“That is most awfully good of you, but I really could not think of accepting your treasure, or its value in money—­and I have no wish to leave Burma, the country suits me all right.”

As he ceased speaking Shafto got up, unlocked a leather dispatch box and produced the ruby, which he placed in the large, well-kept hand of the visitor.

“Well, now, I call this entirely too bad!” the latter exclaimed as he turned it over.  “An’ I need not tell ye that I can make no use of the ruby, being vowed to poverty—­which you are not; and I want to offer some small return for what ye did for me last time I was down in Rangoon.  I can’t think what ails ye to be so stiff-necked; is there nothing at all I can do for ye?”

“Well, Mung Baw, since you put it like that, I believe you could give me what would be far more use than a stone—­some valuable help.”

“Valuable help!” repeated the pongye, adjusting false horn spectacles and staring hard.  “Then as far as it’s in me power the help of every bone in me body is yours and at your service.”

“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?”

Here he again paused, apparently awaiting a reply, but none being forthcoming, resumed: 

“And now, before I go, I want to give ye what ye can’t refuse or return—­and that’s a wise word.  It was not entirely the ruby stone as brought me here—­it was some loose talk.”