"Pull my boots off my feet." Shiraz did as he was bidden and slipped his
master's feet into the leather sandals which he carried under his wide
belt. "Now take the coat and hat, and in due time I shall return, though
not by day. Let it be known that to-morrow we take our journey of seven
days; 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 legitimate
trippers had turned out to witness. The trams were crowded and the
native shops flared with light, for the night is cool and the day hot
and stifling; therefore, by night a large proportion of the inhabitants
of Mangadone take their pleasure out of doors. In the Berlin Café the
little tables were crowded with those strange anomalies, black men and
women in European clothes. There had been a concert in the Presentation
Hall, and the audience nearly all reassembled at the Berlin Café for
light refreshments when the musical programme was concluded.

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