The flickering and uncertain light discovered a gaunt and unshaven European in the shabbiest of clothes. “Roscoe’s out; what do you want?” he brusquely demanded. “Only a couple of rupees,” was the hoarse reply. “I’m ashamed for you to see me; I’m down and under, as you may guess.” “Drink?” suggested Shafto, lighting another match. “No; drugs—two devils: cocaine and morphia.” “I say, that’s bad; can’t you take a pull at yourself?” “Too late now.” “Nothing’s too late,” declared Shafto; “believe that and buck up. Well, here are four rupees for you.” As he put them into a shaking hand the match went out, and the loafer noiselessly melted away into the soft and impenetrable darkness. Next morning Shafto informed Roscoe of this strange encounter. “Such a water-logged derelict was never seen! One of your underworld friends, I take it?” “Worse than that,” rejoined Roscoe; “he’s my own first cousin.” In reply to Shafto’s exclamation he added: “His father was the officer I told you about, who was so terribly worried by the plays. This chap was erratic, but a clever fellow and great at languages; he passed into the Woods and Forests out here, and enjoyed the wild jungle life for a good many years; now you see what he is—a wild man of the bazaars.” “But I say, Roscoe; can you do nothing?” “Absolutely nothing; a cocaine case is hopeless. Opium you might tackle; the other is beyond the power of man or woman.” “But how does the fellow live?” “God knows!” replied Roscoe. “Most of these chaps keep body and soul together by stealing; there’s a lot of smuggling going on in Burma, and I shouldn’t be the least surprised if my cousin Richard had a hand in that!” CHAPTER XVI MR. AND MRS. ABEL SALTER Shafto had been six weeks in Rangoon and, thanks to his chums, was beginning to feel completely at home—as is sometimes the case with adaptable young people in a strange and fascinating country. His neighbours, the Salters, who were hospitable and friendly, had lent him a hand to find his bearings. Occasionally, of an evening, he and Roscoe would stroll over there after dinner, and sit in the deep veranda discussing many matters with the master of the house. Roscoe and Salter were more nearly of an age, and mutually interested in subjects that to Shafto seemed deadly dull and obscure. He liked to hear about sport, the country, and the Burmese; to all such topics he was an eager and ready listener, but when philosophy and sociology were on the tapis he would join Mrs. Salter indoors, to discuss the paddy crop, inspect her great rice bins, and argue over prices and sales; or he would listen to blood-curdling tales about _nats_, or house spirits, related by his hostess in animated, broken English, and with appropriate gesticulations. Mee Lay had a high opinion of the young man, and this was shared by her daughter, for “Shaft,” as she called him, helped her to fly her kite, mended broken toys and brought her chocolates such as her soul loved.