With a doggedness that is often part of some forms of mania, the Burman squatted in the dust, and under no provocation could he be induced to speak.  After midday he indicated by lifting his fingers to his mouth that he intended to go in search of food; having worked Leh Shin’s assistant into a state of perspiring wrath by the simple process of reiterating in pantomime that he was dumb.  It must be admitted that Coryndon got no small amount of pleasure out of his morning’s entertainment, and he doubled himself up as though in pain as he dragged himself back to the house.

The vanished beggar’s tracks were entirely obliterated, and when the Burman went off in a gharry in company with Shiraz, the whole street knew that he was being sent away on a secret mission of great importance.

To know something that other people do not know is to be in some way their superior.  It is a popular fallacy to believe that we all of us are gifted with special insight.  The dullest bore believes it of himself, but when it comes to the possession of an absolute fact superiority becomes unmistakable, particularly in circumscribed localities, and Leh Shin’s assistant remembered how the sudden dumbness of the crazy Burman had irked his own soul.  He told a little of what he professed to know, and having done so, refused to admit more, and so it was current in the Bazaar that the friend of the rich Punjabi was gone to receive money paid for jewels, and that the place of his destination was known only to Leh Shin’s assistant, who, having sworn on oath, would by no means divulge the name of the place.

Even Leh Shin, who awoke late, appeared interested, and asked questions that made the gross, flabby boy think hard before he replied; and the mystery that attached itself to the departure of the Burman lent an added interest to Shiraz, who returned after the usual hour of prayer at the Mosque, and paced slowly up the street, meditating upon a verse from the Koran.  The evening light softened and the shadows grew long, making the Colonnade dark a full hour before the street outside was wrapped in the smoky gloom of twilight and the charcoal fires were lighted to cook the evening meal, and by the time that the first clear globes of electric light dotted Paradise Street Coryndon was back in his room and dressed ready to go out to dinner.

Hartley received the wanderer with enthusiasm, and began at once by telling him that he had an invitation for him which was growing stale by long keeping.  Mrs. Wilder was giving a very small party and both the Head of the Police and his friend were invited.

“I accepted definitely for myself, and conditionally for you,” said Hartley cheerfully.  “Now I will ring up Wilder and tell him that the prodigal has reappeared, and that you will come.”

Coryndon submitted to the inevitable with a good grace; it was one of his best social qualifications, and arose from a keen sensitiveness that made it nearly impossible for him ever to disappoint anyone.  He had hoped for a quiet evening, when he might expect to get to bed early and have time to think over every tiny detail of his time in the Mangadone Bazaar; but as this was not possible, he agreed with sufficient alacrity to deceive his kind host.