"As far as I remember his name was George Bertram," Grantham answered.

There was a pause for a few seconds, after which the blind man began
again--

"He didn't tell you, I suppose, whether he had any money about him?"

"He hadn't a red cent," said Grantham. "The Chinese cleared him out.
They lent him the money to get to Rangoon. I happen to know that because
he cashed my friend's cheque in Bhamo."

There was another and somewhat longer pause.

"You did not hear whether he had any precious stones in his possession?"

"Good gracious, no! From what they told me I gathered that the man
hadn't a halfpenny in the world. Why should he have been likely to have
had jewels? In point of fact I'm sure he hadn't, for I was given to
understand he was about as woe-begone a customer as could be found
anywhere."

The blind man uttered a heavy sigh, and sank back to his former position
upon the ground.

An hour and a half later, just as the shadows of evening were drawing
in, a party of Sikhs put in an appearance, bringing with them a dhooly,
in which they placed the injured man. It was almost dark when they
reached the station, where Grantham's superior officer was awaiting
their coming.