The Road to Mandalay Part 36

CHAPTER x.x.xV

MUNG BAW LIES LOW

In some mysterious manner the cause of Mrs. Krauss's death was hushed up; there was no inquest, and the announcement in the Rangoon Gazette merely stated: "On the 8th inst., Flora, the beloved wife of Herr Karl Krauss, suddenly, of heart failure."

Sophy had been carried off to the "Barn" a few hours after her aunt had pa.s.sed away, and never again entered "Heidelberg." The funeral was large, expensive, and imposing, and included a crowd of rather unexpected and decidedly shabby mourners, who brought with them offerings of cheap, home-made wreaths and crosses, and wore faces of sincere and unaffected grief. Strange to say, the grave prepared to receive Mrs. Krauss was next to that in which lay the remains of Richard Roscoe. The two cocaine victims rested side by side in death, drawn together by the long arm of coincidence.

It had been decided that Sophy was to remain at the "Barn" and accompany Mrs. Gregory when she went home in August. She quickly recovered her looks and spirits amid bright society and cheerful surroundings. There had been an auction at "Heidelberg," everything was disposed of; the acc.u.mulation of twelve years was scattered to the winds, the servants were disbanded, and the house was closed.

Herr Krauss sent Sophy a quant.i.ty of his wife's jewels, with a letter thanking her for all her care and attention, but she only retained a ring that had been worn daily by her aunt, and returned the remainder, which was afterwards disposed of in Balthazar's Sale Rooms and fetched a handsome sum.

It was said that Herr Krauss had felt his wife's death acutely; he had left Rangoon without the ceremony of farewells, departing no one knew whither.

Time slipped by, and so far had brought no trace of the cocaine gang.

On several occasions Shafto had ridden round by the big Kyoung behind the Turtle Tank and met with no success--nothing but a shake of the _pongye's_ shaven head. On his first visit he had dismounted, given his horse to its _syce_, and boldly approached the monastery, outside of which an imposing group of _pongyes_ was a.s.sembled. The att.i.tude of some was lofty and disdainful; others, with a friendly glance, acknowledged the stranger's ceremonious greeting. Towering majestically among his fellows stood Mung Baw, who, throwing them a hasty explanation, advanced to welcome Shafto with a soldierly tread and a jaunty swing of his yellow robe. Then taking him aside he began to talk to him in a cautious undertone:

"I am sorry to tell you I have no _kubber_ yet. If I had some female acquaintance it would so as easy as 'kiss my hand,' but I cannot break my vow or spake to a woman."

"So you have no clue?"

"There's dozens of clues, if I could get hold of one; that's what aggravates me and has me tormented. But I'll worry it out yet, and that's as sure as me name is Mick Ryan."

"I thought it was Mung Baw."

"So 'tis mostly--and officially, but this business I'm on is a white man's job, and if it's to be done, I'll do it." As he spoke he removed his clumsy horn spectacles, and Shafto realised that the eyes gazing unflinchingly into his own were those of an enthusiast, and possibly a hero.

Seen in tell-tale daylight, and without his disfiguring gla.s.ses, the _pongye_ looked years younger; hitherto Shafto's impression had been that his strange acquaintance was a man of fifty. Five-and-thirty would be nearer the mark. His eyes were a shade of deep indigo blue, with thick black lashes, high cheek bones were possibly a legacy from his Cingalese grandmother; a square, well-shaped head, firmly set upon a fine pair of shoulders, a square chin and jaw, and a well-cut mouth with s.h.i.+ning white teeth, were his inheritance from the West.

Undoubtedly if Mung Baw's religion had not compelled him to sacrifice every hair on his body--including his eyebrows--he would have been an uncommonly good-looking fellow, but an absolutely bare face and bald cranium was a heavy handicap--were he Apollo himself!

At least thrice a week Shafto, in the character of a private inquiry officer, rode slowly round by the Kyoung and had a word or two with the tall upstanding priest.

One evening the latter beckoned to Shafto to dismount, and, leading him apart, a.s.sured him that he was creeping on at last. "As soon as I know what I think I know, I'll send you a bit of a _chit_. It's an awful traffic, this infernal trade, now I've seen into it, cheek by jowl; these drugs is worse and crueller than wild animals, and we can't kill them."

"No, worse luck!" a.s.sented Shafto; "they kill us. I say, Mung Baw, don't your friends in the monastery wonder why I so often ride round this way and look you up?"

"Oh, yes, some does be as curious as a cat in a strange larder, but I have it all explained to their satisfaction." Then, dropping his voice, he added mysteriously: "They think I'm _convarting_ you!"

"What--to Buddhism!" And Shafto burst out laughing.

"Faix, ye might do worse."

"Possibly; but I am all right as I am."

"That's a good hearing. Well, I'm not for troubling anyone's mind, shure; aren't we all," with a sweep of his powerful hand, "shtriving to reach the same place, and if it's what I expect, I'll hope to meet ye?

There's the gong for prayers, and I must fall in."

Two days later Shafto received a letter written in a neat clerkly hand.

It said:

"If you will be at the Great G.o.ddema in the woods beyond the Turtle Tank by five o'clock to-morrow, Tuesday, you may hear news,--M.R."

The Great G.o.ddema in the woods is a gigantic image in alabaster, encompa.s.sed by palm ferns, and half clothed in flowering creepers. The day of this particular shrine has sunk below the horizon; wors.h.i.+ppers are absent and the flowers laid around and about are entirely the contribution of Nature herself. Some day the shrine will disappear altogether, buried, like many others, in appreciative vegetation.

As Shafto approached the rendezvous, he saw the _pongye_ seated on the steps, engrossed in a book with a red cover, which he hastily thrust into some inner pocket as he rose to his feet.

"Ye might not think it, but I'm a great reader," he explained apologetically. "It pa.s.ses the time and is no sin; the saints themselves were wonderful writers and readers. A friend here gets me books out of the public library, and then I borrow when I can."

"What have you got hold of now?" inquired Shafto.

"'Fifteen Decisive Battles of the World,' and before that, 'Jungle Tales.' I could tell a good few myself; animals and birds does be very friendly and confidential with me; but it's not books I brought you here to talk about, but cocaine and opium."

"Yes, rather. Have you any news?"

"I have so. I've found out what I may call the head lair of the divils."

"Good for you--how splendid! How did you manage it?"

"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 sc.u.m 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 s.h.i.+ft, 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 paG.o.da, 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 s.h.i.+p; 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 polls must work by stealth; he can take a good few disguised, as it were on a sort of pilgrimage, but well armed, and pa.s.sing 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 polls."

"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."