"_Aie! Aie!_ I do not understand thy words." The Burman's face grew
blank 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,"--he
pinched his forefinger against a mutilated thumb. "More than money,
see, fool; thou understandest nothing, thy brain is left along with thy
chains in the Island which is known unto thee."

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

Coryndon gave one glance at the sky; the dawn was still far off, but in
spite of this he ran up the deserted colonnade and walked quickly down
Paradise 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 and
coolie-folk lived, and, lastly, with a slow, lurking step, to the close
vicinity of a house standing alone upon high supports. He skirted round
it, but to all appearances it was closed and empty, and he sat down
behind 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 with
Leh Shin, and make the way clear for his coming to the small, empty
house close to the shop of the ineffectual curio dealer, and now he
knew, through his fine, sharp instinct, that he was close upon the track
of some mystery. It might have nothing to do with the disappearance of
the Christian boy, Absalom, or it might be a thread from the hidden