“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?”