Absolutely there was no explanation of the mystery; and the next day when I visited the alley, making a most critical examination, I found myself still further mystified.
At its end was the wall which the man had failed to climb. On the right rose the solid bamboo side of a Chinese merchant’s warehouse, while on the left was the side wall of another warehouse, and as both faced the other street with neither window or door opening on the alley, what conclusion was I to draw?
“Pshaw! The sun has affected your head George,” said Maurice when I told him about it. “You had better take a dose of quinine and keep indoors out of the night air. The fellow may have had a most extraordinary birth-mark, I’m willing to admit, but you may be sure he managed to scale the wall while you were looking back at that crowd. Probably he’ll turn up to-day and claim his bag, explaining the whole affair.”
But he did not.
Day after day elapsed and still nothing was heard of the man.
I fairly forced poor Maurice into making inquiries about him, and he, as American consul at Panompin, had every facility for gaining information if it was to be had.
A few persons had observed a tall, peculiar appearing man, with the lower part of his face concealed under a black cloth, walking along the main street of Panompin that night, but no one was able to furnish the slightest information as to who he was, or where he came from; nor could I convince myself that anyone had seen him after he left me at the end of the alley in that strange and altogether unaccountable fashion.
Meanwhile the days came and went. Maurice busy with his consular engagements grew tired of hearing me talk about the affair, and so I ceased to mention it. I hung the bag upon a nail in my sleeping room, but as it was locked, I made no attempt to open it, for I have a particular dislike to prying into other people’s business—besides it was very light and probably contained nothing but a change of clothing.
In fact the matter had begun to fade from my memory, and growing tired of the monotonous, idle life I was leading at Panompin, I was planning to go to Calcutta with the idea of engaging in business, when one afternoon Maurice burst into the room where I sat reading, blurting out:
