“Is my bath prepared, Shiraz?  I must wash before I sleep, and I shall sleep late.”

Coryndon was weary.  No one who has not watched through hours of strain and suspense knows the utter weariness of mind and body that follows upon the long effort of close attention, and he fell upon his bed in a huddled heap and slept for hour after hour, worn out in brain and body.

XVII

TELLS HOW CORYNDON LEARNS FROM THE REV.  FRANCIS HEATH WHAT THE REV.  FRANCIS HEATH NEVER TOLD HIM.

When Coryndon sat up in his bed, and recalled himself with a jerk from the drowsiness of night to the wakefulness of broad daylight, he called Shiraz to give to him instructions.

After dark, his master told him, he was going to return to the Cantonments, and during his absence there were some matters which he had decided to leave unreservedly in the hands of Shiraz.  He was to cultivate his acquaintance with Leh Shin, the Chinaman, worming his way into his confidence and encouraging him to speak fully of the old hatred that was still like live fire between him and the wealthy curio dealer.  Revenge may or may not take the shape and substance of the original wrong done, and the limited intelligence of the Chinaman would suggest payment in the same coin, so it was necessary for Coryndon to know the actual facts of the ancient grudge.  Further than this, Shiraz was to go to the shop of Mhtoon Pah, and discover anything he could in the course of conversation with the Burman.

“Mark well all that is said, that when I return it may be disclosed to mine eyes through thy spectacles,” he concluded, tying the ragged ends of his head-scarf over his forehead.

He went down the staircase with a slow, dragging step, leaning on the rail of the Colonnade when he got out into the street, and halting, with a vacant stare, outside the shop of Leh Shin.

“So thy devils have not yet caught thee and scalded thee with oil, or burned thee in quicklime?” jeered the boy, as he watched a coolie sweep out the shop.

He was chewing a raw onion, and he swung his legs idly, for there was nothing to do, and, on the whole, he was glad to have the mad Burman to bait for half an hour’s entertainment.

“The sickness is heavy upon me, my legs are loaded as with wet sand, and my mouth is parched like a rock in the desert,” whined the Burman plaintively.

“Nay, nay, not thy legs, and thy tongue.  The legs and the mouth of the evil man, thy friend, O dolt.”

The Burman shook his head stupidly.

“The will of the Holy Ones is that I shall recover, and my friend has said that I shall go a journey.  I go by the terrain this night at sunset.”

“Whither doth he send thee, unclean one?”

The Burman smiled with a sudden look of cunning.

“That is a word unspoken, and neither will I tell it.  Thy desire to know what concerns thee not is as great as thy fatness.”