“Bedad, it was a terrible touch-and-go business, as you shall hear.  You see, I should first explain how I get so much liberty to go mouching round the bazaars and wharves.  Being for so long weak in the head—­and also of another country—­allowances are made, and I’m looked on as an oddity, and yet well respected, for I’m clever with cures and language.  Well, I used to poke about among a lot of scum that has no respect for any cloth whatever—­no, nor for life itself; and all the time I felt in me bones I’d surely find what I wanted among a crew that’s just the sweepings of creation!

“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.