ts; his attention had been attracted by a booth
where men were eating curry.

"It is a curious custom to sell food in a place like this," he remarked
to the Barrister.

"It's part of the Oriental mind," replied his guide. "No one understands
it. No one ever will; so don't try and begin, or you'll wear yourself
out."

When they got back to the Club it was already late, and the hall of the
bar was crowded with men, standing together in groups, or sitting in
long, uncompromising chairs under the impression that they were
comfortable seats.

"Hullo, Joicey," said the Barrister, as he fell over his legs. "I'm
dog-beat. Been doing the Pagoda with Coryndon. Do you know each
other--?" He waved his hand by way of introduction, and Coryndon took an
empty chair beside the Banker, who heaved himself up a little in his
seat, and signalled to a small boy in white, who was scuffling with
another small boy, also in white, and ordered some drinks.

"I am new to it," explained Coryndon, and his voice sounded tired, as
though the Pagoda had been a little too much for him.

Joicey did not reply; he was looking away, and Coryndon followed his
eyes. Near the wide staircase, and just about to go up it, a man was
standing, talking to a friend. He was dressed in an ill-cut suit of
white, with a V-shaped inlet of black under his round collar; he held a
_topi_ of an old pattern under his arm, and the light showed his face
cadaverous and worn. Joicey was holding the arm of his chair, and his
under-lip trembled.

"Inexplicable," he muttered, and drank with a gulping sound.

"What did you say?" asked Coryndon politely.

"Say? Did I say anything? I can't remember that I did." The Banker's
voice was irritable, and he still watched the clergyman.

"What strikes me about the Pagoda is the strong Chinese element in the
design. I am told that there are a lot of Chinamen in Mangadone. I
should like to see their quarter."

"Hartley should be able to arrange that for you."

Joicey was evidently growing tired of Coryndon's freshness and
enthusiasm, and he passed his hand over his face, as though the damp
heat of the night depressed his mind.

"Hartley is very busy," said Coryndon, with the determination of a man
who intends to see what he has come to see. "I don't like to be
perpetually badgering him. Could I go alone?"

"You could," said Joicey shortly.

"I want to miss nothing."

Coryndon turned his head away and looked at the crowded r