ntimental fatuity, and when the music stopped he gave a
deep grunting sigh of content.

"I'll get some honest sleep to-night," he said as they parted, and ten
minutes afterwards he was lying under his mosquito-curtains, oblivious
to the world.

Coryndon's servant, Shiraz, was squatting across the door that led into
the veranda when his master came in, and he waited for his orders. He
would have sat anywhere for weeks, and had done so, to await the
doubtful coming of Coryndon, whose times and seasons no man knew.

When he was gone, Coryndon took out the bulky packet of notes and
extracted the piece of rag, which he locked carefully away in a
dispatch-box. He then cleared a little space on the floor, and put the
papers lightly over one another. Setting a match to them, he watched
them light up and curl into brittle tinder, and dissolve from that stage
into a heap of charred ashes, which he gathered up with a careful hand
and put into the soft earth of a fern-box outside his veranda door. This
being done, he sat down and began to think steadily, letting the names
drift through his brain, one by one, until they sorted themselves, and
he felt for the most useful name to take first.

"Joicey, the Banker, is a man of no importance," he murmured to himself,
and again he said, "Joicey the Banker."

It was nearly dawn when he got between the cool linen sheets, and was
asleep almost as his dark head lay back against the soft white pillow.

XII

SHOWS HOW A MAN MAY CLIMB A HUNDRED STEPS INTO A PASSIONLESS PEACE, AND
RETURN AGAIN TO A WORLD OF SMALL TORMENTS

By the end of a week Coryndon had slipped into the ways of Mangadone,
slipped in quietly and without causing much comment. He went to the Club
with Hartley and made the acquaintance of nearly all his host's friends,
and they, in return, gave him the casual notice accorded to a passing
stranger who had no part or lot in their lives or interests. Coryndon
was very quiet and listened to everything; he listened to a great deal
in the first three days, and Fitzgibbon, a barrister, offered to take
him round and show him the town.

Coryndon was "shown the town," but apparently he found a lasting joy in
sight-seeing, and could witness the same sights repeatedly without
failing interest. He climbed the steps to the Pagoda, under the guidance
of Fitzgibbon, the first afternoon they met.

"Won't you come, too, Hartley?" asked the Barrister.

"Not if I know it. I've be