oom, fixing his
gaze on a whirring fan that hung low on a brass rod, and when he looked
round again, Joicey had got up and was making his way out into the
night. Fitzgibbon was surrounded by several other men, and there was no
sign of his friend Hartley, so he got up and slipped out, standing
hatless, until his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness.

The strong lights from the veranda encroached some way into the gloom,
and, here and there, a few people still sat around basket tables,
enjoying the evening air. Coryndon looked at them, with his head bent
forward, a little like a cat just about to emerge through a door into a
dark passage. For a little time, he stood there, watching and listening,
and then he turned away and walked out along the footpath, as though in
a hurry to get back to his bungalow.

XIII

PUTS FORWARD THE FACT THAT A SUDDEN FRIENDSHIP NEED NOT BE BASED UPON A
SUDDEN LIKING; AND PASSES THE NIGHT UNTIL DAWN REVEALS A SHAMEFUL SECRET

Some ten days after Coryndon had taken up his quarters with Hartley, he
informed his host that he intended to disappear for a time, and that he
would take his servant, Shiraz, with him. He had been through every
quarter of Mangadone before he set out to commence operations, and the
whole town lay clear as a map in his mind.

Hartley was dining out, "dining at the Wilders'," he said casually, and
he further informed Coryndon that Mrs. Wilder had asked him to bring his
friend, but no amount of persuasion could induce Coryndon to forgo an
evening by himself. He pointed out to Hartley that he never went into
society, and that he found it a strain on his mind when he required to
think anything through, and, with a greater show of reluctance than he
really felt, Hartley conceded to his wish, and Coryndon sat down to a
solitary meal. He ate very sparingly and drank plain soda water, and
whilst he sat at the table his long, yellow-white fingers played on the
cloth, and his eyes followed the swaying punkah mat with an odd,
intense light in their inscrutable depths.

He had made Hartley understand that he never talked over a case, and
that he followed it out entirely according to his own ideas, and Hartley
honestly respected his reserve, making no effort to break it.

"When the hands are full, something falls to the ground and is lost,"
Coryndon murmured to himself as he got up and went to his room.
"Shiraz," he called, "Shiraz," and the servant sprang like a shadow f