, went towards the principal Joss House that
faced the river.

Coryndon had chosen the empty shop in the Colonnade for two reasons. It
was near Leh Shin, and near the strange assistant, who interested him
nearly as much as Leh Shin himself, and also it had the additional
advantage of being the last house in the block. A narrow alley full of
refuse of every description lay between it and the next block, and the
rickety house had doors that opened to the front, and to the side, and
by way of a dark lane directly from the back, making ingress or egress a
matter of wide choice.

The shop front was shuttered, and left to the rats and cockroaches, and
up a flight of decrepit and shaky stairs, Shiraz had made what shift he
could to provide comfort for his master in the least dilapidated room in
the house. The walls were thin, and the plaster of the low ceiling was
smoke-grimed and dirty. The "bed of lesser value" was stored away in the
garret that lay beyond, and the prayer-mat was placed alongside the
toil-worn wooden _charpoy_, that was at least fairly clean and had all
four legs intact; and under this bed, the box that held a strange
assortment of clothing was put safely away. At the bottom of another
box, one of those bought by Coryndon himself from Leh Sin's assistant,
Shiraz had laid a suit of tussore silk, a few shirts and collars, and
anything that his master might require if he wished to revisit those
"glimpses of the moon" in the Cantonments; for Shiraz neglected nothing,
and had a genius for detail.

A hurricane lamp, that threw impartial light upon all sides, stood on a
round table, and lighted the small room, and at one corner Coryndon sat,
clad in his Burmese _loongyi_ and white coat, thinking, his chin on his
folded hands. He had taught himself to think without paper or pens, and
to record his impressions with the same diligent care as though he wrote
them upon paper. He could command his thoughts, and direct them towards
one end and one issue, and he believed that notes were an abomination,
and that, in his Service, memory was the only safe recorder of progress.

He was fully aware that he was hunting what might well be a cold line,
and he thought persistently of Leh Shin, putting the other possible
issues upon one side. Hartley had allowed himself to be dominated by a
predisposition to account for everything through Heath, and Coryndon
warned himself against falling into the same snare with Leh Shin. He
th