The Pointing Man | Page 6

His tea was set out on a small lacquer table near his chair, and his
fox-terrier watched him with imploring eyes, occasionally voicing his
feelings in a stifled bark. The boy came in answer to his call, carrying
the lamp in his hands, and put it down near Hartley, who turned up the
wick, and fell to his reading again; then, putting the report into a locked
drawer, he drew his chair from the writing-table and poured out a cup
of tea.
He had every reason to suppose that his day's work was done, and that
he could start off for the Club when his tea was finished. The wind
rattled the palm branches and came in gusts through the veranda,
banging doors and shaking windows, and the evening grew dark early,
with the comfortless darkness of rain overhead, when the wheels of a
carriage sounded on the damp, sodden gravel outside. Hartley got up
and peered through the curtain that hung across the door. Callers at
such an hour upon such a day were not acceptable, and he muttered
under his breath, feeling relieved, however, when he saw a fat and
heavy figure in Burmese clothing get out from the gharry.
"If that is anyone to see me on business, say that this is neither the
place nor the hour to come," he shouted to the boy, and returning to the
tea-table, poured out a saucer of milk for the eager terrier, now divided
between his duties as a dog and his feelings as an animal.

The boy reappeared after a pause, bearing a message to the effect that
Mhtoon Pah begged an immediate interview upon a subject so pressing
that it could not wait.
Hartley listened to the message, swore under his breath, and looked
sharply at Mhtoon Pah when he came into the room. Usually the curio
dealer had a smile and a suave, pleasant manner, but on this occasion
all his suavity was gone, and his eyes, usually so inexpressive and
secret, were lighted with a strange, wolfish look of anger and rage that
was almost suggestive of insanity.
He bowed before the Head of the Police and began to talk in broken,
gasping words, waving his hands as he spoke. His story was confused
and rambling, but what he told was to the effect that his boy, Absalom,
had disappeared and could not be found.
"It was the night of the 29th of July, Thakin, and I sent him forth upon a
business. Next morning he did not return. It was I who opened the shop,
it was I who waited upon customers, and Absalom was not there."
"What inquiries have you made?"
"All that may be made, Thakin. His mother comes crying to my door,
his brothers have searched everywhere. Ah, that I had the body of the
man who has done this thing, and held him in the sacred tank, to make
food for the fishes."
His dark eyes gleamed, and he showed his teeth like a dog.
"Nonsense, man," said Hartley, quickly. "You seem to suppose that the
boy is dead. What reason have you for imagining that there has been
foul play?"
"Seem to suppose, _Thakin_?" Mhtoon Pah gasped again, like a
drowning man. "And yet the Thakin knows the sewer city, the Chinese
quarter, the streets where men laugh horribly in the dark. Houses there,
Thakin, that crawl with yellow men, who are devils, and who split a
man as they would split a fowl--" he broke off, and waved his hands

about wildly.
Hartley felt a little sick; there was something so hideous in the way
Mhtoon Pah expressed himself that he recoiled a step and summoned
his common sense to his aid.
"Who saw Absalom last?"
"Many people must have seen him. I sat myself outside the shop at
sunset to watch the street, and had sent Absalom forth upon a business,
a private business: he was a good boy. Many saw him go out, but no
one saw him return."
"That is no use, Mhtoon Pah; you must give me some names. Who saw
the boy besides yourself?"
Mhtoon Pah opened his mouth twice before any sound came, and he
beat his hands together.
"The Padre Sahib, going in a hurry, spoke a word to him; I saw that
with my eyes."
"Mr. Heath?"
"Yes, Thakin, no other."
"And besides Mr. Heath, was there anyone else who saw him?"
Mhtoon Pah bowed himself double in his chair and rocked about.
"The whole street saw him go, but none saw him return, neither will
they. They took Absalom into some dark place, and when his blood ran
over the floor, and out under the doors, the Chinamen got their little
knives, the knives that have long tortoise-shell handles, and very