He was seated on a table bending over his horrible employment, half pastime, half primitive operation, the light of the lamp full upon him, when a sound of padding feet shook the floor and he looked up, his eyes full of the effort of listening attentively, and saw a face peering in at the door.  For a moment he was startled, and then he swung his legs, which hung short of the floor, over the side of the table and laughed out loud.

“So thou art back, Mountain of Wisdom?” he said jeeringly.  “Come within and tell me of thy journey.”

The Burman crept in stealthily, looking around him.

“Aye, I am back.  Having done the business.”

Curiosity leapt into the eyes of the Chinaman, and he dropped his attitude of contempt.

“What business?” he asked greedily.  “Before thy departure thou wast mute, stricken as a dumb man, neither wouldst thou speak in response to any question.”

The Burman curled himself up on the floor and smiled complaisantly.

“None the less, the business is done, O Bowl of Ghee, and I have returned.”

The assistant ignored the personal description, and adopted a manner calculated to ingratiate himself into the friendly confidence of the mad Burman.  He wriggled off the table and crouched on the floor a few inches off Coryndon’s face, and the contact being too close for human endurance, Coryndon threw himself back into the corner and retired behind a mask of cunning obstinacy.

“Thy business, thy business,” repeated the boy.  “Was it in the nature of the evil works of the bad man, thy friend?” He leered his encouragement, and fumbling at his belt took out a small coin.  “Here, I will give thee two annas if thou tell the whole story to my liking.”

The Burman shook his head, but he appeared to be considering the offer slowly in his obtuse and stagnant brain.

“Give the money into mine own hand, that the reward be sure,” he said, as though he toyed with the idea.

“Not so,” replied the boy.  “First the boiled rice and the salt, and afterwards the payment.  Thus is the way in honest dealings.”

The Burman shut his mouth tightly and exhibited signs of a return to his former condition of dumbness that worked upon the assistant like gall.

“Then, if nothing less will content thee, take thy money,” he said in frothy anger.  “Take it and speak low, for it may be that eavesdroppers are without in the street.”

He dropped the coin into the outstretched palm, but the Burman did not begin his story.  He got up and searched behind boxes and shook the rows of hanging garments.  He was so secret and silent that the boy became exasperated and closed the narrow door into the street with a bang, pulling across a heavy chain.

“Let that content thee,” he said irritably, chafing under the delay, and sitting down, a frowsy, horrible object, in the dim corner, he prepared to enjoy a further description out of the wild fantastic terrors of the madman’s brain.