if they were out and about that evening. If you go on like this,
Mr. Hartley, you will make yourself the most popular man in Mangadone.
Take my advice and let Absalom come back in his own way. Perhaps he is
looking for my bowl." She turned her head and glanced at some cards that
the bearer had brought in on a tray. "Show the ladies in, Gulab."

In a few minutes the room was full of voices and laughter, and Mrs.
Wilder became unconscious of Hartley. She remained so unconscious of him
that he felt uncomfortable and began to wonder if he had offended her in
any way. He looked at her from time to time, and when he got up to go
she gave him her hand as though she was only just sure that he was
really there.

The disappearance of Absalom was taking strange shapes in his mind, and
he had so far come to the conclusion that Heath knew something about
Absalom, and his visit to Mrs. Wilder added the puzzling fact to his
mental arithmetic that Mrs. Wilder knew something about Heath. It was
one thing to corner Heath, but Heath standing behind Mrs. Wilder's
protection, became formidable.

Yet it was not in the Cantonment that Hartley expected to find any clue
to the vanished Absalom: it was down in the native quarter. Down there
where the Chinese eating-houses were beginning to fill, and where the
night life was only just awaking from its slumber of the day, was where
Absalom, the Christian boy, had last been seen, and it was there, if
anywhere, that he must be searched for and found.

What possible connection could there be between an upright, Godly man
who went his austere way along the high, cold path of duty, and a woman
whose husband was madly grasping at the biggest prize of his profession?
What link could bind life with life, when lives were divided by such
yawning gulfs of space and class and race? To connect Mrs. Wilder with
Heath was almost as mad a piece of folly as to connect Absalom with the
clergyman, and yet, Hartley argued, he had not set out to do it.
Something that had not begun with any act or question of his had brought
about the junction of the ideas, and he felt like a man in a dark room
trying to make his way to the window, and meeting with unrecognizable
obstacles.

The small tinkle of the church bell attracted his attention, and,
following a sudden whim, he went into the tin building and sat down near
the door. Mr. Heath did not look down the sparsely-filled church as he
read the evening service, and he