Bahram looked up at Allow: ‘Where girlie have gone? Allow can call?’

‘Call who, Mister Barry?’

‘That-piece girlie. Allow have sent, no?’

A mystified look came into Allow’s eyes.

‘Allow no have sent sing-song girlie. Mister Barry say no wanchi girlie. He angry me, no?’

‘Yes, but Allow have sent anyway, no?’

Allow doggedly shook his head. ‘No. Allow no have sent.’

Bahram put his hands on Allow’s shoulders and shook him gently. ‘Listen: Mister Barry no angry Allow. Mister Barry too muchi happy Allow have sent this piece sing-song girlie. Mister Barry only wanchi know: she blongi who? Name blongi what? Mister Barry wanchi give cumshaw.’

Allow’s snub-nosed face broke into a broad smile.

‘Mister Barry have see smoke-dream,’ he said, with a knowing grin. ‘Opium pipe have bring Mister Barry sing-song girlie.’

Releasing Allow, Bahram fell back against the cushions: his head was still fogged with smoke and he could not think properly. Perhaps Allow was right; perhaps that was all it was – an opium-fuelled dream, conjured up by the pipe. That would explain why he hadn’t seen her face, and also why it had seemed so perfect – like the imaginary night-time couplings of adolescence.

‘Allow talkee tooroo? No have sent girlie?’

‘Tooroo, tooroo,’ said Allow, nodding vigorously. ‘No have sent girlie. Mister Barry have look-see dream. Mister Barry sleepee allo time, after pipe to Jackass Point.’ He pointed at the jetty, which was just visible through the roiling currents of smoke.

Bahram shrugged. ‘All right, Allow,’ he said. ‘Mister Barry go Achha Hong now.’

Allow nodded and bowed. ‘Allow walkee Mister Barry.’

Slipping on his shoes Bahram stood up to go. But with his first step he trod upon a puddle of water and his feet slipped out from under him. He would have fallen if Allow hadn’t caught hold of him.

‘How water have come here? No rain have got.’

Looking down, Bahram saw that there was not just one little puddle on the deck but several: they formed a wet trail, leading from the side of the deck that overlooked the river right up to the corner of the divan.

Allow too had seen the puddles, each separated from the other by the space of a footstep. For an instant his face stiffened into a frightened scowl. But then, recovering quickly, he said: ‘That blongi nothing, Mister Barry. Come from fog. Happen allo time.’

‘But fog no can makee puddle.’

‘Can. Can. Come, we go now. Too muchi late.’

Bahram followed Allow down, to the gangplank and over the jetty. The Maidan was empty of people and wreathed in fog. In the distance, amongst the row of factories, the Achha Hong was the only one that still had many lights burning. Bahram knew that Vico and the others had probably begun to worry about his whereabouts.

They were halfway across the Maidan when Allow broached the subject of opium again: ‘Mister Barry wanchi do cargo-pidgin with Allow? Like we talkee that time? Still can do if Mister Barry wanchi.’