He took out a sheet of paper and made careful notes.  The boy had been gone four to five days, and beyond the fact that the Rev. Francis Heath had seen and spoken to him, no one else was named as having passed along Paradise Street.  The clergyman’s evidence was worth nothing at all, except to prove that the boy had left Mhtoon Pah’s shop at the time mentioned, and Mhtoon Pah explained that the “private business” was to buy a gold lacquer bowl desired by Mrs. Wilder, who had come to the shop a day or two before and given the order.  Gold lacquer bowls were difficult to procure, and he had charged the boy to search for it in the morning and to buy it, if possible, from the opium dealer Leh Shin, who could be securely trusted to be half-drugged at an early hour.

“It was the morning I spoke of, Thakin,” said the curio dealer, who had grown calmer.  “But Absalom did not return to his home that night.  He may have gone to Leh Shin; he was a diligent boy, a good boy, always eager in the pursuit of his duty and advantage.”

“I am very sorry for you, Mhtoon Pah,” said Hartley again, “and I shall investigate the matter.  I know Leh Shin, and I consider it quite unlikely that he has had anything to do with it.”

When Mhtoon Pah rattled away in the yellow gharry, Hartley put the notes on one side.  It was a police matter, and he could trust his staff to work the subject up carefully under his supervision, and going to the telephone, he communicated the principal facts to the head office, mentioning the name of Leh Shin and the story of the gold lacquer bowl, and giving instructions that Leh Shin was to be tactfully interrogated.

When Hartley hung up the receiver he took his hat and waterproof and went out into the warm, damp dusk of the evening.  There was something that he did not like about the weather.  It was heavy, oppressive, stifling, and though there was air in plenty, it was the stale air of a day that seemed never to have got out of bed, but to have lain in a close room behind the shut windows of Heaven.

He remembered the boy Absalom well, and could recall his dark, eager face, bulging eyes and protuberant under-lip, and the idea of his having been decoyed off unto some place of horror haunted him.  It was still on his mind when he walked into the Club veranda and joined a group of men in the bar.  Joicey, the banker, was with them, silent, morose, and moody according to his wont, taking no particular notice of anything or anybody.  Fitzgibbon, a young Irish barrister-at-law, was talking, and laughing and doing his best to keep the company amused, but he could get no response out of Joicey.  Hartley was received with acclamations suited to his general reputation for popularity, and he stood talking for a little, glad to shake off his feeling of depression.  When he saw Mr. Heath come in and go up the staircase to an upstairs room, he followed him with his eyes and decided to take the opportunity to speak to him.