"Not personally, but it cost the Bank close upon a quarter of a lakh."
Joicey drummed his square-topped fingers on the table. "I can't imagine
how he managed to get away."

Hartley frowned.

"I had all the landing-stages carefully watched, and the plague police
warned. He must have gone before the warrant was out, that is, if he has
ever left the country at all."

Joicey shrugged his heavy shoulders.

"In any case, the man's not much use to us, and the money has gone. I'm
not altogether sorry he got away." His eyes grew full of brooding
shadows and he sat silent, still tapping the cloth with his fingers.

"It's an odd coincidence," said Hartley, and his face grew keen again.
"Mhtoon Pah's boy, Absalom, disappeared that same night. I wish you
could tell me, Joicey, if you saw Heath that evening when you went down
Paradise Street. It was the same evening that the Bank laid their
information against Rydal, the twenty-ninth."

Joicey had just poured himself out a glass of port, and was raising it
to his lips as Hartley spoke, and the hand that held the glass jerked
slightly, splashing a little of the wine on to the front of his white
shirt. Joicey did not set the glass back on to the table, he held it
between him and the light, and eyed it, or, rather, it should be said
that he watched his own hand, and when he saw that it was quite steady
he set down the wine untasted.