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Updated: May 14, 2025
"We're past it now, but it was the one with a dancing man outside of it, a funny little effigy." Coryndon's eyes were turned to the Pagoda, and he was evidently inattentive. "It strikes you, doesn't it?" asked Fitzgibbon, in the tones of a gratified showman. "It always does strike people who haven't seen it before."
It was like the imaginable space between life and death, where both conditions existed, and one was the key to the other. Something was lacking. One small master touch wanting to lay the whole thing bare of mystery. Coryndon's weary eyes reflected the state of his mind.
"Shall you be away long, do you suppose?" he asked, looking with interest at Coryndon's smooth, black head. "I may be, but it is impossible to tell. If I want you, I will send a message by Shiraz." The dinner passed off without incident, and not once did Coryndon open the secret door of his mind, to add to the strange store of facts he had gathered there.
He tried to frame a reply, but his words faltered through dry lips, and his face was white and set. "Why should you say that I helped Rydal?" "Because," Coryndon's answer came quickly, "you told me so yourself last night at dinner." He heard Coryndon speak again, very slowly, so that every word came clear into the confusion of his throbbing brain.
The assistant ignored the personal description, and adopted a manner calculated to ingratiate himself into the friendly confidence of the mad Burman. He wriggled off the table and crouched on the floor a few inches off Coryndon's face, and the contact being too close for human endurance, Coryndon threw himself back into the corner and retired behind a mask of cunning obstinacy.
"I'll get some honest sleep to-night," he said as they parted, and ten minutes afterwards he was lying under his mosquito-curtains, oblivious to the world. Coryndon's servant, Shiraz, was squatting across the door that led into the veranda when his master came in, and he waited for his orders.
When Coryndon had fully explained that his friend, who was in the service of Hartley, had not only given him a circumstantial account of how the rag was to be used as final and conclusive evidence of Leh Shin's guilt, but that he had also stolen the rag out of Hartley Sahib's locked box, to be safely returned to him later, Leh Shin almost tore it from between Coryndon's fingers.
By the way I go out will I leave the door open, and some will enter there, and others at the front of the house." He turned to look at the boy, who pointed at the Chinaman and continued to shriek for Mhtoon Pah. It was no moment for hesitation, though Coryndon's thoughts went to the shop and the front door.
"I was away from Mangadone on that night." "I am quite aware that you told Hartley so." Coryndon's voice was perfectly even and level, but hot anger flamed up in the bloodshot eyes of Craven Joicey.
Coryndon's watchful eye detected the lie before it announced itself in words, or so it seemed to the boy, who resigned himself to the mere paltry limitations of fact, and confessed that he and Absalom had been friends and that he had never killed anything except a chicken, and once a dog that was too young to bite his hand.
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