"Not after this?" Mhtoon Pah pointed to the rag that lay loathsomely on the table.
"That may be goat's blood, or dog's blood; we can't say it is Absalom's," objected Hartley. "Leave the horrid thing there, Mhtoon Pah, and I will have it analysed later on."
Mhtoon Pah gasped and beat his breast.
"He was a good boy, he attended the Mission with regularity, and they are doing terrible things. They wind wires around the finger-nails and the toe-nails until they turn black and drop off. You do not know these Chinamen, Thakin, as I know them. Have you seen the assistant of Leh Shin?"
Hartley wished that he had not; he frequently wished that he had never seen that man.
Mhtoon Pah bent near the Head of the Police and spoke in low, sibilant tones:
"He is a butcher's mate, Thakin. He is a slayer of flesh. He kills in the shambles. Oh, it is true. I saw him slit the mouth of a dog with his knife for his own mirth—"
"Swine!" said Hartley.
"Why he left there and went to live with Leh Shin is unknown. He has secrets. He knows the best mixtures of opium, he knows—"
"I don't want to hear what he knows."