waters, and he remembered that somewhere, miles away from Mangadone, he
had played along a river bank, little better than the small native
children who played there now, and he saw the green jungle-clearing, the
red road, and the roof of his father's bungalow, and he fancied he could
hear the cry of the paddy-birds, and the voices of the water-men who
came and went through the long, eventless days.

Even while he thought, he never moved his eyes from the house. Suddenly
a light glimmered for a moment behind a window, and he sat forward
quickly, forgetting his dream, and becoming Coryndon the tracker in the
twinkling flash of a second. The inmates of the house were stirring at
last, and Coryndon lay flat behind his clump of grass and hardly
breathed.

He could hear a door open softly, and, though it was too dark to discern
anything, he knew that there was a man on the veranda, and that the man
slipped down the staircase, where he stood for a moment and peered
about. He moved quietly up the path and watched it for a few minutes,
and then slid back into the house again. Coryndon could hear whispers
and a low, growled response, and then another figure appeared, a Sahib
this time, by his white clothes. He used no particular caution, and came
heavily down the staircase, that creaked under his weight, and took the
track by which Coryndon had come.

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