a thousand eyes, and, seated on a
vermilion lacquer dais, a Buddha, with heavy eyelids that hid his
strange eyes, presided over an illumination of smoking flame. The smell
of joss-sticks was heavy on the air, and the filigree cloak worn by the
Buddha was enriched with red and green glass that shone and glittered.

"They say the caste-mark in his forehead is a real diamond," remarked
the Barrister. "I don't suppose it is, but at least it is a good
imitation."

Coryndon was not listening to him; he had gone close to the marble
rails, and was lighting his little bunch of yellow tapers. He lighted
them one by one, and put each one down on the floor very slowly and
carefully, and when he had finished he turned round.

"Mhtoon Pah is the man who has the curio shop?" he asked.

"The very same. It gives you some idea of his percentage on sales,
what?"

Coryndon joined in his laugh, and they went out again into the street of
sanctity. Fitzgibbon was now getting exhausted, for his companion's
desire to "do" the Pagoda was apparently insatiable; and he asked
interminable questions that the Barrister was totally unable to answer.

Coryndon seemed to find something fresh and interesting around every
corner. The white elephants delighted him, particularly where green
creepers had grown round their trunks, giving them a realistic effect of
enjoying a meal. The handles off very common English chests-of-drawers,
that were set along a rail enclosing a sleeping Buddha, pleased him like
a child, as did the bits of looking-glass with "Black and White Whisky,"
or "Apollinaris Water," inscribed across their faces.

"That sort of thing seems to attract them," explained Fitzgibbon. "In
one of the shrines there is a fancy biscuit-box at a Buddha's feet. It
has got 'Huntley and Palmer' on the top, and pictures of children and
swans all around it. Funny devils, I always say so."

At length he had to drag Coryndon away, almost by main force.

"I'd like to have seen Mhtoon Pah," he objected. "He ought to be on view
with his chapel."

"Shrine, Coryndon. You can see him in his shop," and they began the
descent down the steep steps.

"Look," said the Barrister quickly, "there is Mhtoon Pah. No, not the
man in white trousers, that's a Chinaman with a pigtail under his hat;
the fat old thing in the short silk _loongyi_ and crimson head-scarf."

Coryndon hardly glanced at him, as he passed with a scent of spice and
sandal-wood in his garmen