“Dead!” she repeated. “No; I heard he had gone to Java.”
“He has gone to his grave. Last night I was told that his body was found floating near the landing-stage at Moulmein; there were no marks on it, no signs of a violent end; and yet he was the last man in the world to commit suicide.”
“Yes,” assented Sophy; “he had so many plans and schemes for the future.”
“They say a little bunch of coarse black hair was found in his clutch; however, at the inquest they brought in a verdict of ‘Found Drowned.’ It saved trouble. I wonder who will get his money. He was enormously rich.”
“With ill-gotten gains.”
“Well, he must have some German kin to claim his fortune, and I’ll make it my business to find out all I can when I return here.”
“So you are coming back?”
“Why, of course—possibly in six months. I leave my house and belongings all standing. Business is but temporarily closed. Burma, as old Krauss used to say, is ‘the land of opportunity.’ When next I see the Golden Pagoda, the whole of this rich and fertile country will belong to us.”
“You are sanguine!”
“Sanguine! I am certain; and why not? Look at our wonderful trade! And the Burmese themselves like us a million times better than you English.”