Lookers-on found the spectacle of a helpless elephant struggling in mid-air excessively amusing, and the immediate neighbourhood of the ship was crowded. Here were the Pomeroys, Maitlands, Morgans, Puffles, Mrs. Gregory, Miss Leigh, and numbers of others, including Shafto, who, much interested in this novel sight, had taken several snapshots. Just as he snapped the last elephant, he felt the sharp jerk of a rope round his ankles, and in another second was swept into the racing Irrawaddy. As the water surged over his head, the sharp shock and the submersion momentarily took away his breath. Shafto was a strong swimmer, but the current was tremendous and not to be denied; it carried him right out into the middle of the river, spinning him round and round like a leaf in a torrent. He realised his danger and that his lease of life could now be counted by seconds. His thoughts flew straight to Sophy; with a sensation of piercing agony he felt that he would never see her again. By extraordinary good fortune a steam launch which was crossing had noticed the swimmer’s dark head, as well as the shouts and the signals from the landing-stage, and promptly overtook him, drew him breathless and half drowned on board, and landed him at Dallah. Shafto had had a miraculous escape, for those who fall into the Irrawaddy rarely emerge alive; his adventure was much discussed and debated for one whole day at Gregory’s and elsewhere. “How on earth did it happen? Lucky you were clear of the ship, otherwise you would have been sucked underneath and never been found,” remarked a friend; “we cannot imagine how you tumbled in—did anyone _shove_ you?” “Oh, I just tripped over a rope,” he announced, when questioned at the Club; but to FitzGerald he confided the truth—the whole truth: “I was standing pretty close to the edge of the stage—among a lot of natives, as it happened—taking snapshots of the elephants, when all of a sudden I felt a rope twist round my legs; it gave a sort of sharp pull, and the next moment I was in the water! It’s a nasty experience to have the Irrawaddy closing over your head; I have its taste in my mouth still! I’ll swear that there were hands at the end of the rope, and that I saw no rope about when I first came on the pier, for I happened to be early—and it was pretty empty. Later, there was a big crowd and a lot of pushing and hustling. I noticed several Chinamen hanging round and pressing together; now that I come to think of it, they surrounded me. The rope was not the usual thick hawser, but something thinner and more flexible—more like whipcord such as a fellow could carry in his pocket.” “What did I tell you?” said FitzGerald, thumping on the table with both his fists. “We must get a move on and try to corner Krauss; that rope was a preliminary experiment, and all but landed you in Kingdom Come!” CHAPTER XXVIII MA CHIT