“That may be goat’s blood, or dog’s blood; we can’t say it is Absalom’s,” objected Hartley.  “Leave the horrid thing there, Mhtoon Pah, and I will have it analysed later on.”

Mhtoon Pah gasped and beat his breast.

“He was a good boy, he attended the Mission with regularity, and they are doing terrible things.  They wind wires around the finger-nails and the toe-nails until they turn black and drop off.  You do not know these Chinamen, Thakin, as I know them.  Have you seen the assistant of Leh Shin?”

Hartley wished that he had not; he frequently wished that he had never seen that man.

Mhtoon Pah bent near the Head of the Police and spoke in low, sibilant tones: 

“He is a butcher’s mate, Thakin.  He is a slayer of flesh.  He kills in the shambles.  Oh, it is true.  I saw him slit the mouth of a dog with his knife for his own mirth—­”

“Swine!” said Hartley.

“Why he left there and went to live with Leh Shin is unknown.  He has secrets.  He knows the best mixtures of opium, he knows—­”

“I don’t want to hear what he knows.”

“He knows where Absalom is.”

“You only think that,” said Hartley, roughly.  “It is a dangerous thing to make these assertions.  It is only your idea, Mhtoon Pah.”

The Burman groaned aloud and held the rag between his hands.

“Put that down,” said Hartley.  Mhtoon Pah’s very agony of desire to find the boy was almost disgusting, and he turned away from the sight.  “There is no use your staying here, and no use your coming, unless there is more of this devil’s work,” he pointed to the blood-stained cloth.  “Leave the thing here, and I will see what the doctors have to say about it.”

“Thakin, Thakin,” said Mhtoon Pah.  “The time grows late.  My night’s rest is taken from me, and the Chinaman, Leh Shin, walks the roads.  I saw him from my place at sunset.  I saw him go by like a cat that prowls when night falls and it grows dark.  He passed by my wooden image of a dancing man, and he touched him as he passed—­” he gave a despairing gesture with his heavy hands.  “Oh, Absalom, Absalom, my grief is heavy!”

“He will be either found or accounted for,” said Hartley, with a decision and firmness he was far from feeling, and Mhtoon Pah, with bent head, went away out of the room.

The rain that had held off all day began to come down in pitiless torrents, blown in by the wind, and fighting against bolts and bars.  It ruffled the muddy waters of the river, ran along the kennels of the Chinese quarter, drove the inhabitants of Paradise Street indoors and soused down over the Cantonment gardens, and battered on the travelling carriage of Craven Joicey, that came along the road, a waterproof over the pony’s back and another covering the syce, and Joicey sat inside the small green box, holding the window-strings under his heavy arms.