he could count himself free to follow the evidence until
it led him irrevocably to the spot where the whole detail was clear and
definite.

All the faces of the men who had figured in the drama floated across his
mind, and he thought of the strange key that turned in the lock of one
small trivial destiny, opening other doors as if by magic. Absalom's
life or death had no outward connection with the Head of the Mangadone
Banking Firm, it had nothing in all its days to bring it into touch with
Rydal and Rydal's tragedy--Rydal whom Coryndon had never seen. It lay
apart, severed by race and every possible accident of birth or chance,
from the successful wife of a successful Civil Servant, or an earnest,
hard-working clergyman, and yet the great net of Destiny had been spread
on that night of the 29th of July, and every one of them had fallen into
its meshes.

All the immense problem of the plan that so decides the current of men's
lives came over him, and he saw the limitless value of the insignificant
in life. Absalom was only a little floating piece of jetsam on the great
waters that divided all these lives, yet he was the factor that had
taken the place of the keystone in the arch; the pivot around which the
force that guided and ruled the whole apparent chaos had moved. Coryndon
wandered a long way in his thoughts from the shop where he sat on the
dusty floor, waiting for the return of Leh Shin. He was so still that
the cockroaches and black-beetles crept out again and formed into
marauding expeditions where the shadows of the hanging clothes fell
dark.

He turned himself from the pressure of his thought and closed his eyes,
resting his brain in a quiet pool of untroubled silence. He knew the
need and the art of absolute relaxation from the strain of thought, and
though he did not sleep, he looked as though he slept, until he heard
the sound of approaching feet and a hand pushed against the door.

XXII

IN WHICH CORYNDON HOLDS THE LAST THREAD AND DRAWS IT TIGHT

When Leh Shin opened the shop door and pushed in his grey, gaunt face,
he looked around as though wondering in a half-dreamy, half-detached
abstraction where some object he had expected to see had gone. At length
his eyes wandered to the Burman, who sat on the ground eyeing him with a
curiously intent and concentrated regard.

"Thine assistant hath gone to the river house," he said, answering the
unspoken question. "He left me in charge of thy sh