Returning one evening from a lively dinner at the "Barn," Shafto was surprised to see a light in his room, and still more surprised to find the pongye once again seated on his bed.

"Oh, so you've come back!" he exclaimed aghast, and a shadow of annoyance settled on his face.

"I have so," calmly responded this late visitor; "as I was passing I thought I'd give you a call in. I came down a couple of weeks back—as I have some small business here and wanted to show myself to a doctor. I don't hold with them native medicines and charms, and I'm inclined to a weakness in me inside."

"Why, you look as strong as a horse!" was Shafto's unsympathetic rejoinder, as he sank into a chair and pulled out a cigarette. The pongye contributed a special personal atmosphere, composed of turmeric, woollen stuff and some fiercely pungent herb.

"Looks is deceitful, and so is many a fine fellow," observed the pongye in a dreamy voice. After this pronouncement he relapsed into a reflective silence—a silence which conveyed the subtle suggestion that the visitor was charged with some weighty mission. At any rate, it was useless for Shafto to think of undressing and going to bed, since his couch was already occupied by the holy man, who appeared to be established for the night.

Interpreting Shafto's envious glance, he said:

"You'll excuse me sitting on the charpoy, but I've got entirely out of the use of chairs, and me bones are too stiff to sit doubled up on the floor like a skewered chicken."

"Oh, that's all right," said Shafto, who was very sleepy. "I suppose you have just come from Upper Burma?"

"Yes, that's the part I most belong to and that suits me. I can't do with this soft, wet climate, though I am an Irishman. I'm from Mogok, that's the ruby mine district, but what I like best is the real jungle. Oh, you'd love to see the scenery and to walk through miles and miles of grand trees on the Upper Chindwin; forests blazing with flowers and alive with birds, not to speak of game. Many's the time I've been aching for the hould of a gun, but, of course, it was an evil thought."

"Your religion forbids you to take life?"

"That's true; I've not tasted meat for years, but there's not a word to be said agin fish or an odd egg."

"Tell me something more about your new faith!"

"Well now, let me think," said the pongye meditatively. "We have no regular service for marriage or burial, and no preaching. We keep the five great rules—poverty, chastity, honesty, truth, and respect all life. There are two hundred and twenty-seven precepts besides. Most men can say them off out of the big book of the Palamauk, and there are stacks and stacks—thousands of stacks—of sacred writings, but I just stick to the five commandments, the path of virtue and the daily prayers. The singing and chanting is in Pali—a wonderful fine, loud language. Many of the pongyes is teachers, for every boy in Burma passes through their hands; but I'm no schoolmaster, though I was once a clerk in the Orderly room. I could not stand the gabble of them scholars, all roaring out the same words at the top of their voices for hours together."

"I can't imagine how you pass your time," remarked Shafto, "or how you stand the idleness—a man like you who were accustomed to an active life."

"Oh, I get through me day all right. In the early morning there's prayers and a small refreshment, and I sit and meditate; the young fellows, like novices, sweep and carry water and put flowers about the Buddha; then we all go with our bowls in our hands, parading through the village, looking neither right nor left, but we get all we want and more—for giving is a great merit. When we return to the kyoung we have our big midday meal, and then for a few hours I meditate again. The life suits me. It's a different country from India, with its blazing sun and great bare plains; there the people seldom has a smile on them. Here they are always laughing; here all is green and beautiful, with fine aisy times for flowers and birds and beasts. There's peace and kindness. Oh! it's a fine change from knocking about in barracks and cantonments, drilling and route-marching and sweating your soul out. By the way, have ye the talisman I give you?"

"If you mean the brown stone—yes."

"That stone was slipped into my begging-bowl one day."

"Not much of a find as an eatable!"

"That is so, though according to fairy tales the likes has dropped out of people's mouths before now. Ye may not suspicion the truth, but it's a fine big ruby! I believe it was found stuck in red mud in the ruby district, and someone who had a wish for me dropped it into the patta, and I—who have a wish for you—pass it on."

"But if it is so valuable I could not dream of accepting such a gift," protested Shafto. "You will have to take it back—thanks awfully, all the same."

"Oh, ye never rightly know the price of them stones till they are cut; but the knowledgeable man I showed it to said it might be worth a couple of thousand pounds, and I've come to tell ye this—so that ye can turn it into coin—and if ye wanted to get out of Burma, there ye are!"

"That is most awfully good of you, but I really could not think of accepting your treasure, or its value in money—and I have no wish to leave Burma, the country suits me all right."

As he ceased speaking Shafto got up, unlocked a leather dispatch box and produced the ruby, which he placed in the large, well-kept hand of the visitor.

"Well, now, I call this entirely too bad!" the latter exclaimed as he turned it over. "An' I need not tell ye that I can make no use of the ruby, being vowed to poverty—which you are not; and I want to offer some small return for what ye did for me last time I was down in Rangoon. I can't think what ails ye to be so stiff-necked; is there nothing at all I can do for ye?"

"Well, Mung Baw, since you put it like that, I believe you could give me what would be far more use than a stone—some valuable help."

"Valuable help!" repeated the pongye, adjusting false horn spectacles and staring hard. "Then as far as it's in me power the help of every bone in me body is yours and at your service."

"Thank you. Now, tell me, have you ever heard of the cocaine trade in
Burma?"

"Is it cocaine? To be sure! It's playing the mischief in Rangoon and all over the country."

"I want you to lend a hand in stopping it; if we could only discover the headquarters of the trade, it would be worth a thousand rubies."

"I have a sort of notion I could put me finger on a man that runs the concern; ever since he come into Burma he has been pushing the world before him and doing a great business. From my position, being part native, part British, part civilian, and more or less a priest of the country and clever at languages, I've learnt a few things I was never intinded to know."

"Then I expect you have picked up some facts about cocaine smuggling?"

"That's true, though I never let it soak into me mind; but from this out I promise ye I'll meditate upon it."

"If you can help the police to burst up this abominable traffic you will deserve to go to the highest heaven in the Buddhist faith."

"I'll do my best; I can say no fairer. I'm sorry ye won't take the ruby,"—turning it over regretfully. "Maybe your young lady would fancy it? It would look fine in a ring!"

"But I have no young lady, Mung Baw."

"Is that so?" He paused as if to consider the truth of this statement, cleared his throat and went on: "The other day, when I was down by the lake, I saw a young fellow, the very spit of yourself, riding alongside of a mighty pretty girl on a good-looking bay thoroughbred?"

Here he again paused, apparently awaiting a reply, but none being forthcoming, resumed:

"And now, before I go, I want to give ye what ye can't refuse or return—and that's a wise word. It was not entirely the ruby stone as brought me here—it was some loose talk."

"Loose talk, Mung Baw, and you a Buddhist priest! I'm astonished!"

"Yes, talk straight out of Fraser Street, my son. Many of our priests are holy saints; altogether too good to live; with no thought whatever of the world—given over entirely to prayer and self-denial, blameless and without one wicked thought; but there does be others that is totally different. 'Tis the same in a regiment—good soldiers and blackguards. Some of the pongyes, when the prayers is done, spend all their days gossiping, chewing betel nut and raking through bazaar—mud!" Then suddenly he leant forward and stared at his companion as if he were searching for something in his face, as he asked: "Do you happen to know a girl called 'Ma Chit'?"

Shafto moved uneasily in his creaking wicker chair; after a moment's hesitation he replied:

"Yes, I know her."

"Don't let her put the 'Comether' on you! These Burmese dolls have a wonderful way with them. She's a gabby little monkey, and they say she has chucked Bernard and taken a terrible fancy to you! I would be main sorry to see you mixed up with one of these young devils—for I know you are a straight-living gentleman."

"There is not the smallest chance of my being what you call 'mixed up' with any young devil," said Shafto in a sulky voice. "As for Ma Chit—she is not the sort you suppose."

"Oh, may be not," rejoined the pongye in a dubious tone. "Still, I know Burma—lock, stock and barrel, and a sight better nor you. Av course, I never spake to a woman and give them all a wide berth—but I cannot keep me ears shut. Listen to me, sir. These young torments have no scruple. Ma Chit is dead set on you, and that's the pure truth. Now, there's one thing I ask and beg—never take or smoke a cigarette she might offer."

"Not likely! I only smoke Egyptians, or a pipe. But tell me—why am I to refuse Ma Chit's cigarettes?"

"The reason is this, and a good one—these black scorpions employ what they call 'love charms.' Oh yes, laugh, laugh, laugh away! But one of these charms would soon make you laugh the wrong side of your mouth. They are deadly, let me tell you; a cigarette loaded with a certain drug has been the ruin of more than one fine young fellow. I disremember the name of the stuff—it begins with an 'M,' and is surely made in hell itself, for it drives a man stark mad. Once he smokes it he falls into a pit and is lost for ever, body and soul."

"Come, I say, isn't this a bit too thick, Mung Baw?"

"Well, you ask the doctors. There's a good few cases of lunacy and suicide in this country—all caused by a love charm; so when Ma Chit sidles up, showing her teeth, and offers you a smoke—you will know what to do. Now," concluded the visitor, scrambling to his feet, "I must be on the move. I am stopping for a while at the big Pongye Kyoung, near the Turtle Tank, and if you should happen to be riding round that way, we might have a talk on this cocaine business. If I am to go into it, neck and crop, I can't be coming about here—as it would excite suspicion."

"All right then; I'll turn up and you will report progress; but how am
I to spot you among the crowd of priests?"

"Easy enough!" replied Mung Baw, drawing himself up to his full height;
"I'm the tallest pongye in Rangoon."

"Yes, no doubt. Burmese are a bit undersized."

"But fine, able-bodied fellows. I suppose you've seen the wrestlers?"

"Yes. Now, before you go, can I get you a drink or a smoke?"

"Oh, as for a smoke, I'm thinking your tobacco would not be strong enough for me, but I don't say that I wouldn't like a drink, although I am a sober man; just the least little taste of whisky and water, as a sort of souvenir of old times. Ye might bring it in here, for I don't want them native chaps makin' a scandal about me."

As soon as the pongye had been secretly supplied with a fairly moderate souvenir, he resumed his sandals, picked up his umbrella and begging-bowl and, with a military salute to Shafto, swept down the rickety stairs.