“I’m in a corner,” he said at last; “you’ve got the whip-hand of me, Coryndon, but when I said I was not in Mangadone that night, I was speaking the truth.”

“You were splitting a hair,” suggested Coryndon.

Joicey drew his heavy eyebrows together in an angry frown.

“Let that question rest,” he said, conquering his desire to break loose in a passion of rage.

“You went down Paradise Street some time after sunset.  Will you tell me exactly whom you saw on your way to the river house?”

Craven Joicey steadied his voice and thought carefully.

“I passed Heath, the Parson, he was coming from the direction of the lower wharves, and was going towards Rydal’s bungalow.  I remember that, because Rydal was in, my mind at the time; I had heard that his wife was ill, probably dying, and just after I saw Absalom.”

He paused for a moment and moistened his lips.

“Was he with anyone when you saw him?”

“No, he was alone, and he was carrying a parcel.  Anyhow, that is all I can tell you about him that night.”

Joicey looked up as though he considered that he had said enough.

“And from there you went to the opium den,” said Coryndon relentlessly.

The perspiration dripped from Joicey’s hair, and he took up the threads of the story once more.

“I went there,” he said, biting the words savagely.  “I was sick at the time.  I’d had a go of malaria and was as weak as a kitten.  The place was empty, and only Leh Shin was in the house, and whether he gave me a stronger dose, or whether I was too seedy to stand my usual quantity, I can’t tell you, but I overslept my time.”

He passed his hand over his face with a sideways look that was horrible in its shamefacedness.  Coryndon avoided looking at him in return, and waited patiently until he went on.

“Leh Shin remained with me.  He never leaves the house whilst I am inside,” continued Joicey.  “I was there the night of the twenty-ninth and the day of the thirtieth.  Luckily it was a Sunday and there was no fear of questions cropping up, and I only got out at nightfall when it was dark enough for me to go back without risk.  Since then,” he said, rising to his feet and striking the writing-table with a clenched fist, “I have been driven close to madness.  Hartley was put on to the track of Leh Shin by the lying old Burman, Mhtoon Pah, and Leh Shin’s shop was watched and he himself threatened.  God!  What I’ve gone through.”

“Thank you,” said Coryndon, pushing back his chair.  “You have been of the very greatest assistance to me.”

Joicey sat down again, a mere torment-racked mass, deprived of the help of his pretence, defenceless and helpless because his sin had found him out in the person of a slim, dark-faced man, who looked at him with burning pity in his eyes.