Again and again the drama was repeated, and as Coryndon became part of the day’s amusement to Leh Shin’s assistant, he grew to know exactly what both the boy and his master did during the hours of the day.  Unknown and unsuspected, the Burman went in and out as they went in and out.  He appeared at the house by the river, he sat with his legs dangling over the drop from the Colonnade into the streets, and he wore out the hours in idleness, the dust of the Bazaar powdering his hair and griming his face, but behind his vacant eyes, his quick brain was alive and burning, and he felt after Leh Shin with invisible hands.

Coryndon was never at the mercy of one idea only, and he began to see, very soon after he had investigated the two houses—­the ramshackle shop and the riverside den—­that if he intended to progress he could not afford to sit in the street and drink in the cafe opposite Leh Shin’s dwelling for an interminable space of weeks.  He had limitless patience, but he was quick of action, and saw any flaw in his own system as soon as a flaw appeared.  Leh Shin was suspicious, and took precautions when he went out at night, and this in itself made it dangerous to be continually upon his heels in a character he knew and could recognize.  So long as there was anything to gain by remaining in his Burmese clothing, Coryndon used it, avoiding the Chinaman and cultivating the society of his assistant, but he soon began to realize that if he were to follow as closely as he desired, he could not do so in his present disguise.

All day he sat watching the crowded street, shivering, though the sun was warm, and breaking his silence with complaints that the fever was upon him, and that he was sick, and that he could not eat.  He whimpered and whined so persistently that the assistant drove him off, for he feared infection, and fancied he might be sickening for the plague.

“Neither come thou hither, until thou art fully recovered,” he added, “lest I use my force upon thee.”

If a certain beggar who had sat for a whole month outside the Golden Temple at Amritzar was to become reincarnated in the person of the idiot Burman, the Burman must have a reason to offer to the inquisitive for his temporary absence.  Sickness is sudden and active in the streets of any Bazaar, and when Shiraz learnt that he was to keep within the house and report the various stages of the fever of his friend, he salaamed and drew out the battered box from under the bed, and folded away the loongyi and coat with care.

Coryndon explained his plan of coming and going when the streets were silent, and when he could do so without being noticed.  If he came in the daytime and asked for alms, Shiraz was to open and call him in to receive food, but he would only do this in great emergency, as the beggar did not wish to establish any connection with the Punjabi.  If, on the other hand, it was a matter of necessity for the Burman to reappear, Shiraz was to walk along the street and bestow alms in the beggar’s bowl; and on the first opportunity Coryndon would return and make the necessary change.  The first difficulty was to get out of the house, and to be in the street by twilight, when the close operation of watching would have to begin.