"I have had such an awful nightmare," he said. "I thought the Chinese
were after me again. Lord! how thankful I am it's not true."

Next morning George Bertram, as he called himself, left Nampoung for
Bhamo, with Gregory's cheque for five hundred rupees in his pocket.

"You must take it," said that individual in reply to the other's
half-hearted refusal of the assistance. "Treat it as a loan if you like.
You can return it to me when you are in better circumstances. I assure
you I don't want it. We can't spend money out here."

Little did he imagine when he made that offer, the immense wealth which
the other carried in the belt that encircled his waist. Needless to say
Hayle said nothing to him upon the subject. He merely pocketed the
cheque with an expression of his gratitude, promising to repay it as
soon as he reached London. As a matter of fact he did so, and to this
day, I have no doubt, Gregory regards him as a man of the most
scrupulous and unusual integrity.

Two days later the wanderer reached Bhamo, that important military post
on the sluggish Irrawaddy. His appearance, thanks to Gregory and
Dempsey's kind offices, was now sufficiently conventional to attract
little or no attention, so he negotiated the Captain's cheque, fitted
himself out with a few other things that he required, and then set off
for Mandalay. From Mandalay he proceeded as fast as steam could take him
to Rangoon, where, after the exercise of some diplomacy, he secured a
passage aboard a tramp steamer bound for England.

When the Shweydagon was lost in the evening mist, and the steamer had