The Burman was on his knees, having some difficulty with the lock.  He could see him fighting it, and at last he saw the jerk of his hand that told that the key had turned, and that the way was clear.  Leh Shin dived out of the recess and ran, a flitting shadow, across the road.  The door was open, but the Burman for all his madness was not satisfied.  There was a way out through the back by which they could emerge, and if the front door hung loose, careless eyes might easily be attracted to the fact.  The pointing man was not there for nothing.  Almost everyone looked up the steps.  Even in his fury of impatience, Leh Shin saw the reason for caution, and agreed to open a window, and admit the Burman after he had locked the door again.

The moments were full of the tense agony of suspense, and he peered cautiously out from under the silk blind.  A late passer-by went slowly up the street, and Leh Shin’s heart beat a loud obbligato to the sound of his wooden pattens.  By craning his neck as the man passed, he could just distinguish the Burman crouching behind the wooden man, who blandly indicated the heavy padlock.  The wooden man lied woodenly to the effect that all was well within the curio shop, and a few minutes later the Burman swung himself over the balustrade and climbed with cat-like agility on to the window-ledge.

The darkness of the room was heavy with scent, and Leh Shin stumbled over unknown things.  Coryndon struck a match and held it in the hollow of one palm as he opened the aperture in the dark lantern he carried, and lighted it.  When he had done so he looked up, and taking no notice of the masses of beautiful things, he went quickly to the silk cupboard, opening it with another key on the ring.

“Leh Shin,” he said, speaking in a commanding whisper, “turn thyself into an ear, and listen for me while I search.”

Leh Shin nodded silently, half-stupidly it seemed, and went on tip-toes to the door that opened into the passage.  All the power of the past was over him, and though he heard the Burman’s curt command he hardly seemed to understand what he meant.  For a little time he stood at the door, hearing the rustling whisper of yards of silk torn down and glanced over and discarded, and then he wandered almost without knowing it up the staircase and through the rooms, until the sight of Mhtoon Pah’s bed and some of Mhtoon Pah’s clothing recalled his mind to the reason of his being there.

He hurried down, his bare feet making no sound on the stairs, and looked into the shop again.  The Burman was seated on the floor, a width of silk over his knees; all the displaced rolls had been put back.  He had worked swiftly and with the greatest care that no trace of his visit should be known later.