are the fellows for brains, and
Salak's about the cleverest of them."

Thresk looked again at the photograph.

"I see the picture was taken at Poona."

"Yes, and isn't it an extraordinary thing!" cried Ballantyne, his face
flashing suddenly into interest and enjoyment. The enthusiasm of the
administrator in his work got the better of his fear now, just as a
little earlier it had got the better of his drunkenness. Thresk was
looking now into the face of a quite different man, the man of the
intimate knowledge and the high ability for whom fine rewards were
prophesied in Bombay. "The very cleverest of them can't resist the
temptation of being photographed in group. Crime after crime has been
brought home to the Indian criminal both here and in London because they
will sit in garden-chairs and let a man take their portraits. Nothing
will stop them. They won't learn. They are like the ladies of the light
opera stage. Well, let 'em go on I say. Here's an instance."

"Is it?" asked Thresk. "Surely that photograph was taken a long
time ago."

"Nine years. But he was at the same game. You have got the proof in your
hands. There's a group of nine men--Salak and his eight friends. Well,
of his eight friends every man jack is now doing time for burglary, in
some cases with violence--that second ruffian, for instance, he's in for
life--in some cases without, but in each case the crime was burglary.
And why? Because Salak in the centre there set them on to it. Because
Salak nine years ago wasn't the big swell he is now. Because Salak
wanted money to start his intrigues. That's the way he got
it--burglaries all round Bombay."

"I see," said Thresk. "Salak's in prison now?"

"He's in prison in Calcutta, yes. But he's awaiting his trial. He's not
convicted yet."

"Exactly," Thresk answered. "This photograph is a valuable thing to have
just now."

Ballantyne threw up his arms in despair at the obtuseness of his
companion.

"Valuable!" he cried in derision. "Valuable!" and he leaned forward on
his elbows and began to talk to Thresk with an ironic gentleness as if he
were a child.

"You don't quite understand me, do you? But a little effort and all will
be plain."

He got no farther however upon this line of attack, for Thresk
interrupted him sharply.

"Here! Say what you have got to say if you want me to help you. Oh, you
needn't scowl! You are not going to bait me for your amusement. I am not
your wife." And Ballantyn