Two months had elapsed since the mysterious traveller from China had left the lonely frontier station at Nampoung. In outward appearance it was very much the same as it had been then. The only difference consisted in the fact that Captain Gregory and his subaltern Dempsey, having finished their period of enforced exile, had returned to Bhamo to join the main body of their regiment. A Captain Handiman and a subaltern named Grantham had taken their places, and were imitating them inasmuch as they spent the greater portion of their time fishing and complaining of the hardness of their lot. It was the more unfortunate in their case that they did not get on very well together. The fact of the matter was Handiman was built on very different lines to Gregory, his predecessor; he gave himself airs, and was fond of asserting his authority. In consequence the solitary life at the Ford sat heavily upon both men.

One hot afternoon, Grantham, who was a keen sportsman, took his gun, and, accompanied by a wiry little Shan servant, departed into the jungle on shikar thoughts intent. He was less successful than usual; indeed, he had proceeded fully three miles before he saw anything worth emptying his gun at. In the jungle the air was as close as a hothouse, and the perspiration ran down his face in streams.

“What an ass I was to come out!” he said angrily to himself. “This heat is unbearable.”

At that moment a crashing noise reached him from behind. Turning to discover what occasioned it, he was just in time to see a large boar cross the clearing and disappear into the bamboos on the further side. Taking his rifle from the little Shan he set off in pursuit. It was no easy task, for the jungle in that neighbourhood was so dense that it was well nigh impossible to make one’s way through it. At last, however, they hit upon a dried up nullah, and followed it along, listening as they went to the progress the boar was making among the bamboos on their right. Presently they sighted him, crossing an open space a couple of hundred yards or so ahead of them. On the further side he stopped and began to feed. This was Grantham’s opportunity, and, sighting his rifle, he fired. The beast dropped like a stone, well hit, just behind the shoulder. The report, however, had scarcely died away before the little Shan held up his hand to attract Grantham’s attention.

“What is it?” the other inquired.

Before the man had time to reply his quick ear caught the sound of a faint call from the jungle on the other side of the nullah. Without doubt it was the English word help, and, whoever the man might be who called, it was plain that he was in sore straits.

“What the deuce does it mean?” said Grantham, half to himself and half to the man beside him. “Some poor devil got lost in the jungle, I suppose? I’ll go and have a look.”

Having climbed the bank of the nullah, he was about to proceed in the direction whence the cry had come, when he became aware of the most extraordinary figure he had ever seen in his life approaching him. The appearance Hayle had presented when he had turned up at the Ford two months before was nothing compared with that of this individual. He was a small man, not more than five feet in height. His clothes were in rags, a grizzly beard grew in patches upon his cheeks and chin, while his hair reached nearly to his shoulders. His face was pinched until it looked more like that of a skeleton than a man. Grantham stood and stared at him, scarcely able to believe his eyes.

“Good Heavens,” he said to himself, “what a figure! I wonder where the beggar hails from?” Then addressing the man, he continued, “Are you an Englishman, or what are you?”

The man before him, however, did not reply. He placed his finger on his lips, and turning, pointed in the direction he had come.

“Either he doesn’t understand, or he’s dumb,” said Grantham. “But it’s quite certain that he wants me to follow him somewhere.”

Turning to the man again, he signed to him to proceed, whereupon the little fellow hobbled painfully away from the nullah in the direction whence he had appeared. On and on he went until he at length came to a standstill at the foot of a hill, where a little stream came splashing down in a miniature cascade from the rocks above. Then Grantham realized the meaning of the little man’s action. Stretched out beside a rock was the tall figure of a man. Like his companion, he presented a miserable appearance. His clothes, if clothes they could be called, were in rags, his hair was long and snowy white, matching his beard, which descended to within a few inches of his waist. His eyes were closed, and for a moment Grantham thought he was dead. This was not the case, however, for upon his companion approaching him he held out his hand and inquired whether he had discovered the man who had fired the shot?

To Grantham’s surprise the other made no reply in words, but, taking his friend’s hand he made some mysterious movements upon it with his fingers, whereupon the latter raised himself to a sitting position.

“My friend tells me that you are an Englishman,” he said in a voice that shook with emotion. “I’m glad we have found you. I heard your rifle shot and hailed you. We are in sore distress, and have been through such adventures and such misery as no man would believe. I have poisoned my foot, and am unable to walk any further. As you can see for yourself I am blind, while my companion is dumb.”

This statement accounted for the smaller man’s curious behaviour and the other’s closed eyes.

“You have suffered indeed,” said Grantham pityingly. “But how did it all come about?”

“We were traders, and we fell into the hands of the Chinese,” the taller man answered. “With their usual amiability they set to work to torture us. My companion’s tongue they cut out at the roots, while, as I have said, they deprived me of my sight. After that they turned us loose to go where we would. We have wandered here, there, and everywhere, living on what we could pick up, and dying a thousand deaths every day. It would have been better if we had died outright — but somehow we’ve come through. Can you take us to a place where we can procure food? We’ve been living on jungle fruit for an eternity. My foot wants looking to pretty badly, too.”

“We’ll do all we can for you,” said Grantham. “That’s if we can get you down to the Ford, which is about five miles away.”

“You’ll have to carry me then, for I’m too far gone to walk.”

“I think it can be managed,” said Grantham. “At any rate we’ll try.”

Turning to the little Shan he despatched him with a message to Handiman, and when the other had disappeared, knelt down beside the tall man and set to work to examine his injured foot. There could be no doubt that it was in a very serious condition. Tramping through the jungle he had managed to poison it, and had been unable to apply the necessary remedies. Obtaining some water from the stream Grantham bathed it tenderly, and then bound it up as well as he could with his handkerchief.

“That’s the best I can do for you for the present,” he said. “We must leave it as it is, and, when we get you to the station, we will see what else can be managed.”

He looked up and saw the little man’s eyes watched him intently. There was a look of almost dog-like affection in them for his companion, that went to the young soldier’s heart.

“By Jove,” he said, “I’m sorry for you fellows. You must have suffered agonies. The Chinese are devils. But yours is not the first case we have heard of. We only come up here for a month at a time, but the man we relieved told us a strange tale about another poor beggar who came into the station some two months ago. He had been wandering in the jungle, and was nearly at death’s-door.”

The blind man gave a start, while the little man seized his hand and made a number of rapid movements upon it with his fingers.

“My friend wants to know if you are aware of that man’s name?” he said. “We lost a companion, and he thinks that he may be the man. For Heaven’s sake tell us what you know. You have no idea what it means to us.”

“Since you are so interested in him I am sorry to have to say that I do not know very much. You see he had very little to do with us. As I have said, he turned up while our predecessors were here. From what I heard about him from Gregory, he gathered that he was a tall, thin man, who had come through from Pekin by way of Yunnan.”

“Are you sure it was from Yunnan?”

“That’s what they told me,” said Grantham. “Since then I have heard that he was on his way from Pekin to Burmah, and that his coolies had robbed him of all he possessed.”

“You don’t happen to remember his name, I suppose!”

The blind man tried to ask the question calmly, but his voice failed him.

“As far as I remember his name was George Bertram,” Grantham answered.

There was a pause for a few seconds, after which the blind man began again —

“He didn’t tell you, I suppose, whether he had any money about him?”

“He hadn’t a red cent,” said Grantham. “The Chinese cleared him out. They lent him the money to get to Rangoon. I happen to know that because he cashed my friend’s cheque in Bhamo.”

There was another and somewhat longer pause.

“You did not hear whether he had any precious stones in his possession?”

“Good gracious, no! From what they told me I gathered that the man hadn’t a halfpenny in the world. Why should he have been likely to have had jewels? In point of fact I’m sure he hadn’t, for I was given to understand he was about as woe-begone a customer as could be found anywhere.”

The blind man uttered a heavy sigh, and sank back to his former position upon the ground.

An hour and a half later, just as the shadows of evening were drawing in, a party of Sikhs put in an appearance, bringing with them a dhooly, in which they placed the injured man. It was almost dark when they reached the station, where Grantham’s superior officer was awaiting their coming.

“What on earth’s the meaning of this?” he asked, as the cortège drew up before the bungalow. “Who are these men? And where did you find them?”

Grantham made his report, and then the wounded man was lifted out and carried to a hut at the rear of the main block of buildings. The little man watched everything with an eagle eye, as if he were afraid some evil might be practised upon his companion. When the blind man had been placed on a bed, and his foot attended to as well as the rough surgery of the place would admit, Grantham did something he had not already done, and that was to ask them their names.

“My name is Kitwater,” said the blind man, “and the name of my friend here is Codd — Septimus Codd. He’s one of the best and staunchest little fellows in the world. I don’t know whether our names will convey much to you, but such as they are you are welcome to them. As a matter of fact, they are all we have with which to requite your hospitality.”

Why it should have been so I cannot say, but it was evident from the first that Captain Handiman did not believe the account the refugees gave of themselves. He was one of that peculiar description of persons who have an idea that it adds to their dignity not to believe anything that is told them, and he certainly acted up to it on every possible occasion.

“There’s more in the case than meets the eye,” he said suspiciously, “and I fancy, if only we could see the bottom of it, we should discover that your two protégés are as fine a pair of rascals as could be found on the Continent of Asia.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Grantham replied. “I only know that they were a miserable couple, and that I did the best I could for them. You wouldn’t have had me leave them in the jungle, surely?”

“I am not aware I have said so,” the other answered stiffly. “The only thing I object to is your treating them as if they were martyrs, when in all probability they deserve all the punishment they have received.”

Grantham was too wise to carry the argument any further. He knew that when Handiman was in his present humour the best thing to do was to leave him alone in it. He accordingly returned to the hut where the two men were domiciled, and attended to their comfort as far as lay in his power. His heart had been touched by their misery. He did not give as a reason for the trouble he took, the fact that the face of the elder man reminded him of his own venerable father, the worthy old Somersetshire vicar; it was a fact, nevertheless. For a week the unfortunate couple were domiciled at the Ford, and during that time Grantham attended to their wants with the assiduity of a blood relation. Meanwhile Handiman scoffed and bade him take heed for his valuables, lest his new-found friends should appropriate them. He did not believe in honest gratitude, he declared, particularly where homeless wanderers in the Burmese jungle were concerned. At last, however, they were so far recovered as to be able to proceed on their way once more.

“We have to thank you for your lives, sir,” said Kitwater to Grantham when the time came for them to say good-bye to the Ford. “Had it not been for you we would probably be dead men now. I don’t know whether we shall ever be able to repay your kindness, that is with Allah, but if the opportunity should ever arise you may be sure we will not neglect it. Whatever we may be now, you may take it that we were gentlemen once. There’s just one favour I should like to ask of you, sir, before we part!”

“What is it?” Grantham inquired.

“I want you, sir, to give me a letter of introduction to the gentleman in your regiment, who looked after the stranger you told me of, when he came here from out of China. I’ve got a sort of notion in my head that even if he is not our friend, that is to say the man we are searching for, he may happen to know something of him.”

“I will give you the letter with pleasure,” Grantham replied. “I am sure Gregory will be only too pleased to help you as far as lies in his power.”

The letter was accordingly written and handed to Kitwater, who stowed it away in his pocket as if it were a priceless possession. Then, when they had bade their protector farewell, they in their turn set off along the track that Hayle had followed two months before, and in due course arrived at Bhamo. Here they presented the letter they had obtained to Captain Charles Pauncefort Gregory, who, as may be supposed, received it with manifest astonishment.

“Well,” said he, “of all the stories I have heard since I have been in the East, this is the most extraordinary. I thought that other chap was about as unfortunate a beggar as could well be, but you beat him hollow at every turn. Now, look here, before I go any further, I must have my friend with me. He is the man who discovered the other chap, and I’m sure he would like to hear your story.”

Dempsey was accordingly summoned, and his wonderment was as great as his friend’s had been.

“Now,” said Gregory, when Dempsey had been made familiar with the other’s story, “what is it you want to know about the man we picked up? Ask your questions, and we’ll do the best we can to answer them.”

In reply to Kitwater’s questions, Gregory and Dempsey described, as far as they were able, the appearance of the man whom they had helped. The schedule was in a great measure satisfactory, but not altogether. There were so many English in Burmah who were tall, and who had dark eyes and broad shoulders. Little Codd leant towards his companion and taking his hand made some signs upon it.

“That’s so, my little man,” said Kitwater, nodding his head approvingly. “You’ve hit the nail on the head.” Then turning to Gregory, he continued, “Perhaps, sir, you don’t happen to remember whether he had any particular mark upon either of his wrists?”

Gregory replied that he had not noticed anything extraordinary, but Dempsey was by no means so forgetful?

“Of course he had,” he answered. “I remember noticing it for the first time when I pulled him out of the Ford, and afterwards when he was in bed. An inch or so above his left wrist he had a tattooed snake swallowing his own tail. It was done in blue and red ink, and was as nice a piece of work as ever I have seen.”

“I thank you, sir,” Kitwater replied, “you’ve hit it exactly. By the living thunder he’s our man after all. Heaven bless you for the news you have given us. It puts new life into me. We’ll find him yet, Coddy, my boy. I thank you, sir, again and again.”

He held out his hand, which Dempsey felt constrained to shake. The man was trembling with excitement.

“I tell you, sir,” he continued, “that you don’t know how we loved that man. If it takes the whole of our lives, and if we have to tramp the whole world over to do it, we’ll find him yet!”

“And if I’m not mistaken it will be a bad day for him when you do find him,” put in Gregory, who had been an observant spectator of the scene. “Why should you hate him so?”

“How do you know that we do hate him?” Kitwater asked, turning his sightless face in the direction whence the other’s voice proceeded. “Hate him, why should we hate him? We have no grudge against him, Coddy, my boy, have we?”

Mr. Codd shook his head gravely. No! they certainly had no grudge. Nothing more was to be gleaned from them. Whatever their connection with George Bertram or Gideon Hayle may have been, they were not going to commit themselves. When they had inquired as to his movements after leaving Bhamo, they dropped the subject altogether, and thanking the officers for the courtesy shown them, withdrew.

Their manifest destitution, and the misery they had suffered, had touched the kindly white residents of that far off place, and a subscription was raised for them, resulting in the collection of an amount sufficient to enable them to reach Rangoon in comparative comfort. When they arrived at that well-known seaport, they visited the residence of a person with whom it was plain they were well acquainted. The interview was presumably satisfactory on both sides, for when they left the house Kitwater squeezed Codd’s hand, saying as he did so —

“We’ll have him yet, Coddy, my boy, mark my words, we’ll have him yet. He left in the Jemadar, and he thinks we are lying dead in the jungle at this moment. It’s scarcely his fault that we are not, is it? But when we get hold of him, we’ll — well, we’ll let him see what we can do, won’t we, old boy? He stole the treasure and sneaked away, abandoning us to our fate. In consequence I shall never see the light again; and you’ll never speak to mortal man. We’ve Mr. Gideon Hayle to thank for that, and if we have to tramp round the world to do it, if we have to hunt for him in every country on the face of the earth, we’ll repay the debt we owe him.”

Mr. Codd’s bright little eyes twinkled in reply. Then they shook hands solemnly together. It would certainly prove a bad day for Gideon Hayle should he ever have the ill luck to fall into their hands.

Two days later they shipped aboard the mail-boat as steerage passengers for England. They had been missionaries in China, so it was rumoured on board, and their zeal had been repaid by the cruellest torture. On a Sunday in the Indian Ocean, Kitwater held a service on deck, which was attended by every class. He preached an eloquent sermon on the labours of the missionaries in the Far East, and from that moment became so popular on board that, when the steamer reached English waters, a subscription was taken up on behalf of the sufferers, which resulted in the collection of an amount sufficient to help them well on their way to London as soon as they reached Liverpool.

“Now,” said Kitwater, as they stood together at the wharf with the pitiless English rain pouring down upon them, wetting them to the skin, “what we have to do is to find Gideon Hayle as soon as possible.”