me of the murder of Roscoe, Shafto had kept his experience
to himself; even with the evidence of his own eyes he shrank from
suspecting anyone connected with Sophy. After all, there were plenty
of Shan posies in Rangoon, and Krauss's inquiry about the tiger might
be just a mere coincidence; but now facts were forming up in stern
array, despite his reluctance to face them. There was no doubt that
Krauss had spies and tools, and if that was his grey pony "Dacoit,"
what was "Dacoit" doing in the jungle, thirty miles from Rangoon? It
was suspiciously strange that, after Miss Bliss's mention of a loafer
who had given information--a loafer toasted by Krauss--an individual
answering the description had so promptly disappeared. Well now, Sophy
or no Sophy, FitzGerald must be told!

Shafto found his opportunity the following night, when he and the
police officer had the veranda to themselves. Roscoe, with an actor's
unquenchable ardour for the theatre, was patronising a play. The tour
of "Charley's Aunt" had reached Rangoon. The MacNab was dining with
the Presbyterian minister.

After the table had been cleared and cheroots produced, without any
circumlocution or preface, Shafto plunged into his subject and laid his
information and suspicions before his friend who, to his amazement,
replied:

"Oh well, I've had my own ideas for some time, me boy. I have noticed
that Krauss is one of the loudest in crowing whenever we make a haul of
contraband; it has struck me that his enthusiasm is a bit overdone. I
believe he is in with a pack of swindlers, but has a wonderful knack of
safeguarding his own ugly carcass. His wealth is a well-known fact,
but its source is distinctly mysterious. He is not like the usual
business man, who puts by a few thousands every now and then, made in
teak or paddy; Krauss has a share in everything that's any good. Oil,
rubies, trams, wolfram, rubber, and so on. The capital he invests in
these concerns cannot come from ordinary speculation in rice and
teak--so the question is, where does he get it?"

As Shafto made no reply, FitzGerald put down his cheroot, drew his
chair closer to the table and, leaning over to his companion, said:

"Look here, me boy, you are a thundering good sort, and I'd like to
tell you one or two small things--and give you a bit of advice that may
be useful. From what you say, I have no doubt that Krauss suspects
that you have seen something of his game--how much he