On hearing this promise Mrs. Krauss furled her fan, rose from the sofa with astonishing alacrity, and followed her ayah as commanded. Now the question that puzzled Fuchsia was, what was the nature of the dose? It must have been something agreeable, or Mrs. Krauss would not have bounded off the sofa and hurried away—and who would rush for a dose of quinine or even the fashionable petrol? Undoubtedly the dose was a drug—some enervating and insidious drug. This would amply account for the lady’s lethargy and languor. The crafty Fuchsia threw out several feelers to her hostess on the subject of “Heidelberg”—she wondered whether anyone shared her suspicions. Certainly Mrs. Gregory did not, but sincerely lamented her neighbour’s miserable health, and deplored her obstinacy in remaining season after season in Rangoon. “It’s rather a dull house for poor Sophy,” suggested her friend; “when her aunt has one of her bad attacks she sees no visitors for days. Mr. Krauss is absent from morning till night—not that I consider his absence any loss, for I dislike him more than words can express.” “Well, I can’t say that I am one of his admirers,” admitted Mrs. Gregory; “but I agree with you that Sophy has some long and lonely hours; she can come over here whenever she pleases, and she cannot come too often, for she is a dear girl, and I would be glad to have her altogether. You know she and I were house-mates up at May Myo, and when you live with another person in a small bungalow that is your opportunity to get down to the bed-rock of character.” It was about a week after the elephants had been transported across the river, and Sophy and Fuchsia were sitting in the latter’s bedroom at the “Barn.” Sophy was altering a hat for her companion; she was remarkably clever in this line, and a surprising quantity of her friends’ millinery had passed through her fingers. “Mr. Shafto had a narrow squeak this day week,” remarked Fuchsia, who was lounging in a chair, doing nothing. “Did you hear someone say that he was _pushed_ in?” “Oh, no! By accident—or on purpose?” “Whichever you please; the result was the same.” Then, after a considerable pause, she added significantly: “Perhaps he knows too much.” “Too much of what?” asked Sophy, looking up. “Oh, there are many secrets in Rangoon,” said Fuchsia, nodding her head; “I have grasped that, although I have only been here two months, and you a whole year. Have you never noticed anything? Have you no suspicions about people?” “No—not of anything that matters. I suspect that the eldest Miss Wiggin rouges and darkens her eyebrows, that Lady Puffle wears a wig, and that the Grahams are thoroughly sick of their paying guest. But you are ten times cleverer than I am, Fuchsia, and, according to Mr. Gregory, singularly intelligent and acute.”