Their manifest destitution, and the misery they had suffered, had touched the kindly white residents of that far off place, and a subscription was raised for them, resulting in the collection of an amount sufficient to enable them to reach Rangoon in comparative comfort.  When they arrived at that well-known seaport, they visited the residence of a person with whom it was plain they were well acquainted.  The interview was presumably satisfactory on both sides, for when they left the house Kitwater squeezed Codd’s hand, saying as he did so—­

“We’ll have him yet, Coddy, my boy, mark my words, we’ll have him yet.  He left in the Jemadar, and he thinks we are lying dead in the jungle at this moment.  It’s scarcely his fault that we are not, is it?  But when we get hold of him, we’ll—­well, we’ll let him see what we can do, won’t we, old boy?  He stole the treasure and sneaked away, abandoning us to our fate.  In consequence I shall never see the light again; and you’ll never speak to mortal man.  We’ve Mr. Gideon Hayle to thank for that, and if we have to tramp round the world to do it, if we have to hunt for him in every country on the face of the earth, we’ll repay the debt we owe him.”

Mr. Codd’s bright little eyes twinkled in reply.  Then they shook hands solemnly together.  It would certainly prove a bad day for Gideon Hayle should he ever have the ill luck to fall into their hands.

Two days later they shipped aboard the mail-boat as steerage passengers for England.  They had been missionaries in China, so it was rumoured on board, and their zeal had been repaid by the cruellest torture.  On a Sunday in the Indian Ocean, Kitwater held a service on deck, which was attended by every class.  He preached an eloquent sermon on the labours of the missionaries in the Far East, and from that moment became so popular on board that, when the steamer reached English waters, a subscription was taken up on behalf of the sufferers, which resulted in the collection of an amount sufficient to help them well on their way to London as soon as they reached Liverpool.

“Now,” said Kitwater, as they stood together at the wharf with the pitiless English rain pouring down upon them, wetting them to the skin, “what we have to do is to find Gideon Hayle as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER I

It has often struck me as being a remarkable circumstance that, in nine cases out of ten, a man’s success in life is not found in the career he originally chose for himself, but in another and totally different one.  That mysterious power, “force of circumstances,” is doubtless responsible for this, and no better illustration for my argument could be found than my own case.  I believe my father intended that I should follow the medical profession, while my mother hoped I would enter the Church.  My worthy uncle, Clutterfield, the eminent solicitor of Lincoln’s Inn Fields, offered me my Articles, and would possibly have eventually taken me into partnership.  But I would have none of these things.  My one craving was for the sea.  If I could not spend my life upon salt water, existence would have no pleasure for me.  My father threatened, my mother wept, Uncle Clutterfield prophesied all sorts of disasters, but I remained firm.