"'Tis not," he rejoined in a vigorously defensive tone; "and 'tis little ye know. This is a queer country; the people are terribly superst.i.tious and weak in themselves, on account of _nats_ and bad spirits."

"Oh, that I can believe," replied Shafto; "your pals in the _gharry_ could tell you something about bad spirits."

"Wait now and I'll explain," said the _pongye_, with an intimate gesture of his great bony hand.

"Sometimes I've a sort of ache to be mixing up with European soldiers--even if it's only for a couple of hours." After a pause he added in a thoughtful tone, "For ye see I was wance a soldier meself."

"What!"

"It's the pure truth I'm tellin' ye--a corporal, with two good-conduct stripes; the other week Paddy Nolan had drink taken, and nothin' would please him but that he must drive, so he turned off the _garriwan_ and made a cruel bad hand of it--as you saw for yourself! They were a couple of raw new ponies, come down out of last drove, and unused to trams and motors, and frightened dancing mad; only for you heading them off, we were all as dead as mutton."

"But how did you get into the Burmese priesthood?" inquired Shafto with abrupt irrelevance.

"It was like this, sorr, I'm country-born; me father was a sergeant in the Irish Rifles, me mother was a half-caste--an Anglo-Indian from Ceylon--so I'm half Irish, quarter Cingalese. I was left an orphan when I was seven years old and educated at the Lawrence Asylum. I always had a wonderful twist for languages; it came as easy as breathing to me to talk Tamil or Telugu. Well, when I was close on eighteen I enlisted and put in seven years with the Colours, mostly in Bengal; then we come over here and lay in Mandalay and, after a bit, I--somehow got lost."

"That is, you deserted," sternly amended Shafto.

"Oh well, have it whatever way ye like, sorr. I was shootin' in the jungles and was took terribly bad with fever and nearly died. The natives are good-natured, kind, soft people--none better; they took me in and nursed me, and one of the _pongyes_ doctored me. You see, I was entirely out of touch with Europeans, and when I got cured was just a walking skeleton. Some thief had made away with my boots and breeches, so I stopped among the natives and never laid eyes on a white face for two years. I soon picked up the Burmese lingo, which some say is difficult; but to me it was aisy as kiss me hand. Then I was received into the priesthood; that was over seven years ago, and here I am still. Of course, as ye know, I can go or stay as I please; but I stick to the yellow robe as if it was me skin. Still and all, I won't deny that the sight of a soldier draws me, and that," he concluded modestly, "is my only wakeness."

"I say, you don't mean to tell me that you are a _real_ Buddhist?"

"Why, of course I am; what else would I be? The religion is pure and good and friendly; the other priests know that I'm from India--and that's enough for _them_. In this country no questions is asked--and that's what makes livin' so nice and aisy. And, sure, aren't we Buddhists all over the world? Our doctrines are wise and ancient; we pray and keep fasts and live to ourselves, and there's little differ, in my mind, between us and the Catholic religion--in which I was born and reared. Haven't we the ma.s.s, and vespers, and beads, and monasteries, and Lent,--all complate?"

"So then you're a celibate--a monk?"

"And to be shure I am; ye don't think I look like a nun, do ye?"

"A water drinker?"

"Well, sorr, I'm tell ye no lie--not altogether; I am not a teetotaller all out, I'm a sober man, and I mostly drink cocoanut water and tea.

It's a fine, free life, I can tell ye."

"Fine and idle, eh?"

"I'm not more idle than the rest of them; it's true that I don't teach, and, of course, it's only the young fellows that do the sweeping, water-carrying and filtering, and the work at the _kyoung_. I see a heap of the country and have many friends, who give me small presents, and smokes and food; I have a far better time--a thousand times a better time--than sweating in route marches and carrying round Orderly books in Rangoon or Calcutta; and many a the quare tale I could tell ye--tales about animals and elephant dances and big snakes, ay, and spirit tales that would open your eyes."

"Well, if it's any comfort to know it, you've opened my eyes about as wide as they will go. What is your real name?"

"Michael Ryan. Me father came from Cork--a real fine country for fighting men, and I understand that, once upon a time, my ancestors had a great kingdom beyond the Shannon. Well, sorr," now beginning to unfold himself and rise from the bed, "I thought I'd just drop in and explain matters a bit before I go up country."

"That was very thoughtful of you, Mung Baw."

"I'll be back in a while, and I needn't tell ye, Mr. Shafto, that as long as I draw breath I'll never forget how I'm beholden to ye. I'm vowed to poverty, of course, but I'm a rover and go about a lot, and some day I may be able to put a good thing in your way, and I can tell ye one thing--ye have a lucky face!"

"I'm glad to hear it; and now, before you depart, will you tell me something else? How do you contrive to get so much liberty--careering round the town with Tommies and coming to look me up? It's past seven o'clock--and I understand your Roll Call is at six."

"That's true," a.s.sented the _pongye_, "but there are exceptions, and I'm one of them," suddenly sliding off the bed and drawing himself up to his full height--about six feet two. "I don't enjoy very good health being, as ye understand, no native of the country; so I'm allowed a certain margin and liberty. Well now, I'll be takin' leave of ye; but before I go, I want you to accept something I brought you--just a small trifle of a talisman."

And from some mysterious receptacle he produced a good-sized dark stone, about the size of a pigeon's egg. "Now, whatever ye do, put this carefully away and keep it safe and secure."

Shafto took it in his hand, examined the gift and murmured his thanks.

"No harm of any sort can come next or nigh ye," continued the _pongye_, "as long as that stone's in your possession--and that's as shure as me name's Mung Baw."

And hastily collecting his umbrella and bowl, before Shafto could realise the intended move the stranger was gone. Nothing remained of his visit but the curious aromatic odour and the so-called "talisman."

The stone was round, dark and by no means beautiful, and at first Shafto was inclined to throw it into the compound, but, on second thoughts, he thrust it into his dispatch box and locked it away.

"Evil spirits, a magician, a talisman," he said to himself. "I suppose the poor fellow was discharged from the Service as a hopeless lunatic."

Having arrived at this conclusion, Shafto changed his clothes and went to dinner in the veranda, where he was well chaffed about his recent visitor.

"Been stealing something up at the PaG.o.da and they sent a _Bo_ after you," suggested FitzGerald; "I must say your new friend is a rum-looking customer; a powerful, strapping _pongye_. He'd make a grand constable! What did he want?"

"Oh, he merely came to pay a visit of ceremony," replied Shafto. "He was in a _gharry_ accident a few weeks ago, and I happened to come to his rescue and pick up the pieces; he called to express his thanks and drop a P.P.C."

CHAPTER XXI

THE COCAINE DEN

"To-night's the night," said FitzGerald to his confederate. "You and I will creep out in half an hour's time, and no questions asked. Roscoe has gone up to Tonghoo about oil; the MacNab is dining at the Pegu Club with one of his Big Pots and talking Flotilla and finance."

"All right, I'll be ready in two jiffs--you won't forget the coat?"

"Not likely! We will taxi down to the end of Dalhousie Street, and into the bazaar about half-past nine o'clock, and then proceed on foot.

I am taking two constables--both armed."

It was a gay and busy scene; Dalhousie Street--which, it is said, never sleeps--was a blaze of light, humming with noise and excitement and packed with crowds of pleasure-seekers; a crude mixture of races, struggling and pushing to their different goals of entertainment.

As the two young men halted for a moment at a popular corner, it seemed as if the whole town and bazaar flowed past in a wave of colour and movement. Burmans' and Shans, male and female, clothed in coloured silk and satin, the women decked with flowers and jewellery, all smoking and jabbering in their strange monosyllabic tongue; solid, well-set-up Germans parading in couples; rollicking sailors; Chinamen; Malays in great numbers; stately Sikhs and the inevitable Babu filled the scene.

"They are all out to-night," observed FitzGerald, "lots of shows on; well, now for _ours_."

As he spoke he turned into a narrow street that led through an endless maze of curves and angles and, followed by two stalwart Sikh police, they made their way into the heart of the China bazaar and plunged into the worst slum quarter of this crowded, cosmopolitan city--a city, at least, in wealth, extent, population and importance. They pa.s.sed flaring joss-houses, gambling dens and brazenly naked haunts of vice, and after picking their steps through a particularly noisome gully--odorous of _napie_ and rotten vegetables--they arrived at an innocent little door in a high blank wall. After some whispered parley with an old Chinaman, the pair were admitted and ushered into a large, low saloon, where scores of gamblers were engrossed in the hypnotic pleasures of "Fan Tan," or the "36 animal lottery," so popular and so simple!

The adjoining room was a well-appointed opium resort. Here the roar of the bazaar and pulsing of tom-toms were blurred and almost inaudible.

A reek of _bhang_ and _betel_ hung in the air; there were rows of neat bunks, lacquered pillows, and small trays containing the opium pipe, lamp and other necessaries. Everything was apparently carried out decently and in order; the clients were of a respectable, well-to-do cla.s.s--some who had merely dropped in for a pipe of _chandu_, or a jolt of opium; and Shafto noticed quite a number of Europeans and, among them, at present asleep, a man whom he knew and frequently met on the Strand. He had sometimes wondered at his dried-up, withered skin and lank, dead-looking black hair. _Now_ he understood.

The police officer was not disposed to linger on these premises. A cocaine den was his goal, and after a short talk with an affable old Chinaman, who spoke perfect English, he took leave and once more they were threading the odorous gloom of the slums. They soon came to a halt and, leaving the two constables outside, after the usual delay and mystery, were admitted and entered a most evil-smelling den. This was lighted by two or three smoky oil-lamps, the rank smell of which, with the sickly reek of squalid humanity, struck them like a blow in the face. Between forty and fifty victims appeared to be present, all belonging to the poorer cla.s.ses, and nothing could be more repulsive than their appearance. Excessive emaciation and festering sores were their most marked characteristics. Some were lying on their mats in semi-stupor, several who had just received an injection were patiently awaiting their dreadful sleep--one of the chief attributes of cocaine is its almost immediate effect. Here was a group squatting round a man armed with a syringe--fatal germ-carrier--busily engaged in mixing the cocaine and morphia. When the concoction had been prepared, one of the customers turned up his sleeve to discover--if he could--a spot in which to insert the needle; but there was not a place, even the size of a pin's head, so he rolled up his _lungyi_ and searched for a site on his thigh; then the needle was produced, its contents were pumped in, and the man made room for the next victim. This performance held Shafto with a sort of hideous fascination; the crowd appeared to be entirely insensible to his presence and only alive to the enjoyment awaiting them.

At the far end of the room was an iron-bound enclosure, behind which sat a wily and inscrutable Chinaman who, having received a formal notice that this visit was "safe and unofficial," obligingly exhibited his scales and small packets of drugs--wares to bring rich delights to the narcotised--which he disposed of in infinitesimal quant.i.ties, at from four to six annas a dose.

Sprawling about on filthy rush mats were numerous Chinese, Burmese and Indians; also a few women of the lowest cla.s.s, each and all sunken in the various stages of an ecstatic slumber.

As FitzGerald was now engaged in whispered conference with a pock-marked Malay (who was awaiting his turn), Shafto stood back against the wall, a completely detached figure, acutely sensible of the chill horror of this unknown sphere--the so-called "underworld."

He noticed that one or two customers sat round covetously watching the operation of the syringe--not having the money with which to indulge themselves; he also observed several who appeared to be in the last stage of their existence--thin to emaciation, mere wrecks, like half-dead flies, scarcely able to crawl about the floor.