpoliteness. He was not going in order to please Mrs. Wilder--though, asshe appeared on his mental list of names, she had her place in thestructure that filled his mind--but to please Hartley. Any time wouldhave done for Mrs. Wilder, she was but a cypher in the total, but if hehad begged off to-night he would have had to hurt Hartley. Coryndoncould never get away from the other man's point of view; it dogged himin great things and in small, and he was obliged to realize Hartley'spleasure in seeing him, and his further pleasure in carrying him off toa house where he himself enjoyed life thoroughly. Coryndon could aseasily have disappointed a child, or been cruel to a small, waggingpuppy as to Hartley in his present mood. 

He knew that he would have to shut the door upon his dominating thought, unless something occurred to open it during the evening. Women liked toplay with fire, and he wondered if Mrs. Wilder would show anyinclination to fiddle with gunpowder, but he hardly expected that shewould, though she had played some part in the extensive drama thatreached from Heath's bungalow to the Colonnade in the Chinese quarter, leaving a gap between that his brain struggled with in vain. 

It was like the imaginable space between life and death, where bothconditions existed, and one was the key to the other. Something waslacking. One small master touch wanting to lay the whole thing bare ofmystery. Coryndon's weary eyes reflected the state of his mind. He feltlike an inventor who is baffled for the lack of a tiny clue that makesthe impossible natural and easy, or a composer who hears a refrain andcannot call it into birth in clear defiant chords. To think too muchwhen thought cannot carry the mind over the limiting barrier is to spendsubstance on fruitless effort, and Coryndon deliberately shut the doorof his mind and put the key away before he started out with Hartley. 

The night was clear as the two men went off together hatless through thesoft moonlight. Neither Coryndon nor Hartley talked much as they walkedby a short cut across the park to the Wilders' bungalow, a servantcarrying a lantern going before them like a dim will-o'-the-wisp; theyellow lamplight paling into an ineffectual blur against the clearmoonlight. 

"I think it is only ourselves, " said Hartley after a long pause. "Youare looking a bit done, Coryndon, so you'll be glad if it isn't a latenight. "

Coryndon agreed, and conversation flagged again. They crossed the road, turned up the avenue and were lost in the shadows of the trees, comingout again into a white bay of light outside the door. 

Everyone, man or woman, who is endowed at birth with a sensitive natureis subject to occasional inrushes of detachment that without warning cuthim off from realities for moments or hours, converting everyday mattersinto the consistency of dream-life. It was through this medium thatCoryndon saw Mrs. Wilder when he came into the large upstairsdrawing-room. It would have annoyed her to know that she appearedindefinite and shadowy to his mind, just as it annoyed Alice when shewas told that she was only "Something in the Red King's dream, " butCoryndon could not help his sensations. Mrs. Wilder was smiling with hercareless, easy, confident smile, and yet he saw only an unaccounted bitof the puzzle, that he could not fit in. She was dressed in the latestfashion, and talked with a kind of regal amiability, but nevertheless, she was not a real woman, a real hostess, or a positive entity; she wasvague, and the touch of her floating personality added to the baffledsensation that drained Coryndon's mind of concentrated force, and madehim physically exhausted. 

Wilder had something to say to Hartley, and Coryndon handed himself overlike a coat or an umbrella to Mrs. Wilder, who, he knew, was placing alow valuation upon him, and was already a little impatient at his lackof vitality. She was calling him a bore, behind her fine, hard eyes, andhaving exhausted Mangadone in a few sentences, wondered what sort ofbore he really was. There were golf bores, fishing bores, and shootingbores, but Coryndon hardly appeared to belong to any of those families, and she began to suspect him of "superiority, " a type of bore aggressiveto others of his cult. Mrs. Wilder did not tolerate a type to which sheherself undoubtedly owned to some slight connection, and she gave up alleffort to awaken interest in the slim, weary young man, who lookedhalf-asleep. 

"Mr. Heath ought to be here directly, " she said, in her loud, clearvoice. "Draycott, don't forget to ask him to say grace. "

If she had got up and taken Coryndon by the shoulders and shaken him, the effect could not have been more marked and sudden. All the dullfeeling of detachment cleared off at once, and he knew that his senseswere sharp and acute; his bodily fatigue fell away, and as he moved inhis chair his eyes turned towards the door. 

"I wish he would hurry, " growled Wilder, a prey to the pessimism of thehalf-hour before dinner. "He is inexcusably late as it is. "

As though his words had summoned the Rev. Francis Heath, footstepsmounting the staircase followed Wilder's remark, and the clergyman cameinto the room. Immediately upon his coming, conversation became general, and a few moments later the party was seated round a small table keptfor intimate gatherings, and placed in the centre of the largeteak-panelled room. An arrangement of plumbago and maidenhair, and paleblue shaded candles casting a dim light, carried out the saxe blueeffect that Mrs. Wilder had evolved with the assistance of a ladies'paper that dealt with "effective and original table decoration. "

In spite of Mrs. Wilder's efforts, assisted as they were by Hartley, conversation flagged for the first two courses. Heath was not exactlyawkward, but he was conscious of the fact that he and Hartley had had anunpleasant interview, buried by the passing of a few weeks, but by nomeans peaceful in its grave. There was just a suggestion of strain inhis manner, and he was evidently carrying through a duty in being thereat all, rather than out for pleasant society. 

Coryndon observed him carefully, particularly when he talked to hishostess. If she was helping to screen him, the clergyman was too honestnot to show some sign of gratitude either in his manner or in hisdeep-set eyes, and yet no such indication was evident. Coryndondisassociated his mind from the history of the case, and saw austerityflavoured with a near approach to disapproval. Judging by externals, theRev. Francis Heath held no very exalted opinion of his hostess. 

"She has done nothing for him, " he said to himself. "If obligationexists, it is the other way round, " and he proceeded to watch Mrs. Wilder's manner towards her clerical guest with heightening interest. 

Usually she was very sure of herself, more especially so in her ownhouse, and surrounded with the evidences of her husband's official rank. When Mrs. Wilder talked to the poor, insignificant Padré who could be ofno real social assistance to her, she changed her manner, the mannerthat she directed pointedly towards Coryndon, and became quelled andsoftened. 

Mrs. Wilder, propitiatory and diffident, was, Coryndon felt, Mrs. Wildercaught out somehow and somewhere; perhaps on the night of the 29th ofJuly, and as he considered it, Coryndon knew that the shoe was on a muchsmaller foot than Hartley had measured for it, and that the secretunderstanding between Heath and Mrs. Wilder was one-sided in itsbenefits. 

Hartley had recounted the story of the fainting fit as a landmark bywhich he remembered where he was himself, and, adding this fact to whathe observed, Coryndon put Mrs. Wilder on one side and mentally drew ared-ink line under her total. He knew all he needed to know about her, and she had no further interest for his mind. He talked to her husbandwhen once he had satisfied himself definitely, and as dinner wore on theatmosphere became more genial and less strained than when it had begun. 

"By the way, " said Wilder carelessly, "was it ever discovered how thatfellow Rydal got clear of the country?"

He spoke to Hartley, but Heath, who had been talking across the table toCoryndon, lost his place, stumbled and recovered himself withdifficulty, and then lapsed into silence. Hartley had a few things tosay about Rydal, but chief among them was the astounding fact that hehad dodged the police, who were watching the wharves and jetties, and, so far as he knew, the man had never left Mangadone. 

"Do you suppose that he got away disguised?"

"Impossible, " said Hartley, with decision. "He was a big, fairEnglishman with blue eyes. Nothing on earth could have made him lookanything else. It was too risky to attempt that game. "

Mrs. Wilder was not interested in Rydal, and she sprayed Coryndon withlight, pointless conversation, leaving Heath to his meditations for themoment. Hartley would have enjoyed a private talk with his hostessbecause he loved her platonically, and because it was impossible he wasdistrait and jerky, trying to appear cordial towards Heath. It was oneof those evenings that make everyone concerned wonder why they everbegan it, and though Coryndon was of all the invited guests the one whofound least favour in the eyes of his hostess, he was the only one whofelt glad that he had come, and was perfectly convinced that it had beenworth it. 

The Rev. Francis Heath rose early to take his leave; and there was adistinct impression of relief when he had gone. 

"That Padré is like wet blotting-paper, " said Wilder, when he came backinto the drawing-room. "No more duty invitations, Clarice, or else waituntil I am out in camp. "

"He is a bore, " said Mrs. Wilder, throwing her late guest to the sharkswithout remorse. "But I suppose he can't help it. He may have somethingto worry him. " She just indicated her point with a glance at Hartley, who murmured incoherently and became interested in his drink. 

"Parsons are all alike, " said Wilder, who fully believed that he statedan obvious fact. "I feel as if I ought to apologize for not going tochurch whenever I meet one. "

"He _is_ a bore, " repeated Mrs. Wilder. "But he is finished with for thepresent. "

Coryndon looked up. 

"I suppose one is inclined to mix up a man with his profession, aspeople often mix up nationalities with races, forgetting that they areabsolutely apart. Heath is not my idea of a clergyman. "

"And what is your idea?" asked Mrs. Wilder, with a smile that wasslightly encouraging. 

"A man with less temperament, " said Coryndon slowly. "Heath lacks acertain commonplace courage, because he feels things too much. He is notaltogether honest with himself or his congregation, because he has theprotective instinct over-developed. If I had a secret I should feel thatit was perfectly safe with Heath. "

A slow red stain showed itself on Mrs. Wilder's cheek, and she gave ahard, mechanical laugh. 

"Are these the deductions of one evening? No wonder you are a silentman, Mr. Coryndon. "

If Coryndon had been a cross-examining counsel instead of a guest at adinner-party, he would have thanked Mrs. Wilder politely and told herthat she might "step down. " As it was, he assured her that he was onlyattracted by certain personalities, and that, usually speaking, he didnot analyse his impressions. 

"He is a bore, " said Mrs. Wilder, making the statement for the thirdtime that evening, and thus disposing of Heath definitely. 

"It wasn't up to the usual mark, " said Hartley, half-apologetically ashe and Coryndon walked home together. "I felt so awkward about meetingHeath. " He paused and looked at Coryndon, longing to put a question tohim, but not wishing to break their agreement as to silence. 

"Tell me about Rydal, " said Coryndon in the voice of a man who shifts aconversation adroitly. "I don't remember your having mentioned thecase. "

Hartley had not much to tell. The man had been in a position ofresponsibility in the Mangadone Bank, and Joicey had given informationagainst him the very day he absconded. Rydal was married, and the cruelpart of the story lay in the fact that he had deserted his wife on herdeathbed, fully aware that she was dying. 

"She died the evening he left, or was supposed to have left. At allevents, the evening he disappeared. "

"And the date?"

Coryndon's eyes were turned on Hartley's face, and he heard him laugh. 

"You'll hardly believe it, but it happened, like everything else, on thetwenty-ninth of July. "

"Can your boy look after me for a few days?" Coryndon asked quietly. "Iwas not able to bring my bearer with me, and I may have to be here for alittle longer than I had expected. "

"Of course he can. "

They walked into the bungalow together, and it surprised and distressedHartley to see how white and weary the face of his friend showed underthe hanging lamp. 

"I ought not to have dragged you out, " he said remorsefully. 

"I am very glad you did. "

There was so much sincerity in Coryndon's tone that Hartley wassatisfied, and he saw him into his room before he went off, whistling tohis dog and calling out a cheery "Good night. "

XVIII

THE REV. FRANCIS HEATH UNLOCKS HIS DOOR AND SHOWS WHAT LIES BEHIND

When Coryndon made up his mind to any particular course of action andtime pressed, he left nothing to chance. Under ordinary circumstances, he was perfectly ready to wait and let things happen naturally; and sogreatly did he adhere to this belief in chance that he always hesitatedto make anything deliberately certain. Had he felt that he could allowtime to bring circumstance into his grasp, he would have preferred to doso, but, as he sat on the side of his bed, his _chota haziri_ untouchedon a table at his elbow, he knew that every minute counted, and that hemust come out of the shadow and deliberately face and force theposition. 

If he could always have worked in the dark he would have done so, and noone ever guessed how unwillingly he disclosed himself. He was a shadowin the great structure of criminal investigation, and he came and wentlike a shadow. When it was possible he vanished out of his completedcase before his agency was detected, and as he sat thinking, he wonderedif Hartley could not be trusted with the task that lay before him thatday, but even as the thought came into his mind he decided against it. Opportunity must be nailed like false coin to the counter, and therecould be no question of leaving a meeting to the last moment of chance. He had to make sure of his man; that was the first step. 

During the course of an idle morning, Coryndon wandered to the church, and saw that at 5. 30 p. M. The Rev. Francis Heath was holding service. After the service there would be a choir practice, and Coryndon, havingmade a mental note of the hour, went back to luncheon with Hartley. 

The afternoon sunlight was dreaming in the garden, and the drowsy airwas full of the scent of flowers. Coryndon had something to do, and hewas wise enough to make no settled plan as to how he would do it, beforehand. He put away all thought of Absalom and the other livesconnected with the disappearance of the Christian boy, and let histhoughts drift out, drawing in the light and colour of the worldoutside. 

Yesterday has power over to-day; to-morrow even greater power, forto-morrow holds a gift or a whip, and Coryndon knew this, thinking outhis little philosophy of life. To be able to handle a situation whichmay require a strength that is above tact or diplomacy, he knew that allthose yesterdays must give their store of gathered strength andknowledge. 

As there was no running water to watch, Coryndon watched the shadows andthe light playing hide-and-go-seek through the leaves, through hishalf-closed eyes. They made a pattern on the ground, and the pattern wasfaultless in its beauty. Nature alone can do such things. He looked atthe far-off trees of the park, green now, to turn into soft blue masseslater on when the day waned, and the intrinsic value of blue as colourflitted over his fancy. The music that was part of his nature rippledand sang in obligato to his thoughts, and because he loved music heloved colour and knew the connection between sound and tint. Colour, toits lightest, least value, was music, expressing itself in another way. 

Hartley went out with his dog; went softly because he believed hisfriend slept, and Coryndon did not stir. Somewhere in the centre ofthings actual, Hartley lived his cheerful, happy life, dreaming when hewas lonely of the woman who darned his socks and smiled at him. InCoryndon's life there was no woman either visionary or real, and hewondered why he was exempt from these natural dreams of a man. He wasvery humble about himself. He knew that he was only a tracker, a brainthat carried a body, not a healthy animal body that controlled thegreater part of a brain. He was given the power to grip motives and toread hearts, and beyond that he only lived in his fingers when heplayed. He had his dreams for company when he shut the door on the otherhalf of his active brain, and he had his own thrills of excitement andintense joy when he found what he was seeking, but beyond this there wasnothing, and he asked for nothing. Blue shadows, and a drifting intopeace, that was the end. He pulled himself together abruptly, for it wasfive o'clock, and time for him to start. 

When Coryndon had drunk some tea, he started out on foot to St. Jude'sChurch. He knew that he would get there in time to find the Rev. FrancisHeath. The choir practice did not take very long, and as he walked intothe church they were singing the last verses of a hymn. Heath sat in oneof the choir pews, a sombre figure in his black cassock, listeningattentively. 

 "Happy birds that sing and fly Round Thy altars, O Most High. "

The choir sang the "Amen, " and sang it false, because they were in ahurry to troop out of the church; the girls were whispering andcollecting gloves and books, and the boys were already clattering offwith an air of relief. Heath spoke to the organist, making somesuggestion in his grave, quiet voice, and when he turned, Coryndon wasstanding in the chancel. 

"Can I speak to you for a moment?" he asked easily. 

"Come into the vestry, " said Heath quietly. "We shall be undisturbedthere. "

He went down the chancel steps and opened a door at the side, waitingfor Coryndon to go in, and closing the door behind them. A table stoodin the middle of the room with a few books and papers on it, and asquare window lighted it from the western wall; there were only twochairs in the room, and Heath put one of them near the table for hisvisitor, and took the other himself. 

He did not know what he expected Coryndon to say; men very rarely cameto him like this, but he felt that it was possible that he was insearch of something true and definite. Truth was in his eyes, and hisdark, fine face was earnest as he bent forward and looked full at theclergyman. 

"What can I do for you?"

Heath put the question tentatively, conscious of a sudden quick tensionin the atmosphere. 

Coryndon's eyes fixed on him, like gripping hands, and he leaned alittle over the table. 

"You can tell me how and when you got Rydal out of the country. "

For a moment, it seemed to Heath that the whole room rocked, and thatblackness descended upon him in waves, blotting out the face of the manwho asked the question, destroying his identity, and leaving him onlythe knowledge that the secret that he had guarded with all the strengthof his soul was known, inexplicably, to Hartley's friend. He tried toframe a reply, but his words faltered through dry lips, and his face waswhite and set. 

"Why should you say that I helped Rydal?"

"Because, " Coryndon's answer came quickly, "you told me so yourself lastnight at dinner. "

He heard Coryndon speak again, very slowly, so that every word cameclear into the confusion of his throbbing brain. 

"I knew from Hartley that you were in Paradise Street on the evening ofthe twenty-ninth of July, and that you saw and spoke to Absalom. I amconcerned in the case of finding that boy or his murderer, and anythingyou can tell me may be of help to me in putting my facts together. I hadto come to your confidence by a direct question. Will you pardon mewhen you consider my motive? I am not concerned with Rydal: my case iswith Absalom. "

He looked sympathetically at the worn, drawn face across the table, thatwas white and sick with recent fear. 

"Tell me the events just as they came, " he said gently. "You may be ableto cast light on the matter. "

Heath looked up, and his eyes expressed his silent acceptance ofCoryndon's honesty of purpose. 

"I will tell you, Mr. Coryndon. God knows that the case of this boy hashaunted me night and day. He was my best pupil, and when Hartley accusedme by inference, of complicity, I suffered as I believe few men have hadto suffer because I could not speak. I may not be able to assist youvery far, but all I know you shall know if you will listen to mepatiently. "

Heath relapsed into silence for some little time, and when he spokeagain it was with the manner of a man who gives all his factsaccurately. He omitted no detail and he set the story of Rydal beforeCoryndon, plainly and clearly. 

Rydal had been a clerk in the Mangadone Bank, and had been in the placefor some years before he went home and returned with a wife. He was anhonest and kindly young fellow and he worked hard. There was no flaw inhis record, and Heath believed that he was under the influence of a verygenuine religious feeling. He frequently came to see Heath, who knew hischaracter thoroughly, and knew that he was weak in many respects. Hetalked enthusiastically of the girl he was going to marry, and Heath sawhim off on the liner when Rydal got his leave and, full of gladanticipation, went away to bring out his wife. 

When the clergyman had reached this point in his story, he got up andpaced the floor a couple of times, his monkish face sad and troubled, and his eyes full of the tragic revelations that had yet to be made. 

Coryndon did not hurry the narrative. He was engaged in calling up themental presentment of the young happy man. Heath had described him as"fresh-looking, " and had said that his manner was frank and alwayskindly; he was friendly to weakness, kindly to weakness, his virtues alltagged off into inefficient lack of grip; but he was honest and he foundlife good. That was how Rydal had started, that was the Rydal who hadgripped Heath's hand as he stood on the deck of the _Worcestershire_ andthought of the girl whom he was going home to marry. 

"I still see him as I saw him then, " said Heath, with a catch in hisvoice. "He was so sure of all the good things of life, and he hadmanaged to save enough to furnish the bungalow by the river. I had goneover it with him the day before he sailed, and his pride in it all wasvery touching. "

Coryndon nodded his head, and Heath took up the story again, standingwith his hands on the back of the chair. 

"Rydal came back at the end of three months, his wife with him. She wasa pretty, silly creature, and her ideas of her social importance wereout of all keeping with Rydal's humble position in the Bank. She dressedherself extravagantly, and began to entertain on a scale that wasridiculous considering their poverty. Before their marriage, Rydal hadtold me that it was a love match, and that she was as poor as he, as allher own people could do for her was to make a small allowance sufficientfor her clothes. "

Coryndon sat very still. Heath had come to the point where the realinterest began: he could see this on the sad face that turned towardsthe western window. 

"In the early hours of one morning towards the end of July, " went onHeath wearily, "I was awakened by Rydal coming into my room. I could seeat once that he was in desperate trouble, and he sat down near me andhid his face in his hands and cried like a child. There was enough inhis story to account for his tears, God knows. His wife was ill, perhapsdying; he told me that first, but that I already knew, and then he madehis confession to me. He had embezzled money from the bank and it couldonly be a matter of hours before a warrant was issued for his arrest. Imust not dwell too long on these details, but they are all part of thestory, and without them you could not understand my own place in whatfollows. It is sufficient to tell you that I returned at once with him, and his wife added her appeal to mine to make her husband agree to leavethe country. If she lived, she could join him later, but if he wasarrested before she died, she could only feel double torment andremorse. In the end we prevailed upon him to agree to go. The sin wasnot his morally"--Heath's voice rose in passionate vindication of hisact--"in my eyes, and, I believe, in the eyes of God, the man was notresponsible. I grant you his criminal weakness, I grant you his fallfrom honour and honesty, but then and now I know that I did right. Theone chance for his soul's welfare was the chance of escape. Prison wouldhave broken and destroyed him. A white man among native criminals. Hislife had been a good life, and an open, honest life up to the time thathis wife's constant demand for what he could not give broke down thebarriers and made him a felon. "

He wiped his face with his handkerchief and drew a deep breath. This washow he had argued the point with himself, and he still held to thevalidity of his argument. 

"That was early on the morning of July the twenty-ninth?" askedCoryndon. 

"Yes, that was the date. There was a small tramp in port, going to SouthAmerica. I had once been of some little assistance to the captain, and Iknew that he would do much to serve me. I went on board her at once, andsaw him, disguising none of the facts or the risk it entailed, and heagreed willingly to assist Rydal. He was to be at a certain point belowthe wharves that evening, and the _Lady Helen_ was to send a boat in topick him up. "

"I understand, " said Coryndon, "the warrant was issued about noon thesame day?"

"As far as I know, Joicey gave information against him just about then, but he had already left the bungalow. I went down Paradise Street tomake my way out along the river bank at a little after six o'clock. Ipassed Absalom in the street and spoke a word to the boy, but time waspressing and I did not dare to be late. It was of the utmost importancethat there should be no hitch in any part of the plan, for the _LadyHelen_ could not delay over an hour. I got to the appointed place by theriver just after twilight had come on--"

"Were you seen by anyone?"

Heath paused and thought for a moment. 

"I would like to deal entirely candidly with you, Mr. Coryndon, but, with your permission, I must avoid any mention of names. As it happened, I _was_ seen, but I believe that the person who saw me has no connectionwith either my own place in this story or the story itself so far as itaffects Absalom. I saw Rydal go. He went in silence, an utterlybroken-hearted and ruined man, and only ten months divided that day fromthe day that he stood on the deck of the _Worcestershire_ filled withevery hope the heart of a man knows. Behind him, his wife lying neardeath in the little house his love had provided for her, and nothing laybefore him but utter desolation. I watched the boat take him away intothe darkness, and I saw the lights of the _Lady Helen_ quite clearly, and then I saw her move slowly off, and I knew that Rydal was safe. "

He paused and stared into the darkness of the room, seeing the wholepicture again, and feeling the awful misery of the broken man who hadgone by the way of transgressors. The man who had once beenlight-hearted and happy, who had sung in his choir, and who had read thelessons for the Rev. Francis Heath and helped him with his boys. 

Coryndon's face showed his tense, close interest as the clergyman spokeagain. 

"I was standing there for some time, how long I do not know, when I sawthat I was not alone, and that I was being watched by a Chinaman. I knewthe boy by sight, and must have seen him before somewhere else. He was alarge, repulsive creature, and appeared to have come from one of thehouses near the river, where there are Coringyhis and low-caste nativesof India. At the time I remarked nothing, but when the boy saw that hehad attracted my attention, he started into a run, and left me withoutspeaking. The incident was so trifling that it hardly made me uneasy. Noone had seen me actually with Rydal--"

"You are quite clear on that point? Not even the other person youalluded to?"

"I can be perfectly clear. I passed the other person going in theopposite direction, before I joined Rydal. On the way back I saw Absalomagain, and he was with the Chinaman whom I already mentioned; they didnot notice me, and they were talking eagerly; my mind was overful ofother things, and you will understand that I did not think of them then, but, as far as I remember, they went towards the fishermen's quarter onthe river bank. I cannot be sure of this. "

Coryndon did not stir; the gloom was deep now, and yet neither of themen thought of calling for lights. 

"And the Chinaman?"

Heath flung out his arms with a violent gesture. 

"He had seen and recognized Rydal, and he had the craftiness to realizethat his knowledge was of value. Next day everyone in Mangadone knewthat the hue and cry was out after the absconded clerk. He had betrayedhis trust, cheated and defrauded his employers, and left his wife to diealone, for she died that night, and I was with her. That was the storyin Mangadone. It was known in the Bazaar, and how or when it came to theears of the Chinaman I cannot tell you, but out of his knowledge he cameto me, and I paid him to keep silence. He has come several times oflate, and I will give him no more money. Rydal is safe. I have heardfrom him, and the law will hardly catch him now. I know my complicity, Iknow my own danger, but I have never regretted it. " Again the surgingflood of passion swept into Heath's voice. "What is my life or myreputation set against the value of one living soul? Rydal is workinghonestly, his penitence is no mere matter of protestation, his wholenature has been strengthened by the awful experience he has passedthrough. How it may appear to others I cannot say, and do not greatlycare. In the eyes of God I am vindicated, and stand clear of blame. "

He towered gaunt against the light from the window behind him, andthough Coryndon could not see his face, he knew that it was lighted witha great rapture of self-denial and spiritual glory. 

"You need fear no further trouble from the boy, " he said, rising to hisfeet. "I can tell you that definitely. I am neither a judge nor abishop, Mr. Heath, but I can tell you honestly from my heart that Ithink you were justified. "

He went out into the darkness that had come black over the eveningduring the hour he had sat with Heath, and as he walked back to thebungalow he thought of the man he had just left. There had been no needfor Coryndon to question him about Mrs. Wilder: her secret mission tothe river interested him no further. Heath had protected her and hadkept silence where her name was concerned, and yet she chose to belittlehim in her idle, insolent fashion. 

He thought of Heath sitting by the bed of the dying woman, and hethought of him following the wake of the _Lady Helen_ down the darkriver with sad, sorrowful eyes, and through the thought there came astrange thrill to his own soul, because he touched the hem of thegarment of the Everlasting Mercy, hidden away, pushed out of life, andforgotten in garrulous hours full of idle chatter. 

Yet Mrs. Wilder had announced with her regal finality no less than threetimes in the hearing of Coryndon the previous evening that the Rev. Francis Heath was "a bore. "

XIX

IN WHICH LEH SHIN WHISPERS A STORY INTO THE EAR OF SHIRAZ, THE PUNJABI;THE BURDEN OF WHICH IS: "HAVE I FOUND THEE, O MINE ENEMY?"

A man with a grievance, however silent he may be by nature, is, generally speaking, voluble upon the subject of his wrongs, real orimaginary; but a man with a grudge is intrinsically different. An oldgrudge or an old hate are silent things, because they have deep rootsand do not require attention, and it is only in flashes of suddenfeeling, or when the means to the end is in view, that the man with agrudge reveals details and tells his story. Shiraz paid several visitsto, and spent some time in the shop of, Leh Shin before he arrived atwhat he wanted to know. 

He went also to Mhtoon Pah's shop, but came away without discoveringanything. Into the ears of Hartley, Head of the Police, the Burman ragedand screamed his passionate hate, because he believed it promoted hisobject; but to the Punjabi he was smooth and complaisant, and refused tobe drawn into any admission. Leh Shin, the Chinaman, was Bazaar dust tohis dignity, and he knew naught of him, save only that the man had anevil name earned by evil deeds, and Shiraz, who was as crafty as MhtoonPah, saw that he had come to a "no thoroughfare" and turned his witstowards Leh Shin. 

Little by little, and without any apparent motive, he worked theChinaman up to the point where silence is agony, and at last, as a riverin flood crashes over the mud-banks, the whole tale of his wrongs camebursting through his closed mouth, and with the sweat pouring down hisyellow face he out it into words. 

The meanest story receives something vital in its constitution when itis told with all the force and conviction of years of hatred behind thesimple fact of expression, and the story that Leh Shin recounted toShiraz was a mean story. The Chinaman had the true Eastern capacity forremembering the least item in the long account that lay unsettledbetween himself and the Burman. His memory was a safe in which thesmallest fact connected with it was kept intact and his mind traversedan interminable road of detail. 

The two men had begun life as friends. The friendship between them datedback to the days when Leh Shin and Mhtoon Pah were small boys runningtogether in the streets of Mangadone, and no antipathy that is a firstinstinct has ever the depth of root given to the bitterness that canspring from a breach in long friendship, and Leh Shin and Mhtoon Pahhated as only old friends ever do hate. 

Leh Shin started in life with all the advantages that Mhtoon Pah lacked, and he appreciated the slavish friendship of the Burman, which grew withyears. Mhtoon Pah became a clerk on scanty pay in the employ of a ricefirm, and Leh Shin, at his father's death, became sole owner of thehouse in Paradise Street; no insignificant heritage, as it was stockedwith a store of things that increased in value with age, and in theguise of his greatest friend Mhtoon Pah was made welcome at the shopwhenever he had time to go there. From his clerkship in the firm of ricemerchants Mhtoon Pah, at the insistence of his friend, became partpartner in the increasing destiny of the curio shop. He travelled forLeh Shin, and brought back wares and stores in days when railways wereonly just beginning to be heard of, and it was difficult and evendangerous to bring goods across the Shan frontier. He had the control ofa credit trust, though not of actual money, and for a time thepartnership prospered. Mhtoon Pah was always conscious that he was asubordinate depending on the good will of his principal, and even as heate with cunning into the heart of the fruit, the outside skin showed notrace of his ravages. Leh Shin's belief in his friend's integrity madehim careless in the matter of looking into things for himself, andlulled into false security, he dreamed that he prospered; his dreambeing solidified by the accounts which he received from the Burman. Inthe zenith of his affluence he married the daughter of a Burman intowhose house Mhtoon Pah had introduced him, and it was only after thewedding festivities that he became aware that he had supplanted thefriend of his bosom in the affections of the smiling Burmese girl. Mhtoon Pah was away on a journey, and on his return rejoiced in thesubtle, flattering manner that he knew so well how to practise, and ifhe felt rancour, he hid it under a smile. 

Marriage took the Chinaman's attention from the shop, and Mhtoon Pah, still a subordinate in the presence of his master, was arrogant andfilled with assurance in his dealings with others. Interested friendswarned the Chinaman, but he would not listen to them. He believed inMhtoon Pah and he had covered him with gifts. 

"Was he not my friend, this monster of infamy?" he wailed, rockinghimself on his bed. "O that I had seen his false heart, and torn it, smoking, from his ribs!"

Leh Shin was secure in his summer of prosperity, and when his son wasborn he felt that there was no good thing left out of the pleasant waysof life. In the curio shop in Paradise Street Mhtoon Pah waxed fat andstudied the table of returns, and in the garden of the house where LehShin lived in his fool's paradise, the Chinaman loosed his hold upon thereins of authority. 

The first sign of the altered and averted faces of the gods was madeknown to Leh Shin when his wife dwindled and pined and died. 

"But that, O friend, was not the work of thine enemy, " said Shiraz, pulling at his beard reflectively. "Even in thine anger, seek to followthe ways of justice. "

"How do I know it?" replied Leh Shin. "He ever held an evil wish towardsme. Her death was slow, like unto the approach of disaster. I know notwhence it came, but my heart informs me that Mhtoon Pah designed it. "

Quickly upon the death of his wife came the disappearance of his son. The boy had been playing in the garden, and the garden had been searchedin vain for him. No trace of the child could be found, though Mangadonewas searched from end to end. 

"Searched, " cried the Chinaman, "as the pocket of a coat. No corner leftthat was not peered into, no house that was not ransacked. " TheChinaman's voice quivered with passion, and his whole body shook andtrembled. 

Life flowed back into its accustomed current, and nearly a year passedbefore the next trouble came upon Leh Shin. Mhtoon Pah came back from aprolonged journey that had necessitated his going to Hong-Kong, and hecame back with dismay in his face and a story of loss upon loss. He hadcompromised his master's credit to a heavy extent, and not only thegains he had made but the principal was swept away into an awful chasmwhere the grasping hands of creditors grabbed the whole of Leh Shin'spatrimony, claiming it under papers signed by his hand. 

"It was then that light flowed in upon my darkness, and I saw the longprepared evil that was the work of one man's hand. " Leh Shin rose uponhis string bed and his voice was thin with rabid anger. "I caught him bythe throat and would have stabbed him with my knife, but he, being ayounger man than I, threw me off from him, and, when he made me answer, I saw my foe of many years stand to render his account to me. '_Thou_, to call me thief, ' said he, 'who robbed me of my wife and cheated me ofmy son. '"

After that, poverty and ruin drove him slowly from his house outsideMangadone to the shelter of the shop in Paradise Street, and from there, at length, to the burrow in the Colonnade. The bitterness of his ownfall was great enough in itself to harden the heart of any man, but itwas doubled by the story of the years that followed. Slowly, and withoutcalling too evident attention to himself, Mhtoon Pah began to prosper. He opened a booth first, where he sat and cursed Leh Shin whenever hepassed, saying loudly that he had ruined him and swindled him out of allhis little store, that by hard work and attention to business he hadcollected. 

From the booth, just as Leh Shin left Paradise Street, Mhtoon Pahprogressed to a small unpretentious shop, and a year later he movedagain, as though inspired by a spirit of malice, into the very premiseswhere Leh Shin had first employed him as a clerk. That day Leh Shin wentto his Joss and swore vengeance, though how his vengeance could beworked into fact was more than his opium-muddled brain could conceive. Vengeance was his dream by night, his one concentrated thought by day, and he came no nearer to any hope of fulfilling it. Mhtoon Pah, wealthyand respected; Mhtoon Pah, the builder of shrines; Mhtoon Pah, who spokewith high Sahibs and had the ear of the Head of the Police himself, andLeh Shin clad in ragged clothes, and only able to keep his hungry soulin his body by means of his opium traffic, how could he strike at hisfoe's prosperity? His hate glared out of his eyes as he panted, stoppingto draw breath at the end of his account. 

Had Shiraz known the legend of the wise wolf who changed from man tobeast, he might have supposed that some such change was taking place inLeh Shin. His trembling lips dribbled, his head jerked as thoughsupported by wires, and his eyebrows twitched violently as though he hadno control over their movements. He had forgotten Shiraz and wasthinking only of the tribulation he had suffered and of the man whosegross form inhabited his whole mental world. Shaking like a leaf, he gotoff his bed and stood on the earth floor. 

"May he be eaten by mud-sores, " he said savagely. "May he die by his ownhand, and so, as is the Teaching, be shut out of peace, and return toearth as a scorpion, to be crushed again into lesser life by a stone. "

"By the will of Allah, who alone is great, there will be an end of thytroubles, " said Shiraz non-committally as he got up. "Thou hast sufferedmuch. Be it requited to thee as thou wouldst have it fall in the hourthat is already written; for no man may escape his destiny, though he befleet of foot as the antlered stag. "

"Son of a Prophet, thy words are full of wisdom. "

"Let it comfort thine affliction, " said Shiraz, with the air of a manmaking a gift. 

"Yet I would hasten the end. " He gave a strange, soundless laugh thatstartled Shiraz, who looked at him sideways. "And mark this, O wise one, mine enemy hath already felt the first lash of the whip fall, even thewhip that scourged my own body. He hath lost the boy whom he everpraised in the streets, and suffered much grief thereby. May his griefthrive and may it be added to until the weight is greater than he canbear. " He swung up his hand with a stabbing movement. "I would rip himlike a cushion of fine down. I would strike his face with my shoe as the_Nats_ that he dreads caught his screaming soul. "

"Peace, peace, " said Shiraz. "Such words are ill for him who speaks, andill alike for him who listens. In such a day as already the end isscored like a comet's tail across the sky, the end shall be, and notbefore that day. Cease from thy clamour lest the street hear thee, andrun to know the cause. "

He took leave of his friend and went slowly away to his own house, having achieved his master's mission, and feeling well satisfied withhis afternoon's work. 

Motive, the hidden spring of action, was made clear, and Shiraz knewenough of his master's methods to realize that he had come upon a verydefinite piece of evidence against Leh Shin, the Chinaman. From thepoint of view of Shiraz the man was quite justified in killing Absalom, since "An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth, " appeared fair andreasonable to his mind. The Burman had overreached Leh Shin, and now LehShin had begun the cycle again, and had smitten at the curio dealerthrough the curio dealer's boy, for whom he appeared to have afanatical affection. According to Shiraz, the house in Paradise Streetstood a good chance of being burned to the ground. If this "accident"happened, Shiraz would know exactly whose hand it was that lighted thematch. It was all part of an organized scheme, and though he did notknow how Coryndon would bring the facts home, fitting each man with hisshare, like a second skin to his body, he felt satisfied that he hadprovided the lump of clay for the skilled potter to mould into shape. 

He took off his turban, and lay down on his carpet. The day was stillhot, and the drowsy afternoon outside his closed windows blinked andstared through the hours, the glare intensifying the shadows under thetrees and along the Colonnade. The soda-water and lemonade sellers intheir small booths drove a roaring trade as they packed theaquamarine-green bottles in blocks of dirty ice to keep the frizzlingdrink cool; and the cawing of marauding crows and the cackle of fowlblended with the shouting of drivers and sellers of wares, who heedednot the staring heat of the sun. 

After the emotion of telling his tale, Leh Shin slept in his own smallbox of darkness, and, in the rich curio shop in Paradise Street, MhtoonPah leaned on an embroidered pillow with closed eyes. The stream of lifeflowed slowly and softly through the hours when only the poor have needto work; soft as the current of a full tide that slides between widebanks, and soft as sleep, or fate, or the destiny which no man can hopeto escape. 

XX

CRAVEN JOICEY, THE BANKER, IS FACED BY A MAN WITH A WHIP IN HIS HAND, AND CORYNDON FINDS A CLUE

It is a matter of universal belief that a woman's most alluring qualityis her mystery, and Coryndon, no lover of women, was absorbed in thestudy of mystery without a woman. 

He had eliminated the woman. 

In his mind he cast Mrs. Wilder upon one side, as March throws Februaryto the fag end of winter, and rushes on to meet the primrose girlbringing spring in her wake. He had dealt simultaneously with Mrs. Wilder's little part in the drama and the part of Francis Heath, Priestin Holy Orders. How they had both stood the test of detection he did nottrouble to analyse. "Detection" is a nasty word, with a nasty sound init, and no one likes it well enough to brood over all it exactly means. 

Coryndon was sufficiently an observer of men and life to feel gratefulto Heath, because he had seen something for a short moment as he studiedthe clergyman that dwells afterwards in the mind, like a stream ofmoonlight lying over a tranquil sea. Hidden things, in his experience, were seldom things of beauty, and yet he had come upon one fair placein the whole puzzling and tangled story collected round thedisappearance of the Christian boy Absalom. 

Mrs. Wilder and Heath were both accounted for and deleted from the listof names indelibly inscribed in his mental book; but one fact that wassufficiently weighty had been added to what was still involved in doubt:the fact that Heath had seen the boy in company with Leh Shin'sassistant. 

Coryndon was subject to the ordinary prejudices of any man who makeshuman personality a study, and he was more than half disposed to go backto the Bazaar and hear whatever evidence Shiraz had been able to collectduring his absence. Two reasons prevented his doing this. One was thathe would have to wait until it was dark enough to leave Hartley'sbungalow without being watched, and possibly followed, and the otherthat there was still one name on the list that required attention, andhe began to feel that it required immediate attention. A toss of a coinlay between which course he should adopt first, and he sat very still toconsider the thing carefully. 

In the service of which he was a member, he had learnt that much dependsupon getting facts in their chronological order, and that if there isthe least disunion in the fusing of events, deduction may hammer itshead eternally against a stone wall. He did not know positively that LehShin had decoyed the boy away by means of his assistant, but he wasinclined to believe that such was the case. The blood-stained rag lookedlike a piece of impudent bravado more than likely to have emanated fromthe brain of the young Chinaman. His mental fingers opened to catch LehShin and lay hold on him, but they unclosed again, and Coryndon feltabout him in the darkness that separates mind from mind. He knew thepitfall that a too evident chain of circumstances digs for the unwary, and he fell back from his own conviction, testing each link of thechain, still uncertain and still doubtful of what course he shouldpursue. 

He had another object in view, an object that entailed a troublesomeinterview, and he turned his thoughts towards its possible issue. Information might be at hand in the safe keeping of his servant Shiraz, but he considered that he must argue his own conclusions apart fromanything Shiraz had discovered. Narrowing his eyes and sitting forwardon the edge of his bed, he thought out the whole progress of his scheme. Coryndon was an essentially quiet man, but as he thought he struck hishands together and came to a sudden decision. 

If life offers a few exciting moments, the man who refuses them is noadventurer, and Coryndon saw a chance for personal skill and definiteaction. He felt the call of excitement, the call that pits will againstwill and subtlety against force, and that is irresistible to the man ofaction. Probably it was just that human touch that decided him. Onecourse was easy; a mere matter of reassuming a disguise and slippingback into the life of the people, which was as natural to him as his ownlife. A tame ending, rounded off by hearing a story from Shiraz, andlaying the whole matter in the hands of Hartley. The proof against theassistant was almost conclusive, and if Shiraz had burrowed into theheart of the motive, it gave sufficient evidence to deliver over thecase almost entire to the man who added the last word to the whole dramabefore the curtain fell. 

Coryndon knew the full value of working from point to point, but besidethis method he placed his own instinct, and his instinct pointed along adifferent road, a road that might lead nowhere, and yet it called to himas he sat on the side of his bed, as roads with indefinite endings havecalled men since the beginning of time. 

Against his own trained judgment, he wavered and yielded, and at lengthtook his white _topi_ from a peg on the wall and walked out slowly upthe garden. It was three in the afternoon. Just the hour when Shiraz waslying on his mat asleep, and when Leh Shin slept, and Mhtoon Pah drowsedagainst his cushion from Balsorah, each dreaming after his own fashion;and it was an hour when white men were sure to be in their bungalows. Hartley was lying in a chair in the veranda, and all through Mangadonemen rested from toil and relaxed their brains after the morning's work. 

Coryndon went out softly and slowly, and he walked under the hot burningsun that stared down at Mangadone as though trying to stare it steadilyinto flame. White, mosque-like houses ached in the heat, chalk-whiteagainst the sky, and the flower-laden balconies, massed withbougainvillća, caught the stare and cracked wherever there was sapenough left in the pillars and dry woodwork to respond to the fierceheat of a break in the rains. 

It was a long, hot walk to the bungalow where Joicey lived, over theBanking House itself, and the vast compound was arid and bare from threedays of scorching drought. Coryndon's feet sounded gritting on the red, hard drive that led to the cool of the porch. No one called at such anhour; it was unheard of in Mangadone, where the day from two to five wassacred from interruption. 

A Chaprassie stopped him on the avenue, and a Bearer on the steps of thehouse itself. There were subordinates awake and alive in the Bank, readyto answer questions on any subject, but Coryndon held to his purpose. Hedid not want to see any of the lesser satellites; his business was withthe Manager, and he said that he must see him, if the Manager was to beseen, or even if he was not, as his business would not keep. 

A young man with a smooth, affable manner appeared from within, and saidhe would give any message that Coryndon had to leave with his principal, but Coryndon shook his head and politely declined to explain himself orhis business, beyond the fact that it was private and important. Theyoung man shook his head doubtfully. 

"It doesn't happen to be a very good hour. We never disturb Mr. Joiceyin the afternoons. "

"May I send in my card?" asked Coryndon. 

"Certainly, if you wish to do so. "

Coryndon took a pencil out of his pocket, and, scribbling on the cornerof his card, enclosed it in an envelope, and waited in the dark hall, where electric fans flew round like huge bats, the smooth-mannered youngman keeping him courteous company. 

"Mr. Joicey rests at this time of day, " he explained. "I hope you quiteunderstand the difficulty. "

"I quite understand, " replied Coryndon, "but I think he will see me. "

There was a pause. The young man did not wish to contradict him, but hefelt that he knew the ways and hours of the Head of the Firm very muchbetter than a mere stranger arriving on foot just as the Bank was due toclose for the day. He wondered who Coryndon was, and what his verypressing business could possibly be, but even in his wildest flights offancy, and, with the thermometer at 112°, flights of fancy do not carryfar, he never even dimly guessed at anything the least degree connectedwith the truth. 

The Bearer came down the wide scenic stairway and said that his masterwould see Mr. Coryndon at once. The young man with the smooth mannerfaded off into dark shadows with an accentuation of impersonal civility, and Coryndon walked up the echoing staircase by the front of the hall, down a corridor, down another flight of stairs, and into the privatesuite of rooms sacred to the use of the head of the banking firm, andused only in part by the celibate Joicey. 

Joicey was standing by a table, looking at Coryndon's card and twistingit between his fingers. He recognized his visitor when he glanced athim, and showed some surprise. The room was in twilight, as all theoutside chicks were down, and there was a lingering faint perfume ofsomething sweet and cloying in the air. Joicey looked sulky andirritated, and he motioned Coryndon to a chair without seating himself. 

"Well, " he said brusquely, "what's this about Rydal?" He pointed with ablunt finger to the card that he had thrown on to the table. 

"That, " said Coryndon, also indicating the card, "is merely a meanstowards an end. I have the good fortune to find you not only in yourhouse, but able to receive me. "

The colour mounted to Joicey's heavy face, and his temper rose with it. 

"Then you mean to tell me--" He broke off and stared at Coryndon, andgave a rough laugh. "You're Hartley's globe-trotting acquaintance, aren't you? Well, Hartley happens to be a friend of mine, and it is justas well for you that he is. Tell me your business, and I will overlookyour intrusion on his account. "

Something inside Coryndon's brain tightened like a string of a violintuned up to concert-pitch. 

"In one respect you are wrong, " he said amiably, and without thesmallest show of heat. "I am, as you say, Hartley's friend, but I mustdisown any connection with globe-trotting, as you call it. I am in theSecret Service of the Indian Government. "

"Oh, are you?" Joicey tore up the card and threw it into a basket besidethe writing-table. 

"It may interest you to know, " went on Coryndon easily, "that my visitto you is not altogether prompted by idle curiosity. " He smiledreflectively. "No, I feel sure that you will not call it that. "

"Fire ahead, then, " said Joicey, whose very evident resentment was by nomeans abated. "Ask your question, if it is a question. "

"I am coming to that presently. Before I do I want you to understand, Mr. Joicey, that, like you, I am a servant of the public, and I am atpresent employed in gathering together evidence that throws any lightupon the doings of three people on the night of July the twenty-ninth. "

"Then you are wasting valuable time, " said Joicey defiantly. "I was awayfrom Mangadone on that night. "

"I am quite aware that you told Hartley so. "

Coryndon's voice was perfectly even and level, but hot anger flamed upin the bloodshot eyes of Craven Joicey. 

"I put it to you that you made a mistake, " went on Coryndon, "and thatin the interests of justice you will now be able to tell me that youremember where you were and what you were doing on that night. "

Joicey thrust his hands deep into his pockets, his heavy shoulders bent, and his face dogged. 

"I am prepared to swear on oath that I was not in Mangadone on the nightof July the twenty-ninth. "

"Not in Mangadone, Mr. Joicey. Mangadone proper ends at the tram lines;the district beyond is known as Bhononie. "

Coryndon could see that his shot told. There were yellow patches aroundJoicey's eyes, and a purple shadow passed across his face, leaving itleaden. 

"Unless I can complete my case by other means, you will be called as awitness to prove certain facts in connection with the disappearance ofthe boy Absalom on the night of July the twenty-ninth. "

"Who is going to call me?"

The question was curt, and Joicey's defiance was still strong, but therewas a certain huskiness in his voice that betrayed a very definite fear. 

"Leh Shin, the Chinaman, will call you. His neck will be inside a noose, Mr. Joicey, and he will need your evidence to save his life. "

"Leh Shin? That man would swear anything. His word is worthless againstmine, " said the Banker, raising his voice noisily. "If that is anotherspecimen of Secret Service bluff, it won't do. Won't do, d'you hear?"

Coryndon tapped his fingers on the writing-table. 

"I can't agree with you in your conclusion that it 'won't do. ' Takenalone his statement may be worthless, but taken in connection with thefact that you are in the habit of visiting his opium den by the river, it would be difficult to persuade any judge that he was lying. I myselfhave seen you going in there and coming out. "

He watched Joicey stare at him with blind rage; he watched him staggerand reach out groping hands for a chair, and he saw the huge defianceevaporate, leaving Joicey a trembling mass of nerves. 

"It's a lie, " he said, mumbling the words as though they were dry bread. "It's a damned, infernal lie!"

A long silence followed upon his words, and Joicey mopped his face withhis handkerchief, breathing hard through his nose, his hands shaking asthough he was caught by an ague fit. 

"I'm in a corner, " he said at last; "you've got the whip-hand of me, Coryndon, but when I said I was not in Mangadone that night, I wasspeaking the truth. "

"You were splitting a hair, " suggested Coryndon. 

Joicey drew his heavy eyebrows together in an angry frown. 

"Let that question rest, " he said, conquering his desire to break loosein a passion of rage. 

"You went down Paradise Street some time after sunset. Will you tell meexactly whom you saw on your way to the river house?"

Craven Joicey steadied his voice and thought carefully. 

"I passed Heath, the Parson, he was coming from the direction of thelower wharves, and was going towards Rydal's bungalow. I remember that, because Rydal was in, my mind at the time; I had heard that his wife wasill, probably dying, and just after I saw Absalom. "

He paused for a moment and moistened his lips. 

"Was he with anyone when you saw him?"

"No, he was alone, and he was carrying a parcel. Anyhow, that is all Ican tell you about him that night. "

Joicey looked up as though he considered that he had said enough. 

"And from there you went to the opium den, " said Coryndon relentlessly. 

The perspiration dripped from Joicey's hair, and he took up the threadsof the story once more. 

"I went there, " he said, biting the words savagely. "I was sick at thetime. I'd had a go of malaria and was as weak as a kitten. The place wasempty, and only Leh Shin was in the house, and whether he gave me astronger dose, or whether I was too seedy to stand my usual quantity, Ican't tell you, but I overslept my time. "

He passed his hand over his face with a sideways look that was horriblein its shamefacedness. Coryndon avoided looking at him in return, andwaited patiently until he went on. 

"Leh Shin remained with me. He never leaves the house whilst I aminside, " continued Joicey. "I was there the night of the twenty-ninthand the day of the thirtieth. Luckily it was a Sunday and there was nofear of questions cropping up, and I only got out at nightfall when itwas dark enough for me to go back without risk. Since then, " he said, rising to his feet and striking the writing-table with a clenched fist, "I have been driven close to madness. Hartley was put on to the track ofLeh Shin by the lying old Burman, Mhtoon Pah, and Leh Shin's shop waswatched and he himself threatened. God! What I've gone through. "

"Thank you, " said Coryndon, pushing back his chair. "You have been ofthe very greatest assistance to me. "

Joicey sat down again, a mere torment-racked mass, deprived of the helpof his pretence, defenceless and helpless because his sin had found himout in the person of a slim, dark-faced man, who looked at him withburning pity in his eyes. 

The world jests at the abstract presentment of vice. From pulpits itappears clothed in attractive words and is spoken of as alluring; and, supported by the laughter of the idle and the stern belief of therighteous in its charms, man sees something gallant and forbidden infollowing its secret paths. The abstract view has the charm andattraction of an impressionist picture, but once the curtain is down, and the witness stands out with a terrible pointing finger, the laughterof the world dies into silence, and the testimony of the preacher thatvice is provided with unearthly beauty becomes a false statement, andman is conscious only of the degradation of his own soul. 

Coryndon left the room noiselessly and returned up the steps, along thecorridor and down the stone flight that led into the subsiding heat ofthe late afternoon. The young man with the smooth, affable mannerwheeled a bicycle out of a far corner, and smiled pleasantly atCoryndon. 

"You saw the Manager, and got what you wanted?"

"I saw him, and got even more than I wanted, " said Coryndon, withconviction. 

Things like this puzzled the dream side of his nature and left himexhausted. The gathering passion of rage in Joicey's eyes had nottouched him, but the memory of the big, bull-dog, defiant man huddled onthe low chair, his arm over his face, was a memory that spoke of otherthings than what he had come there to discover; the terrible things thatare behind life and that have power over it. He had to collect himselfwith definite force, as a child's attention is recalled to alesson-book. 

"He has cleared Leh Shin, " he said to himself, and at first exactly allthat the words meant was not clear to his mind. Joicey had cleared theChinaman of complicity, and had knocked the whole structure of carefullyselected evidence away with a few words. 

Coryndon was back in Hartley's bungalow with this to consider; and itleft him in a strange place, miles from any conclusion. He had sightedthe end of his labours, seen the reward of his long secret watchfulness, and now they had withdrawn again beyond his grasp. Heath had seenAbsalom with the Chinaman's assistant. Joicey, whose evidence marked alater hour than that of Heath, had seen him alone, and the solitaryfigure of the small boy hurrying into the dark was the last record thatindicated the way he had gone. 

Nothing connected itself with the picture as Coryndon sat brooding overit, and then gradually his mind cleared and the confusion of thedestruction of his carefully worked-out plan departed from his brainlike a wind-blown cloud. There was a link, and his sensitive finefingers caught it suddenly, the very shock of contact sending the bloodinto his cheeks. 

The picture was clear now. Absalom, a little white-clad figure, slim, eager and dutiful, hurried into the shadows of night, but Coryndon wasat his heels this time. The clue was so tiny, so infinitesimal, that ittook the eye of a man trained to the last inch in the habit of seeingeverything to notice it, but it did not escape Coryndon. 

He joined Hartley at tea in the sitting-room, with its semi-official airof being used for serious work, and Hartley fulfilled his avocation bybringing Coryndon back from strange places into the heart of sanehumdrum existence. Surely if some men are pillars, and others rockets, and more poets, professors and preachers, some are hand-rails, and onlythe man who has just been standing on a dizzy height looking sheer intothe bottomless pit where nothing is safe and where life crumbles andfear is too close to the consciousness, knows the value and even thebeauty of a hand-rail, and knows that there is no need to mock at itslimitations. For a few minutes Coryndon leant upon the moral support ofHartley's cheery personality, and then he told him that he was goingback to the Bazaar that night, as circumstances led him to believe thathe might find what he wanted there and there only. 

"That means that you have cleared Heath?"

Hartley's voice was relieved. 

"Heath is entirely exonerated. "

Coryndon wandered to the piano, and he played the twilight into thegarden, the bats out of the eaves, and he played the shadow of Joicey'sshame off his own soul until he was refreshed and renewed, and it wastime for him to return to his disguise and slip out of the house. 

XXI

DEMONSTRATES THE PERSUASIVE POWER OF A KNIFE EDGE, AND TELLS A STORY OFA GOLD LACQUER BOWL

The obese boy sat in Leh Shin's shop, fiddling sometimes with his earsand sometimes with the soles of his bare feet. He found life just alittle dull, and had he been able to express himself as "bored, " hewould doubtless have done so. Peeling small dry scales of skin offwear-hardened heels is not the most exciting occupation life affords, and the assistant wished more than once that his master would returnfrom either the gambling den or the Joss House and liberate him for thenight. 

It was his night at the river house, and small opportunities forpilfering from the drugged sleepers made these occasions both amusingand profitable. On the whole he enjoyed the nights in the den, and theyadded considerably to his bank in a box secreted behind the Joss whoflamed and pranced on the wall. Meanwhile, nothing was doing in theshop, and company there was none, unless the cockroaches and the lizardscould be reckoned in that category. 

His master had been shaky and short of temper when he awoke from hisafternoon sleep, and had struck his assistant over the head more thanonce in the course of an argument. Unseen things ticked and rustled indark corners, and the boy yawned loudly and stretched his arms, makinghimself more hideous as his contracted mouth opened to its full oval inhis large round face. Still nothing happened and no one came, and hereturned to the closer examination of a blister that interested him. Heprobed it with a needle, and it indicated its connection with his footby stinging as though he had burnt himself with a match. 

He was seated on a table bending over his horrible employment, halfpastime, half primitive operation, the light of the lamp full upon him, when a sound of padding feet shook the floor and he looked up, his eyesfull of the effort of listening attentively, and saw a face peering inat the door. For a moment he was startled, and then he swung his legs, which hung short of the floor, over the side of the table and laughedout loud. 

"So thou art back, Mountain of Wisdom?" he said jeeringly. "Come withinand tell me of thy journey. "

The Burman crept in stealthily, looking around him. 

"Aye, I am back. Having done the business. "

Curiosity leapt into the eyes of the Chinaman, and he dropped hisattitude of contempt. 

"What business?" he asked greedily. "Before thy departure thou wastmute, stricken as a dumb man, neither wouldst thou speak in response toany question. "

The Burman curled himself up on the floor and smiled complaisantly. 

"None the less, the business is done, O Bowl of Ghee, and I havereturned. "

The assistant ignored the personal description, and adopted a mannercalculated to ingratiate himself into the friendly confidence of the madBurman. He wriggled off the table and crouched on the floor a few inchesoff Coryndon's face, and the contact being too close for humanendurance, Coryndon threw himself back into the corner and retiredbehind a mask of cunning obstinacy. 

"Thy business, thy business, " repeated the boy. "Was it in the nature ofthe evil works of the bad man, thy friend?" He leered his encouragement, and fumbling at his belt took out a small coin. "Here, I will give theetwo annas if thou tell the whole story to my liking. "

The Burman shook his head, but he appeared to be considering the offerslowly in his obtuse and stagnant brain. 

"Give the money into mine own hand, that the reward be sure, " he said, as though he toyed with the idea. 

"Not so, " replied the boy. "First the boiled rice and the salt, andafterwards the payment. Thus is the way in honest dealings. "

The Burman shut his mouth tightly and exhibited signs of a return to hisformer condition of dumbness that worked upon the assistant like gall. 

"Then, if nothing less will content thee, take thy money, " he said infrothy anger. "Take it and speak low, for it may be that eavesdroppersare without in the street. "

He dropped the coin into the outstretched palm, but the Burman did notbegin his story. He got up and searched behind boxes and shook the rowsof hanging garments. He was so secret and silent that the boy becameexasperated and closed the narrow door into the street with a bang, pulling across a heavy chain. 

"Let that content thee, " he said irritably, chafing under the delay, andsitting down, a frowsy, horrible object, in the dim corner, he preparedto enjoy a further description out of the wild fantastic terrors of themadman's brain. 

Surprise does not hover; its coming events are shadowless, and itsspring is the spring of a tiger out of the dark, and surprise came uponLeh Shin's assistant as it has come upon men and nations since the worldfirst spun in space. 

He looked upon the Burman as a harmless lunatic, and he onlyhalf-believed that he had ever been guilty of the act that had ended ina term of imprisonment in the Andaman Islands, but in one moment herealized that it might all be true and that he himself was possiblysingled out as the next victim. 

In one silent moment he found himself pinned in his corner, the Burmansquatting in front of him, a long knife which he had never seen beforepointing at his throat with horrible, determined persistency. 

He opened his mouth and thought to cry out for help, but the Burmanleaned forward and warned him that if he did so, his last minute hadinevitably come. 

"I am thy friend, thy good and honourable friend, " he said pleasantly ashe made play with the Afghan dagger. "I do but make mirth for bothmyself and thee, and I have no thought to harm thee. "

The flesh of the gross body crept and crawled under the Burman's look. Fate had put the heart of a chicken in the huge frame of Leh Shin'sassistant, and it beat now like pelting hail on a frozen road. He wasclose to a raw, naked fear, and it made him shameless as he gibbered andcowered before it. 

"I have no money, " he said, bleating out the words. "All that I have isalready paid to thee for thy tale. "

He whined and cringed and writhed in his close corner. 

"I have heard a strange tale, " Coryndon said, bending a little closer tohim. "Old now as stale fish that has lain in the dust of the street. Ithas been whispered in my ear that thou knowest how Absalom came to hisend. "

"I slew him in the house of a seaman, " said the boy, in a quaveringvoice. "Now take the point of thy knife from my throat, for it dothgreatly inconvenience pleasant speech between thee and me. "

Coryndon's watchful eye detected the lie before it announced itself inwords, or so it seemed to the boy, who resigned himself to the merepaltry limitations of fact, and confessed that he and Absalom had beenfriends and that he had never killed anything except a chicken, and oncea dog that was too young to bite his hand. 

The details of the story came out at long intervals, with breaks ofsweating terror between each one. Pieced together, it was simple enough. In spite of the existing feud between their masters, Leh Shin'sassistant and Absalom had struck up a kind of friendship that was notunlike the friendship of any two boys in any quarter of the globe. Theyused special knocks upon the door, and when they passed as strangers inthe streets they made masonic signs to one another, and they alsogambled with European cards in off hours. 

The desire for money, so strong in the Chinaman, grew gradually in themind of the Christian boy, whose descent to Avernus was marked first bythe sale of his Sunday school prize-books, which he disposed of at theBaptist Mission shop, receiving several rupees in return. Having oncepossessed himself of what was wealth to him, and having lost most of itin the gentlemanly vice of gambling, he began to need more, but beingslow-witted he could think of no way better than robbing Mhtoon Pah, which suggestion the Chinaman's assistant looked upon as both dangerousand weak, regarded in the light of a workable plan. 

It was inside his bullet-head that the idea of a plot that could not bediscovered came into its first nebulous being. Absalom found out thatMhtoon Pah was looking for a gold lacquer bowl, and through the agencyof Leh Shin the bowl was eventually marked down as the property of aseaman who was lodging temporarily near the opium den by the river, oneof Leh Shin's clients. The assistant had the good fortune to overhearthe preliminaries of the sale, and he immediately saw his opportunity, as genius alone sees and recognizes chances. It was he who first toldAbsalom that the bowl was located, and it was he who realized thatchance was beckoning on the adventurer. 

It was arranged that Absalom should inform Mhtoon Pah that the covetedtreasure was to be had for a price, and it was also the part of Mr. Heath's best scholar, to obtain the money from Mhtoon Pah that was to bepaid over to the seaman for the bowl. By this time Absalom's gamblingdebts had become a serious question with him, and even a lifelongmortgage upon his weekly pay could hardly cover his liabilities. Besideswhich, he had to live. That painful necessity which dogs the career ofgreater men than Absalom. 

He appeared to have an almost childish trust in the craft and guile ofhis Chinese friend, and set the whole matter before him. Mhtoon Pah wasready to pay two hundred rupees for the lacquer bowl, as he was alreadyoffered five hundred by Mrs. Wilder, and was content with the profit. Two hundred rupees was a sum that was essentially worth some risk. Tohand it over to a drunken seaman was against all moral precept. Thesailor's ways were scandalous, his gain would go into evil hands. Treated in this manner, even a Sunday-school graduate could lull anuneasy conscience, and as far as Coryndon could judge, Absalom was nottroubled by any warnings from that silent mentor. Out of the brain ofLeh Shin's assistant the great scheme had leapt full-grown, and it onlyrequired a little careful preparation to put it into action. 

The assistant knew the sailor, a Lascar with a craving for drink, and hebecame friendly with him "out of hours, " and learned his ways and thetimes when he was likely to be in the house where he lodged. The sailor, having come to know that value was attached to his bowl, guarded it withavaricious care when in a condition to do so; and Leh Shin, who trustedhis assistant, through whom the news of the deal had first come to hisear, offered the man fifty rupees for what he had merely stolen from ashop in Pekin. It took the assistant a full week to arrange events sothat he and Absalom could work together for the moral good of thesailor, and protect him from the snares of lucre, represented by a thirdof the money Leh Shin expected to receive. 

He dwelt with some pride upon the fact, and his vanity in thisparticular almost conquered his fear of the Afghan blade that stillnestled close to his bull neck. He had drunk in friendship with thesailor, dropping a drug into his cup, and waiting till his eyes grew dimand he fell forward in a heavy sleep. But even in the moment ofachievement his wits were worth more than the wits of Absalom, for heran out of the house and established an alibi while the Christian boyfilched the bowl from beneath the bed of the intoxicated sailor. At agiven hour he waited for Absalom just where Heath had stood after hehad parted from Rydal, and so chance played twice into his hands in onenight. Absalom, who appeared to have imbibed some rudimentary principlesof honour among thieves, passed the boy his share, which was a hundredand twenty rupees, including his debts of honour, and having done so, sped away into the night, the bowl under his arm. 

"And that is all the story, " said the boy, beating his hands on thefloor, and returning from the momentary forgetfulness of the narrativeto the immediate fear of the knife. "Further than that, I know nothing. The hour is late and if I am not at the river house I shall feel thewrath of my master. "

"It is a poor tale, a paltry tale, " said the Burman, in tones ofdisgust. "One that hardly requites me for my patience in hearing itout. "

He slipped his knife back into his belt and got up from his heels with aleisurely movement. The boy, still on all fours, watched him closely, and the Burman, his eye attracted by a bright tin kettle hanging amongthe other goods dependent from the ceiling, stood looking at it, and ashe looked the boy dodged out with a rush, overturning a bale of goods, and tearing at the door like a mad dog, disappeared into the street. 

Coryndon watched him go, and went back to his corner to wait until LehShin should return from either the gambling den or the Joss House. Hehad something to say to Leh Shin, something that could not wait to besaid, and he composed himself to the necessary patience that is part ofall close, careful search, and while he waited, he turned over theevidence that had arisen from the little clue that Joicey had given him. Absalom had a parcel under his arm, and that parcel was the gold lacquerbowl that had passed from Mhtoon Pah's curio shop to Mrs. Wilder'swriting-table. 

Coryndon fiddled with his fingers in the dust of the floor, and took ablood-stained rag out of his pocket and spread it over his knee. Herewas another tangible piece of evidence brought by Mhtoon Pah to Hartley. So the record of circumstance closed in. Coryndon thought again. Alacquer bowl and a stained rag of silk, that was all. If he handed overthe case to Hartley and Mhtoon Pah was really guilty, other evidencewould in all probability be found, and the whole mystery made clear. 

He leaned against the wall and watched the throbbing lamp-wick, fightinghis passion for completed work and his conviction that only he could seeit through to its ultimate conclusion. He knew that he was dealing withwits quite as crafty as his own, and argued the point from the otherside. Mhtoon Pah had given the rag himself to Hartley, and had swornthat the bowl was left on the steps of his shop. If no further proof wasforthcoming, these two facts unsupported were almost worthless. Unless acomplete denial of his story could be set against it, Hartley stood tobe checkmated. 

Coryndon had nearly decided against Leh Shin. He drew his knees up underhis chin and came to a definite conclusion. He could not give up thecase as it stood; he was absolved from any hint of professionaljealousy, and he could count himself free to follow the evidence untilit led him irrevocably to the spot where the whole detail was clear anddefinite. 

All the faces of the men who had figured in the drama floated across hismind, and he thought of the strange key that turned in the lock of onesmall trivial destiny, opening other doors as if by magic. Absalom'slife or death had no outward connection with the Head of the MangadoneBanking Firm, it had nothing in all its days to bring it into touch withRydal and Rydal's tragedy--Rydal whom Coryndon had never seen. It layapart, severed by race and every possible accident of birth or chance, from the successful wife of a successful Civil Servant, or an earnest, hard-working clergyman, and yet the great net of Destiny had been spreadon that night of the 29th of July, and every one of them had fallen intoits meshes. 

All the immense problem of the plan that so decides the current of men'slives came over him, and he saw the limitless value of the insignificantin life. Absalom was only a little floating piece of jetsam on the greatwaters that divided all these lives, yet he was the factor that hadtaken the place of the keystone in the arch; the pivot around which theforce that guided and ruled the whole apparent chaos had moved. Coryndonwandered a long way in his thoughts from the shop where he sat on thedusty floor, waiting for the return of Leh Shin. He was so still thatthe cockroaches and black-beetles crept out again and formed intomarauding expeditions where the shadows of the hanging clothes felldark. 

He turned himself from the pressure of his thought and closed his eyes, resting his brain in a quiet pool of untroubled silence. He knew theneed and the art of absolute relaxation from the strain of thought, andthough he did not sleep, he looked as though he slept, until he heardthe sound of approaching feet and a hand pushed against the door. 

XXII

IN WHICH CORYNDON HOLDS THE LAST THREAD AND DRAWS IT TIGHT

When Leh Shin opened the shop door and pushed in his grey, gaunt face, he looked around as though wondering in a half-dreamy, half-detachedabstraction where some object he had expected to see had gone. At lengthhis eyes wandered to the Burman, who sat on the ground eyeing him with acuriously intent and concentrated regard. 

"Thine assistant hath gone to the river house, " he said, answering theunspoken question. "He left me in charge of thy shop and thy goods. "

Leh Shin nodded silently and closed the door. When he turned, the Burmanbeckoned to him with a studied suggestion of mystery. 

"What is thy message?" asked Leh Shin. He believed the Burman to beafflicted with a madness, and his odd and persistent movement of his armhardly conveyed anything to the drowsy, drugged brain of the Chinaman. 

The Burman made no reply, but beckoned again, pointing to the floorbeside him in dumb show, and Leh Shin advanced slowly and took up hisplace on a grass mat a little distance off. Silently, and very softly, the Burman crept near to him, and putting his mouth close to his ear, talked in a rapid, hissing whisper. His words were low, but their effectupon Leh Shin was startling, for he recoiled as though touched by a hotneedle. His hands clutched his clothes, and his whole frame stiffened. Even when he drew away, he listened with avidity as the Burman continuedto pour forth his story. 

He had a friend in the household of Hartley Sahib, so he told Leh Shin, a friend who had sensitive ears and had heard much; had heard in factthe whole story of the stained rag, and of Mhtoon Pah's wild appeal forjustice against the Chinaman. 

"Well for thee, Leh Shin, that I have a friend in the house of that_Thakin_ who rules the Police. But for him I should not have beeninformed of the plot against thy life, for, 'on this evidence, ' saithhe, 'assuredly they will hang the Chinaman, and Mhtoon Pah is witnessagainst him. '"

"Mhtoon Pah, Mhtoon Pah!" said Leh Shin, and he needed to add no cursesto the name, spoken as he said it. 

When Coryndon had fully explained that his friend, who was in theservice of Hartley, had not only given him a circumstantial account ofhow the rag was to be used as final and conclusive evidence of LehShin's guilt, but that he had also stolen the rag out of Hartley Sahib'slocked box, to be safely returned to him later, Leh Shin almost tore itfrom between Coryndon's fingers. 

"Nay, I cannot deliver it unto thee. My word is pledged. Look closely atit, if thou wilt, but it may not leave my hand or I break my oath. "

He held it under the circle of lamplight, and the Chinaman leaned overhis shoulder to look at it. For a long time he examined it carefully, feeling its texture and touching it with light fingers. 

Coryndon watched him with some interest. The Chinaman was applying somedefinite test to the silk, known to himself. At last he turned his eyeson the Burman, staring with a gaunt, fierce look that saw many things, and when he spoke his words grated and rattled and his voice was almostbeyond his control. 

"See now, O servant of Justice, I am learned in the matter of silks, andwithout doubt this comes surely from but one place. "

Again he fell to touching the silk, and his crooked fingers shook as heexplained that the fragment was one he could identify. It was not theproduct of the silk looms of Burma, or Shantung; it could not beprocured even in Japan. It was a rare and special product fashioned bycertain lake-dwellers in the Shan states, and so small was their outputthat it went to no market. 

"In one shop only in Mangadone, " he said; "nay, in one shop only in thewhole world may such silk be found. Thus, in his craft, hath mine enemyoverreached himself. "

"Thou art certain of this?"

"As I am that the sun will rise. "

Coryndon looked again at the silk, and sat silently thinking. 

"The piece is cut off roughly, " he said, after a moment of reflection. "Yet, could it be fitted into the space left in the roll, then thou artcleared, and hast just cause against Mhtoon Pah. "

"If thy madness comprehends so much, let it carry thee further still, Ostricken and afflicted, " said Leh Shin, imploring him with voice andgesture. "Night after night have I stood outside his shop, but who mayenter through a locked door? A breath, a shadow, or a flame, but not aman. " He lay on the ground and dug his nails into the floor. "I know theshop from within and without, and I know that the lock opens withdifficulty but to one key, the key that hangs on a chain around the neckof Mhtoon Pah. "

Silence fell again as Leh Shin wrestled with the problem that confrontedhim. 

"What saidst thou?" said the Burman, suddenly coming to life. "A key?"

He gave a low, chuckling laugh and rocked about in his corner. 

"Knowest thou of the story of Shiraz, the Punjabi?"

"I have no mind for tales, " said Leh Shin, striking at him with a futileblow of rage. 

"Nay, restrain thy wrath, since thou hast spoken of a key. With a keythat was made by sorcery, he was enabled to open the treasure-box of theLady Sahib, and often hath he told me that all doors may be opened byit, large or small. It is not hard for me to take it from under hispillow while he sleeps. "

The Chinaman's jaw dropped, and he cast up his hands in muteastonishment. If this was madness, sanity appeared only a doubtfulblessing set beside it. He drew his own wits together, and leaning nearthe Burman laid before him the rough outline of a plan. 

Mhtoon Pah's ways were known to him. Usually he went to the Pagoda afterthe shop was closed, and he returned from there late; it was impossibleto be accurate as to the exact hour of his return. To risk detection wasto shatter all chance of success, and it was necessary to make surebefore attempting to break into the shop and identify the silk rag withthe original roll, if that might be done. 

There was only one course open to the Burman and Leh Shin, and that wasto wait until there was a _Pwé_ at the Pagoda, which Mhtoon Pah wouldcertainly attend, as his new shrine drew many curious gazers to theTemple. It would also draw the inhabitants of Paradise Street out of thequarter, and leave the place practically deserted. For many reasons itwas necessary to wait such an opportunity, though Leh Shin raved at thedelay. It seemed to him that the whole plan was of his suggesting, andhe did not realize that every vague question put by the Burman led himstep by step to the complicated scheme. 

"To-morrow I will send forth my assistant to bring me word of the next_Pwé_, so that the night may be marked in my mind, and that I shall gainpleasure in considering the nearing downfall of my enemy. "

Coryndon slipped off to his house. He was tired mentally and physically, but before he slept, he took a bundle of keys from his dispatch-box andtied them to the waist of his _loongyi_. 

In the morning there was a fresh surprise for Leh Shin. His assistantrefused to leave the river house, and no persuasion would lure him outto look after his master's shop. He was afraid of something or someone, and he wept and entreated to be left where he was. Leh Shin beat him andtried to drive him out, to no purpose, and in the end he prevailed overhis master, whose mind was occupied with other and more weighty affairs. 

Like a black shadow, Leh Shin crept about the streets, and he questionedone and another as to the festivities to be held at the Pagoda. Everywhere he heard of Mhtoon Pah's shrine, and of the great holiness ofthe curio dealer. Mhtoon Pah was giving a feast at the Pagoda withpresents for the priests, and the night chosen was the night of the fullmoon. 

"Art thou bidden?" asked one who remembered the day of Leh Shin'sprosperity. 

"It is in my thoughts, friend, to make my peace, " said Leh Shin, with animmovable face. "On the night when the moon is full, I am minded to doso. "

His words were carried back to Mhtoon Pah, who pondered over them, wondering what the Chinaman meant, finding something sinister in thesound that added to his rage against his enemy. 

The day of the feast was dark and overcast, and the inhabitants ofParadise Street looked at the sky with great misgiving, but the curiodealer refused to be alarmed. 

"The night will be fine, for I have greatly propitiated the _Nats_, " hesaid with conviction, and he lolled and smoked in his chair at anearlier hour than was usual with him. 

Even as he had said, the evening began to clear, and by sunset the heavyclouds were all dispersed. A red sunset unfolded itself in a scroll offire across the sky, and Mangadone looked as though it was illuminatedby the flames of a conflagration. A strange evening, some said then, andmany said after. Even the pointing man lost his jaundice-yellow andseemed to blush as he pointed up the steps. He had nothing to blush for. His master was at the summit of his power. The _Hypongyis_ lauded himopenly in the streets, and he was giving a feast at the Temple at whichthe poorest would not be forgotten. 

Yet Mhtoon Pah was not altogether easy. His eyes rolled strangely fromtime to time, and it was remarked by several that he walked to the endof Paradise Street and looked down the Colonnade of the Chinese quarter, standing there in thought. Old stories of the feud between him and LehShin were recalled in whispers and passed about. 

The red of the sunset died out into rose-pink, and the effect of colourin the very air faded and dwindled. People were already dressed out ingala clothing, and streaming towards the Pagoda. The giver of the feastdid not start with them. He sat in his chair, and then withdrew into hisshop. A light travelled from thence to the upper story, and then withslow hesitation, Mhtoon Pah came out by the front of the house andlocked the clamped padlock. He stood still for a few minutes, and thenhe gasped and shook his fist at the empty air, and he, too, took his wayacross the bridge and was lost in the shadows. 

Still the stream from Wharf Street and the confluent streets flowed onup Paradise Street, and gradually only the maimed and the aged, or theimpossibly youthful, were left behind, to hear of the wonders afterwardsat secondhand, a secondhand likely to add rather than detract from whatactually took place. Even the Colonnade was empty and silent. Shiraz hadgone with the crowd to see what might be seen, and Leh Shin's assistant, furtive and watchful, and in great terror of the Burman's knife, wasalso in the throng that climbed the Pagoda steps. 

The moon that was to have shone on Mhtoon Pah's feast rose in a yellowring, and clouds came up, hazy, gaudy clouds that dimmed its light andmade the shadows in the silent streets dense and heavy. Usually therewas a police guard at the corner where Paradise Street met theColonnade, but that night Hartley considered the police would be morenecessary in the neighbourhood of the Pagoda. Mhtoon Pah did not thinkof this. His conscience was easy, he had propitiated the _Nats_. 

The Pagoda was one blaze of light, and a thousand candles flamed beforeevery shrine; even the oldest and most neglected had its ring of light. Small coloured lamps dotted the outlines of some of the booths, and thewhole spectacle presented a moving mass of brilliant colour. Sahibs hadcome there. Hartley Sahib had agreed to appear for half an hour, and hetoo looked at the crowd with curious, travelling eyes. Coryndon might beamong them, and probably was, he thought, but in any case there waslittle chance of his recognizing him if he were. 

Mhtoon Pah had not spared magnificent display, and the crowd told eachother that it was indeed a night to remember in Mangadone. Whisperingwinds came out and rang the Temple bells, but even when the breezestrengthened, the rain-clouds held off. It became a matter forcompliment and congratulation, and Mhtoon Pah accepted his friends'flattery without pride. He was a good man, a benefactor, ashrine-builder who followed "the Way" with zeal and fervour, andbesides, he had propitiated _Nats_; _Nats_ who blew up storms, causedearthquakes and were evilly disposed towards men. 

Mhtoon Pah would have been at the point where a man's life touchessublimity, but for one thing. The words of Leh Shin echoed in his earsover all the applause and adulation. 

"It is in my thought, friend, to make my peace. On the night of the fullmoon I am minded to do so. "

The moon riding clear of clouds, shone out over the concourse of men andwomen. Anywhere among them all might be Leh Shin, the needy Chinaman, and gripping his large hands into fists, Mhtoon Pah watched for him andexpected him, but watch as he might, he did not come, neither was thereany sign of him among all the crowd of faces that passed and repassedbefore the new shrine. 

XXIII

DEMONSTRATES THE TRUTH OF THE AXIOM THAT "THE UNEXPECTED ALWAYS HAPPENS"

At the time when Mhtoon Pah was standing in the centre of a gazing groupbefore the new shrine, and trying to forget that nothing except the newsof Leh Shin's hanging would give him real satisfaction, the Chinaman, accompanied by the Burman, slipped up the channel of gloom under theColonnade and made his way into Paradise Street. 

The Burman walked with an easy unconscious step, but Leh Shin creptclose to the wall and started when he passed a sleeping form in adoorway. Night fears and that trembling anxiety that comes whenfulfilment is close at hand were upon him. He knew that the point inview was to effect an entrance into the curio shop, the threshold ofwhich he had not crossed since his last black hour of misfortune hadstruck and he had gone out a beggar. 

Everything in his life lay on the other side of the shop door; all hishappy, prosperous, careless days, all the good years. Every one of themwas stored there just as surely as Mhtoon Pah's ivories and carvedscreens and silks were stored safe against the encroachment of damp andmust. His old self might even be somewhere in the silent house, and ittakes a special quality of courage for a man to return and walk througha doorway into the long past. For the first time for years he rememberedhow he had brought his little son into the shop, and how the child hadlaughed and crowed at the sight of amber and crystal chains. 

Even Mhtoon Pah grew dim in his mind, and he dallied with the forgottenmemories as he stood shaking in an archway watching the Burman cross thestreet. Insensibly the Burman's mania had waned in the last few hours, and he had grown silent and preoccupied, a fact that escaped Leh Shin'snotice. His owl eyes blinked with the strain of staring through thewavering light, and his memories strove with him as though in physicalcombat. Mhtoon Pah was no longer in the house, and instead of his shadowanother influence seemed to brood there, something that called to LehShin, but not with the wild cry of hate. Before the days of stillgreater affluence Leh Shin had lived there with his little Burmese wife. 

The Burman was on his knees, having some difficulty with the lock. Hecould see him fighting it, and at last he saw the jerk of his hand thattold that the key had turned, and that the way was clear. Leh Shin divedout of the recess and ran, a flitting shadow, across the road. The doorwas open, but the Burman for all his madness was not satisfied. Therewas a way out through the back by which they could emerge, and if thefront door hung loose, careless eyes might easily be attracted to thefact. The pointing man was not there for nothing. Almost everyonelooked up the steps. Even in his fury of impatience, Leh Shin saw thereason for caution, and agreed to open a window, and admit the Burmanafter he had locked the door again. 

The moments were full of the tense agony of suspense, and he peeredcautiously out from under the silk blind. A late passer-by went slowlyup the street, and Leh Shin's heart beat a loud obbligato to the soundof his wooden pattens. By craning his neck as the man passed, he couldjust distinguish the Burman crouching behind the wooden man, who blandlyindicated the heavy padlock. The wooden man lied woodenly to the effectthat all was well within the curio shop, and a few minutes later theBurman swung himself over the balustrade and climbed with cat-likeagility on to the window-ledge. 

The darkness of the room was heavy with scent, and Leh Shin stumbledover unknown things. Coryndon struck a match and held it in the hollowof one palm as he opened the aperture in the dark lantern he carried, and lighted it. When he had done so he looked up, and taking no noticeof the masses of beautiful things, he went quickly to the silk cupboard, opening it with another key on the ring. 

"Leh Shin, " he said, speaking in a commanding whisper, "turn thyselfinto an ear, and listen for me while I search. "

Leh Shin nodded silently, half-stupidly it seemed, and went on tip-toesto the door that opened into the passage. All the power of the past wasover him, and though he heard the Burman's curt command he hardly seemedto understand what he meant. For a little time he stood at the door, hearing the rustling whisper of yards of silk torn down and glanced overand discarded, and then he wandered almost without knowing it up thestaircase and through the rooms, until the sight of Mhtoon Pah's bed andsome of Mhtoon Pah's clothing recalled his mind to the reason of hisbeing there. 

He hurried down, his bare feet making no sound on the stairs, and lookedinto the shop again. The Burman was seated on the floor, a width of silkover his knees; all the displaced rolls had been put back. He had workedswiftly and with the greatest care that no trace of his visit should beknown later. 

Leh Shin slid out again. The passage was dark as pitch, but he knewevery turn and twist of its windings, and he knew that it led down tothe cellars below the house. He was awake and alert now as Coryndonhimself, and as he strained his ears he caught a sound. He listenedagain with horrible eagerness, looked back into the shop and saw thestooping head going over every yard of a roll of fine silk faithfully;and then he gripped the knife under his belt and, feeling along the wallwith his free hand, followed along the corridor. Once only he glancedround and then the darkness of the corridor swallowed him from sight. 

Coryndon, busy with the silk made by the lake-dwellers spread over hisknees, knew nothing of Leh Shin's disappearance. The fever of chase wasin his blood, and he threw the flimsy yards through his hands. Nothing, nothing, and again nothing, and again--he felt his heart swell withsudden, stifled excitement. Under his hand was a three-cornered rent, adamaged piece where a patch rather larger than his palm had been roughlycut out. His usually steady hand shook as he put the stained rag over itand fitted it into the place. 

"Leh Shin, " he called, as he rose, but he called softly. 

No sound answered his whisper, and he stiffened his body and listened. He had been wrong. There was a sound, but it did not come from insidethe shop: it was the slow footstep of a heavy man pausing to find a key. 

Coryndon listened no longer. He closed the door of the silk cupboard, bundled up the yards of silk in his arms and extinguishing the lampdarted behind a screen. It was a heavy carved teak screen, inset withsilk panels embroidered with a long spray of hanging wistaria on a darkyellow ground. As he hid himself, he cursed his own stupidity. In theexcitement of his desire to enter the curio shop, he had forgotten tohamper the lock with pebbles. 

After what seemed an age, the door opened slowly and Mhtoon Pah came in. Something, he knew not what, had dragged him away from the Pagoda, anddragged him back to his shop. His eyes looked mad and unnatural in thelight of the lantern he held in his hand, and he shut the door and stoodlike a dog who scents danger, and stared round the room. He walked tothe silk cupboard and looked in through the glass panes, but did notopen it or discover that it was unlocked. He paced round the room, stopping before the screen, his eyes still reflecting his trouble ofmind. 

From behind the screen, Coryndon watched every stir he made; he saw thelook on his face and noted Mhtoon Pah's smallest movement. There was noevidence of thieves, and yet suspicion made itself plain in every lineof the curio dealer's body. At last, with a gasping sigh, he sat beforethe small figure of an alabaster Gaudama and stared at it with unwinkingeyes. 

"I shed no blood, " he said, in a low rattling voice. "I shed no blood. My hands are clean. "

Over and over he repeated the words, like an incantation, his voicerising and falling, until Coryndon could have emerged from his hidingand taken him by the throat. 

The thought of coming out upon Mhtoon Pah crossed his mind, but hisinstinct held him back. He wondered desperately where Leh Shin had gone, and if he would come in upon the Burman making his strange prayer. StillMhtoon Pah repeated the words and swayed to and fro before the image ofthe Buddha, and the very moments seemed to pause and listen withCoryndon. The shop was close and the air oppressive. Little trickles ofsweat ran down his neck and made channels in the stain on his skin, andstill Coryndon waited in tense suspense. 

For nearly ten minutes Mhtoon Pah continued to rock and mutter on thefloor, and then he got up, and, taking his lantern, went out by the doorinto the passage. Coryndon waited for the sound of a scuffle and afall, but none came, and he was in the dark, surrounded by silence oncemore. 

Without waiting to consider, he followed across the room and saw theswinging light go down the passage and disappear suddenly. It seemed toCoryndon that Mhtoon Pah had disappeared, as though he had gone throughthe wall at the end of the passage, and he followed slowly. Silencelocked him in again, the dark, motionless silence of enclosed space. 

He did not dare to call out again to Leh Shin, and for all that he couldtell, the Chinaman might have been an arm's-reach away from him in thedarkness, also waiting for some sudden thing to happen. The dark passagewas an ante-chamber to some event: Coryndon's tingling nerves told himthat; and he steadied himself, holding in his imagination in a close, resolute grip. 

He had no way of judging the time that passed, but he guessed that itseemed longer to him than it possibly could have been; when fromsomewhere far below him, he heard a cry and the noise of several voices, all raised into indistinct clamour. 

"More than one man, " he thought, as his heart beat quickly. "_More thantwo_, " he added, in wonder as he strained in the effort of listening. 

The noise died out, and one low wail, continuous and plaintive, filledthe blank of dark silence. Coryndon felt for his matches, and knelt onthe floor, feeling before him with his hands. The crying had ceased, andhe touched the edge of a step. A long, steep flight began just under hishand. 

He leaned back and held the match-box in his hand, knowing that hecould not venture the descent in the dark, and as he took out a match anew sound caught his ear. A man was running in the dark. He heard himstumble over the lower steps as he panted fiercely and he broke into acry as he ran, a strange, mad, sobbing cry, and he still gasped and gaveout his wordless wail as he tore past Coryndon and on along the passageand into the shop. 

Coryndon heard the door bang behind him, he heard the sound of someheavy thing being dragged before it. The footsteps and the voice werenot those of Leh Shin, and Coryndon knew that Mhtoon Pah had fled like aman pursued by devils, and had barricaded himself in. 

For a moment Coryndon paused, and then lighted a match. Close under hisfeet was the perilous edge of a staircase leading sheer down into awell-like depth of blackness. A thin scream came up to him, and withoutwaiting to consider, he ran down quickly. At the bottom he found MhtoonPah's overturned lantern, and relighting it, he followed theintermittent call of fear that echoed through the damp, cavernous placehe found himself in. 

A closed door stood at the end of a narrow passage, and from the furtherside of the door a stifled sound of terror came persistently. Leh Shinsat in a huddled heap against the door, and Coryndon stooped over him, throwing the light from the lantern he carried upon him. 

"I looked into his eyes, " said the Chinaman, in a weak voice, "and oncemore he overcame me. His knife rent my arm, and I fell as though dead. "

Coryndon supported him to his feet. His mind was working quickly. 

"Canst thou stand by thyself?" he asked impatiently. 

The Chinaman gave a nod of assent, and Coryndon hammered on the door, throwing all his weight against it, until it cracked and fell inwardsunder the nervous force of his slight frame. 

What Coryndon expected to see, he did not know. He was following hisnatural instinct when he threw aside the chase and capture of Mhtoon Pahand burst into the cellar-room. It was small and close, and smelt of thefoul, fruity atmosphere of mildew. The ceiling was low, and crouching inone corner was a small boy, clad only in a loin-cloth, who stared atthem and screamed with fear. 

"The Chinamen, the Chinamen!" he shrieked. "Mhtoon Pah, the Chinamen. "

"Absalom, " the name came to Coryndon's lips, as he stood staring at him. "My God, it must be Absalom. "

He had spoken in English before he had time to think, and he turned tosee if his self-betrayal had struck upon the confused brain of Leh Shin, but Leh Shin knew nothing and saw nothing but the face of the boy hisenemy loved. He had placed the lamp on the floor and was feeling for hisdagger, his eyes fascinated and his lips working soundlessly. 

Coryndon caught him by the shoulder and snatched his knife from hishand. 

"Fool, " he said. "Wouldst thou ruin all at the end? Listen closely andattend to me. Now is the moment to cry for the police. Thine enemy is ina close net; show me swiftly the way by which I may go out of thishouse, and sit thou here and stir not, neither cry out nor speak untilthou hearest the police. By the way I go out will I leave the door open, and some will enter there, and others at the front of the house. "

He turned to look at the boy, who pointed at the Chinaman and continuedto shriek for Mhtoon Pah. It was no moment for hesitation, thoughCoryndon's thoughts went to the shop and the front door. By that doorMhtoon Pah might already have escaped, but even allowing for this, therewas time to catch him again. He followed the way pointed out by theshaking hand of Leh Shin. 

"If thou fail in aught that I have told thee, or if the boy escape orsuffer under thy hand, then is thine end also come, " he said, as hestood for a moment in the aperture that led into a waste place at theback of the house; and then Coryndon ran through the night. 

The rain had come on, teeming, relentless rain that fell in pitilesssheets out of a black sky. The roads ran with liquid mud and the stonescut Coryndon's bare feet, but he ran on, his lungs aching and his throatdry. It is not easy to think with the blood hammering in the pulses andthe breath coming short through gasping lungs, but Coryndon kept hismind fixed upon one idea with steady determination. His object was toget into the house unnoticed, and to awake Hartley without betrayinghimself to the servants. 

Hartley's bungalow was closed for the night, and the _Durwan_ sleptrolled in a blanket in a corner of the veranda. Coryndon held hissobbing breath and crept along the shadows, watching the man closelyuntil the danger zone was passed, and then he ran on around the sharpangle of the house and dived into Hartley's room. In the centre stoodthe bed, draped in the ghostly outlines of white mosquito-curtains, andCoryndon walked lightly over the matted floor and shook the bed gently. Hartley stirred but did not wake, and Coryndon called his name andcontinued to call it in a low whisper. The Head of the Police stirredagain and then sat up suddenly and answered Coryndon in the same lowundertone. 

"Get into your clothes quickly, while I tell you what has happened, "said Coryndon, sitting low in the shadow of the bed, and while Hartleydressed he told him the details shortly and clearly. 

The bungalow was still in darkness, and, with a candle in his hand tolight him, Hartley went into his office and rang up the Paradise StreetPolice Station. When he came back Coryndon was standing looking througha corner of a raised chick. 

"The _Durwan_ is awake, " he said, without turning his head. "Call himround to the front, otherwise he may see me. "

"Come on, come on, man, " said Hartley impatiently, "there is no time tolose. "

Coryndon turned and smiled at him. 

"This is where I go out of the case, " he said. "I shall be back in timefor breakfast to-morrow, " and without waiting to argue the point hedived out into the waning darkness of the night, leaving Hartley lookinghelplessly after him. 

XXIV

IN WHICH A WOODEN IMAGE POINTS FOR THE LAST TIME

Before the Burman left Leh Shin in charge of Absalom, he had pinned theChinaman by the arms and spoken to him in strange, strong words thatscorched clear across the chaos in his mind and made him understand ahidden thing. The fact that this man was not a mad convict, but a memberof the great secret society who tracked the guilty, almost stunned theChinaman, who knew and understood the immense power of secret societies. 

Mhtoon Pah might be driving wildly along a road leading out ofMangadone, and though one old Chinaman and a mad Burman could not stophim, the long arm of police law would grab and capture his gross body. Leh Shin sat quite still, content to rest and consider this. Telegramsflashed messages under the great bidding of authority, men sprang armedfrom stations in every village, the close grip of fate was not moreclose than the grasp of the awakened machinery of justice, and in thecentre of its power Mhtoon Pah was helpless as a fly in the web of aspider. 

"He travels fast, and fear is sitting on his shoulder, for he travelsto his death, " he repeated over and over, swaying backwards andforwards. 

He had an opium pellet hidden somewhere in his clothes, and he found itand turned it over his tongue; weariness and sleep conquered the pain, and Leh Shin sat with his head bent forward in heavy stupor. From thiscondition he awoke to lights and noises and the sound of a file workingon iron. 

The police had come and Hartley was bending over the boy, talking to himkindly and reassuring him as far as he could. Upstairs, the heavy thudof blows on the outer door of the shop echoed through the house withsteady, persistent sound. 

Dawn had come in real earnest, and the street, but lately returned fromthe excitements of the feast at the Pagoda, was thrilled by a new andmuch more satisfying sensation. Three blue-coated, leather-beltedpolicemen were on the top of the steps that led to the door of the curioshop, forcing it in. The heavy bolts held, and though the padlockedchain hung idle, the door resisted all their efforts. 

Hartley was down in the cellars, and his way through to the shop wasblocked . . . Blocked by the inner door which was also closed frominside, and somewhere within was Mhtoon Pah. He was very silent in hisshop. No amount of hammering called forth any response, and even whenthe door gave way and the bolt fell clattering to the ground, he did notspring out. 

People had sometimes wondered at the curious destiny of the wooden man. He had been there so long and had done his duty so faithfully. In rainor shine alike, he had always been in the street, eternally bowing thepassers up the steps. Americans had tried to buy him, and had wished totake him home to point at other free and enlightened citizens, butMhtoon Pah refused all offers of money. The wooden man was faithful tohim, and he in his turn was, in some way, faithful to the wooden man. Hehad been there when Mhtoon Pah was a clerk and had indicated his rise, he had seen him take over possession of the shop, and he had beenwitness to many trivial things, and now he stood, the crowd behind him, and pointed silently again. It seemed right for him to point, but it wasgrotesque that he still smiled and bent forward. 

The closed gates of the dawn opened and let in the sun, and the paleyellow light ventured across the threshold where the policemen hungback, and even the crowd in the street were silent. The light fell on athousand small things that reflected its rays; it fell on a heavy carvedbox drawn across the further entrance, on the swinging glass doors ofthe open silk cupboard, on bowls of silver and bowls of brass, and itfell full on the thing that of all others drew the horrified eyes of thewatchers. 

Mhtoon Pah, the wealthy curio dealer, the shrine builder, the friend ofthe powerful, hung from a beam across the centre of the low ceiling, andMhtoon Pah was dead, strangled in a fine, silk scarf. Fine, strong silkmade only by certain lake-dwellers in a wild place just across the Shanfrontier. 

Perhaps the destiny which Shiraz believed a man may not escape, be he asfleet as a flying stag, had caught up with him, and it was not withoutreason that the image had pointed at something not there years ago, notthere when youth was there, and hope and love, and when Leh Shin hadlived and been happy there, but to come, certainly and surely to come. 

 * * * * *

Hartley and Coryndon sat long over their breakfast. Coryndon's face wasstrained and tired, and heavy lines of fatigue were marked under hisdark eyes. 

"The boy was not in a condition to give any lucid explanation when Ibrought him back, " said Hartley, "so I left him until we could both hearhis story together. " He called to his Bearer and gave instructions forthe boy to be brought in. 

Coryndon nodded silently; his eyes lit up with interest and all hislistlessness vanished as he watched the door. 

Following Hartley's Bearer, a small, thin boy came into the room, dressed in a white suit, with a tight white pugaree folded round hishead. He shrank nervously at every sound, and when he salaamed toHartley and Coryndon his face worked as though he was going to burstinto tears. 

"You have nothing to be afraid of, " said Hartley kindly. "Just tell thewhole truth, and explain how it was that you came to be shut up in thecurio shop. "

The boy's eyes grew less terrified, and he began to speak in a low, mumbling voice. He began in the middle of the account, and Hartleygently but firmly pushed him back to the beginning. 

"Start with the story of the lacquer bowl, " he said, talking very slowlyand clearly. "We want to hear what happened about that first. "

The mention of the subject of lacquer threw Absalom once more into astate of panic, but as his story progressed he became more sure ofhimself, and looked up, forgetting his fear in the excitement of havinga really remarkable story to tell, that was listened to by Sahibs withintent interest. 

In tearful, stumbling words he admitted that he and Leh Shin's assistanthad been friends, and that those evil communications that corrupt notonly good manners but good morals had worked with disastrous resultsupon him. With his brown knuckles to his protruding eyes, he admitted, further, that he had stolen the gold lacquer bowl from the drugged anddrunken seaman, and that Leh Shin's assistant had plundered him of morethan half his rightful share of the profit. What remained over, heprotested, he intended to give to the "Missen, " testifying to the factthat his conscience was causing him uneasiness and that his naturalsuperstition made him adopt means, not unknown to other financiers, ofsquaring things by a donation to a charitable object. 

He went on to explain that Mhtoon Pah had required him to come back lateby an unfrequented alley, from where his master himself had admitted himinto the basement of the shop. There was nothing altogether unusualabout this, it appeared, as Mhtoon Pah was very strange in his ways attimes. He cooked his own food for fear of poison, and was constantlysuspecting some indefinite enemy of designs upon his life. What wasunusual was the fact that he had been taken at once into the small cell, and that, once there, Mhtoon Pah had behaved like a madman. 

Absalom could recall no coherent account of what the curio dealer hadtold him. He had spoken to him of murder, and told him that the Chinamenin the Quarter, headed by Leh Shin, were looking for him to kill him, and that, for his safety, he must remain hidden away. Mhtoon Pah toldhim that he would protect him, and that he would produce evidence tohave Leh Shin hanged, and that once he was dead he would then emergeagain, but not until then. He told him how Chinamen killed theirvictims, and his fears and terrors communicated themselves to the boy, who delivered himself up to bondage without resistance. 

For weeks Absalom dragged out a miserable existence, loose when MhtoonPah was in the shop, but chained to the wall whenever he went out, andonly for an hour after midnight was the boy ever allowed to emerge intothe dark, waste garden at the back of the house. The rest of the timewas spent in the cell, and Absalom broke into incoherent wailing as hecalled Hartley and Coryndon to witness that it had been a hard life. 

As the end of his story approached, Absalom grew more dramatic andquoted the parting words of Mhtoon Pah before he went out to attend the_Pwé_ at the Pagoda. 

"I leave thee in fear, " said he, "for thou art the apple of my eye, OAbsalom, and when I am gone some calamity may befall. From whence itcomes I know not, but as men look at the heaped clouds behind the hillsand say, 'Lo, it will soon fall in rain, ' so does my heart look out andobserve darkness, and I am ill-satisfied to quit this house. "

His words rang in the mind of the boy, shut into the stifling darknessbelow the ground, and he remembered that he cried out for help, not oncebut over and over again, and that his cries were eventually answered bythe voice of Leh Shin, who had called him a child of vipers andthreatened to enter and break him against the wall as he would aplantain. After that Absalom had refrained from crying out, and hadwaited silently expecting the door to open and admit Leh Shin and hislast moment simultaneously. Upon the silence came the sounds ofscuffling and hoarse cries, and it seemed to Absalom that Leh Shin hadcalled out that he had already cut the heart from his ribs, and wasabout to force it down Mhtoon Pah's throat, and then nothing was veryclear until voices and lights roused him from stupor to fresh terror andalarm. 

He knew that the door had been unlocked and that a light travelled in, held by a strange Burman, and that his terror of Leh Shin had made himsee things strangely, as though from a long way off; until, at the last, the police had come and knocked the chain off his leg, and someone hadtold him that his master was dead and had been found hanging in theshop. 

Absalom's face quivered and he began to whimper. 

"And now my master is dead, and never in Mangadone shall I find suchanother who will care for me and give me the pleasant life in ParadiseStreet. "

Hartley handed the boy some money. 

"Take him away, " he said to the Bearer. "You have told your story verywell, Absalom. "

He looked across at Coryndon when the room was empty, but Coryndon wasfiddling with some crumbs at the edge of the table. 

"Madness is the real explanation, I suppose, " he said tentatively. "Madness and obsession. "

"Obsession, " echoed Coryndon. "That word explains almost everyinexplicable act in life. " He took up a knife and held it level on hispalm. "There you have the normal condition, but once one end swings upyou get Genius and all the Arts, or madness and crime and the obsessionof one idea: one definite, over-mastering idea that drives every forceharnessed to its car. "

He got up and stretched his arms, and walked out through the verandainto his room, where Shiraz was folding his clothes and laying them inan open portmanteau. The old servant stood up and made a low salaam tohis master. 

"When the sun is down the wise traveller hurries to the Serai, " Coryndonsaid to him. "I leave to-night for Madras, Shiraz, and you with me. "

"The end of all things is just, Huzoor, " replied the old man, a strangelight of reflection in his dim pebble-like eyes. "Is it not written thatnone may rise so high, or plunge so deep, that he does not follow thehidden path to the hidden end? For like a wind that goes and returnsnever, or the shadow of a cloud passing over the desert, is the destinyof a man. "

GLOSSARY

_Almirah_ A press_Babu_ A clerk_Butti_ Lamp_Charpoy_ Bed_Chota haziri_ (Little breakfast) Early morning tea_Dhobie_ Washerman_Durwan_ Watchman_Ghee_ Butter_Gharry_ Cab_Gaudama_ Buddha_Htee_ Topmost pinnacle_Hypongyi_ Priests_Inshallah, Huzoor_ God give you fortune, Prince_Joss_ A god_Khitmutghar_ Footman_Loongyi_ Petticoat_Napi_ Rotten fish_Nats_ Tree spirits_Pani walla_ Water carrier_Pwé_ Feast_Serai_ Rest house_Sirkar_ Government_Syce_ Groom_Tamasha_ A show_Thakin_ Master_Topi_ Hat