ow he stood, the crowd behind him,
and pointed silently again. It seemed right for him to point, but it was
grotesque that he still smiled and bent forward.

The closed gates of the dawn opened and let in the sun, and the pale
yellow light ventured across the threshold where the policemen hung
back, and even the crowd in the street were silent. The light fell on a
thousand small things that reflected its rays; it fell on a heavy carved
box drawn across the further entrance, on the swinging glass doors of
the open silk cupboard, on bowls of silver and bowls of brass, and it
fell full on the thing that of all others drew the horrified eyes of the
watchers.

Mhtoon Pah, the wealthy curio dealer, the shrine builder, the friend of
the powerful, hung from a beam across the centre of the low ceiling, and
Mhtoon Pah was dead, strangled in a fine, silk scarf. Fine, strong silk
made only by certain lake-dwellers in a wild place just across the Shan
frontier.

Perhaps the destiny which Shiraz believed a man may not escape, be he as
fleet as a flying stag, had caught up with him, and it was not without
reason that the image had pointed at something not there years ago, not
there when youth was there, and hope and love, and when Leh Shin had
lived and been happy there, but to come, certainly and surely to come.

* * * * *

Hartley and Coryndon sat long over their breakfast. Coryndon's face was
strained and tired, and heavy lines of fatigue were marked under his
dark eyes.

"The boy was not in a condition to give any lucid explanation when I
brought him back," said Hartley, "so I left him until we could both hear
his story together." He called to his Bearer and gave instructions for
the boy to be brought in.

Coryndon nodded silently; his eyes lit up with interest and all his
listlessness vanished as he watched the door.

Following Hartley's Bearer, a small, thin boy came into the room,
dressed in a white suit, with a tight white pugaree folded round his
head. He shrank nervously at every sound, and when he salaamed to
Hartley and Coryndon his face worked as though he was going to burst
into tears.

"You have nothing to be afraid of," said Hartley kindly. "Just tell the
whole truth, and explain how it was that you came to be shut up in the
curio shop."

The boy's eyes grew less terrified, and he began to speak in a low,
mumbling voice. He began in the middle of the account, and Hartley
gen