“There was one particular low wharf I used to hang round by way of watching fellows netting fish; and one warm afternoon, as I was meditating there, the chance looked my way. Two half-drunken Chinamen come along quarrelling and sat down near me, and I ‘foxed’ I was sound asleep. They argued about shares and money, and jabbered away very angry, telling me all I wanted. By and by, when they cooled down a bit, they saw me, an’ this was what ye may call a critical moment for Mick Ryan.”
“No doubt of that. Go on!”
“At first one of them was undecided as to whether I was asleep—or not. The other brute said: ‘No chance take, stick knife in throat, and shove into the water.’ You know what these thieves are with their long blades. I tell ye, Mr. Shafto, they might have heard me heart thumping! However, my good angel, Saint Michael himself, had his eye on me, for it turned out that neither of them had a dah with him. Then they come and leant over me, breathing into me face with their filthy rank breath, reeking of napie and pickled eggs, and I snored back like a good one! I snored for my very life, and I done it so natural, they were well satisfied; and I being such a big man and heavy to shift, they give up the notion of slinging me into the Irrawaddy and went off still quarrelling. I stayed on without a move out of me for a full hour; then I got up yawning my head off, and walked away with the clue in me hand!”
“Is the den in Rangoon? There’s many a queer place here?”
“No, not in Rangoon itself, but some way up the river; about twenty miles beyond Prome there is a deserted village that was cleared out by cholera twenty years ago. They say a big cholera nat lives there, and no one will go next or nigh it. There’s a pagoda, a Kyoung, and a rest house, all smothered in jungle, and a nice little bit of a convenient landing, and ’tis there the Cocaine Company does its business—I learnt all their tricks. The Chinamen gave me a lot of news; it seems they smuggle opium, too, and distribute the stuff up and down the river by boats; on land by pack animals and the railroad. Oh, it’s a wonderfully handy situation; they couldn’t have picked a better!”
“And what about the people who run it?” asked Shafto.
“Well, the head of them all is gone; he was, as you may have suspicioned yourself, that fellow Krauss. No one knows what’s become of him. Some say he’s in Calcutta; more think he’s dead—died aboard ship; but that may not be true. Them sort of ruffians generally live to a great age. Someone may have put him out, or rather done him in. There were two or three chaps what I’ve heard talkin’ terrible bitter agin him; and one fine young man, Ar Bo, who is back from the Andamans—where he got sent to for three year, on account of this cocaine business—told me that he met a lot of clever fellows from all parts of the world; up to every dodge they were, and one of them instructed him in the way of killing a man stone dead—and not leaving a spot on him! I believe it’s some little trick with the head, where it joins the spine. This chap confessed that he had tried it on several with success, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he had made an experiment on Krauss!”
“But what about the cocaine?” said Shafto. “How, are we to set about getting a haul?”
“Ye’ll have to go aisy, or rather Mr. FitzGerald and the polis must work by stealth; he can take a good few disguised, as it were on a sort of pilgrimage, but well armed, and passing through this village as it were accidental; and with a couple of boats on the river I think they might scare the lot. I’d like to go with them meself, for a bit of sport—only for me yellow robe, it wouldn’t look well for me to be seen mixed up with cocaine, thaves and the polis.”
“No, I suppose not,” agreed Shafto. “You have to think of your cloth. Well, if you will write me down a few details on this slip of paper in my notebook, I will give it to Mr. FitzGerald at once, and I can’t tell you how thankful he will be to get hold of it, or how grateful to you we are.”