“I have come here, Mhtoon Pah, to ask for news of Absalom,” he said, meeting his eyes forcefully.  “Where is he?”

Mhtoon Pah bowed low, as befitted the dignity of his guest, who was, after all, a Hypongyi, even though he wore no yellow robes.

“It is unknown,” he said, in a heavy voice.  “The Reverend himself might know, since the Reverend saw my little Absalom that night.”

“You must have suspicions?”

Mhtoon Pah’s face worked violently.

“Leh Shin,” he whispered.  “Look there for what is left.”

Heath retreated before his fury.

“You yourself sent the boy there.”

“Wah!  Wah! I sent him and he did not return.”

“What are you talking about?” said the fresh, gay voice of Mrs. Wilder.  “Where is my lacquer bowl, Mhtoon Pah?” She came in, bright as the morning outside, and smiled at the Rev. Francis Heath.  “So you have got it for me.”

“I did not get it, Lady Sahib,” said Mhtoon Pah.  “It came here, how I know not.  I found it outside my shop in the care of the wooden image when I went to dust his limbs this morning.”

Mrs. Wilder laughed.

“In that case I shall not have to pay for it.  But what do you mean, Mhtoon Pah?”

“It is blood money,” said Mhtoon Pah, with a wild gasp.  “Only one man knew of the bowl, only one man could have put it there.  I shall tell Hartley Sahib; the Thakin will strike surely and swiftly.”

“He will do nothing of the kind,” said Mrs. Wilder, with a quick look at Heath.  “Give me my bowl, Mhtoon Pah; you are letting yourself dream foolish things.  Absalom”—­she tapped the polished floor with her well-shaped foot—­“will come back and explain everything himself, and then—­whoever is responsible—­will bear the penalty.”

“They have tied his head to his elbows, and set snakes to sting him,” said Mhtoon Pah.  “This have they done, and worse things, Lady Sahib.”

Mrs. Wilder shivered.

“Give me my bowl, you horrible old man.  Absalom is blacking boots in a New York hotel, weeks ago.—­Ah! what a coat!  Are you buying anything, Mr. Heath?”

“I am going to the school,” he answered slowly.

“Then let me drive you there.  Send me up the Mandarin’s coat, Mhtoon Pah, and I will haggle another day.”

Heath followed her reluctantly down the steps.  He wished she had not made a point of taking him in her motor, but he felt instinctively sorry for her, which fact, had she known it, would have surprised and affronted her.

“Will you come and dine with us one night?” she asked, looking at him with her fine eyes; “it would give us great pleasure, and I do not think you have met my husband.”

“I rarely do dine out,” said Heath, staring before him as the car backed round in the limited space of Paradise Street.

“Then make this an exception.  I won’t ask you to a function, just a quiet little family party.”