"Iyoo!" exclaimed the Madrassee, flinging up his arms; "I never heard these things. Sir, this man Pozendine is trying to get me into trouble. He is my enemy since long time. He one big liar," and the Madrassee shook a finger at Pozendine. "Mr. Hawkshawe take bribe! No, not Mr. Hawkshawe, but Mr. Pozendine. He take bribe from Bah Hmoay and Moung Sen over Dorian fruit--witness--all bazaar knows it. I will bring four--five--one hundred witness. Sir, this one big scoundrel!" It was too much for Pozendine; his nerves had given way, and with a scream he flung himself at Jackson's feet and grovelled there. "Pity!" he yelled; "I have twenty-four years' service--pardon!" * * * * * An hour later, when Hawkshawe came according to his word to see if Jackson would go for a ride, he found Peregrine apparently idling before his table. "Ha! I see you've found nothing to do; come along." "I can't," said Peregrine; "I want to think out something." "Oh, don't let that little affair of Pozendine's bother you. It didn't happen in your time, you know. You'll get all the credit of finding out about the bribery and corruption." "Do you know what has happened?" "Ain't I your Fouché? Are you coming?" "No, thanks. I must think this out." Hawkshawe turned and went, whistling gaily. Mounting his horse, he galloped down a long embankment along the river face, and then, reining in, stood apparently watching Pazobin robed in the glories of a wondrous sunset. "By Jove!" he exclaimed, "I very nearly made an ass of myself over that police guard. Anyhow, if this comes off, no more of it; but Ma Mie is getting dangerous. My nerve is not what it used to be, but--I must get rid of her at all risks. Damn that straight-laced fool Jackson! He's always bringing back recollections to me, and I, Alban Hawkshawe, can not afford to remember--to think that my honour was once as clean as the palm of my hand, and now----" He put spurs to his waler, and galloped into the gray mist that surrounded the forest. * * * * * A week after, the big native rice boat that slowly made its way up the river to Rangoon bore with it two passengers. One, seated among a heap of brass pots and pans, surrounded by eatables, principally fruit, could be recognised as Mr. Iyer; the other, who crouched on a coil of rope, was Anthony Pozendine. Neither spoke to the other, but in their eyes was a sullen hatred which showed what their thoughts were, and if either had the courage there would have been murder on the big boat that worked its sluggish way upstream. One morning, however, the Madrassee spoke to his companion. "We are both ruined, Pozendine," he said. "What will you do?" Anthony made no answer, and Iyer went on. "There is only one chance--let us join together in Rangoon and tell all about Hawkshawe. We know true things, and government will give us back our posts. I swear by Krishna that I will be true; give me your hand."