CHAPTER VIII.
The news as to the identity of the body lying now in Almayer's
compound spread rapidly over the settlement. During the forenoon
most of the inhabitants remained in the long street discussing
the mysterious return and the unexpected death of the man who had
become known to them as the trader. His arrival during the
north-east monsoon, his long sojourn in their midst, his sudden
departure with his brig, and, above all, the mysterious
appearance of the body, said to be his, amongst the logs, were
subjects to wonder at and to talk over and over again with
undiminished interest. Mahmat moved from house to house and from
group to group, always ready to repeat his tale: how he saw the
body caught by the sarong in a forked log; how Mrs. Almayer
coming, one of the first, at his cries, recognised it, even
before he had it hauled on shore; how Babalatchi ordered him to
bring it out of the water. "By the feet I dragged him in, and
there was no head," exclaimed Mahmat, "and how could the white
man's wife know who it was? She was a witch, it was well known.
And did you see how the white man himself ran away at the sight
of the body? Like a deer he ran!" And here Mahmat imitated
Almayer's long strides, to the great joy of the beholders. And
for all his trouble he had nothing. The ring with the green
stone Tuan Babalatchi kept. "Nothing! Nothing!" He spat down
at his feet in sign of disgust, and left that group to seek
further on a fresh audience.
The news spreading to the furthermost parts of the settlement
found out Abdulla in the cool recess of his godown, where he sat
overlooking his Arab clerks and the men loading and unloading the
up-country canoes. Reshid, who was busy on the jetty, was
summoned into his uncle's presence and found him, as usual, very
calm and even cheerful, but very much surprised. The rumour of
the capture or destruction of Dain's brig had reached the Arab's
ears three days before from the sea-fishermen and through the
dwellers on the lower reaches of the river. It had been passed
up-stream from neighbour to neighbour till Bulangi, whose
clearing was nearest to the settlement, had brought that news
himself to Abdulla whose favour he courted. But rumour also
spoke of a fight and of Dain's death on board his own vessel.
And now all the settlement talked of Dain's visit to the Rajah
and of his death when crossing the river in the dark to see
Almayer.
They could not understand this. Reshid thought that it was very
strange. He felt uneasy and doubtful. But Abdulla, after the
first shock of surprise, with the old age's dislike for solving
riddles, showed a becoming resignation. He remarked that the man
was dead now at all events, and consequently no more dangerous.
Where was the use to wonder at the decrees of Fate, especially if
they were propitious to the True Believers? And with a pious
ejaculation to Allah the Merciful, the Compassionate, Abdulla
seemed to regard the incident as closed for the present.
Not so Reshid. He lingered by his uncle, pulling thoughtfully
his neatly trimmed beard.
"There are many lies," he murmured. "He has been dead once
before, and came to life to die again now. The Dutch will be
here before many days and clamour for the man. Shall I not
believe my eyes sooner than the tongues of women and idle men?"
"They say that the body is being taken to Almayer's compound,"
said Abdulla. "If you want to go there you must go before the
Dutch arrive here. Go late. It should not be said that we have
been seen inside that man's enclosure lately."
Reshid assented to the truth of this last remark and left his
uncle's side. He leaned against the lintel of the big doorway
and looked idly across the courtyard through the open gate on to
the main road of the settlement. It lay empty, straight, and
yellow under the flood of light. In the hot noontide the smooth
trunks of palm trees, the outlines of the houses, and away there
at the other end of the road the roof of Almayer's house visible
over the bushes on the dark background of forest, seemed to
quiver in the heat radiating from the steaming earth. Swarms of
yellow butterflies rose, and settled to rise again in short
flights before Reshid's half-closed eyes. From under his feet
arose the dull hum of insects in the long grass of the courtyard.
He looked on sleepily.
From one of the side paths amongst the houses a woman stepped out
on the road, a slight girlish figure walking under the shade of a
large tray balanced on its head. The consciousness of something
moving stirred Reshid's half-sleeping senses into a comparative
wakefulness. He recognised Taminah, Bulangi's slave-girl, with
her tray of cakes for sale--an apparition of daily recurrence and
of no importance whatever. She was going towards Almayer's
house. She could be made useful. He roused himself up and ran
towards the gate calling out, "Taminah O!" The girl stopped,
hesitated, and came back slowly.
Reshid waited, signing to her impatiently to come nearer.
When near Reshid Taminah stood with downcast eyes. Reshid looked
at her a while before he asked--
"Are you going to Almayer's house? They say in the settlement
that Dain the trader, he that was found drowned this morning, is
lying in the white man's campong."
"I have heard this talk," whispered Taminah; "and this morning by
the riverside I saw the body. Where it is now I do not know."
"So you have seen it?" asked Reshid, eagerly. "Is it Dain? You
have seen him many times. You would know him."
The girl's lips quivered and she remained silent for a while,
breathing quickly.
"I have seen him, not a long time ago," she said at last. "The
talk is true; he is dead. What do you want from me, Tuan? I
must go."
Just then the report of the gun fired on board the steam launch
was heard, interrupting Reshid's reply. Leaving the girl he ran
to the house, and met in the courtyard Abdulla coming towards the
gate.
"The Orang Blanda are come," said Reshid, "and now we shall have
our reward."
Abdulla shook his head doubtfully. "The white men's rewards are
long in coming," he said. "White men are quick in anger and slow
in gratitude. We shall see."
He stood at the gate stroking his grey beard and listening to the
distant cries of greeting at the other end of the settlement. As
Taminah was turning to go he called her back
"Listen, girl," he said: "there will be many white men in
Almayer's house. You shall be there selling your cakes to the
men of the sea. What you see and what you hear you may tell me.
Come here before the sun sets and I will give you a blue
handkerchief with red spots. Now go, and forget not to return."
He gave her a push with the end of his long staff as she was
going away and made her stumble.
"This slave is very slow," he remarked to his nephew, looking
after the girl with great disfavour.
Taminah walked on, her tray on the head, her eyes fixed on the
ground. From the open doors of the houses were heard, as she
passed, friendly calls inviting her within for business purposes,
but she never heeded them, neglecting her sales in the
preoccupation of intense thinking. Since the very early morning
she had heard much, she had also seen much that filled her heart
with a joy mingled with great suffering and fear. Before the
dawn, before she left Bulangi's house to paddle up to Sambir she
had heard voices outside the house when all in it but herself
were asleep. And now, with her knowledge of the words spoken in
the darkness, she held in her hand a life and carried in her
breast a great sorrow. Yet from her springy step, erect figure,
and face veiled over by the everyday look of apathetic
indifference, nobody could have guessed of the double load she
carried under the visible burden of the tray piled up high with
cakes manufactured by the thrifty hands of Bulangi's wives. In
that supple figure straight as an arrow, so graceful and free in
its walk, behind those soft eyes that spoke of nothing but of
unconscious resignation, there slept all feelings and all
passions, all hopes and all fears, the curse of life and the
consolation of death. And she knew nothing of it all. She lived
like the tall palms amongst whom she was passing now, seeking the
light, desiring the sunshine, fearing the storm, unconscious of
either. The slave had no hope, and knew of no change. She knew
of no other sky, no other water, no other forest, no other world,
no other life. She had no wish, no hope, no love, no fear except
of a blow, and no vivid feeling but that of occasional hunger,
which was seldom, for Bulangi was rich and rice was plentiful in
the solitary house in his clearing. The absence of pain and
hunger was her happiness, and when she felt unhappy she was
simply tired, more than usual, after the day's labour. Then in
the hot nights of the south-west monsoon she slept dreamlessly
under the bright stars on the platform built outside the house
and over the river. Inside they slept too: Bulangi by the door;
his wives further in; the children with their mothers. She could
hear their breathing; Bulangi's sleepy voice; the sharp cry of a
child soon hushed with tender words. And she closed her eyes to
the murmur of the water below her, to the whisper of the warm
wind above, ignorant of the never-ceasing life of that tropical
nature that spoke to her in vain with the thousand faint voices
of the near forest, with the breath of tepid wind; in the heavy
scents that lingered around her head; in the white wraiths of
morning mist that hung over her in the solemn hush of all
creation before the dawn.
Such had been her existence before the coming of the brig with
the strangers. She remembered well that time; the uproar in the
settlement, the never-ending wonder, the days and nights of talk
and excitement. She remembered her own timidity with the strange
men, till the brig moored to the bank became in a manner part of
the settlement, and the fear wore off in the familiarity of
constant intercourse. The call on board then became part of her
daily round. She walked hesitatingly up the slanting planks of
the gangway amidst the encouraging shouts and more or less decent
jokes of the men idling over the bulwarks. There she sold her
wares to those men that spoke so loud and carried themselves so
free. There was a throng, a constant coming and going; calls
interchanged, orders given and executed with shouts; the rattle
of blocks, the flinging about of coils of rope. She sat out of
the way under the shade of the awning, with her tray before her,
the veil drawn well over her face, feeling shy amongst so many
men. She smiled at all buyers, but spoke to none, letting their
jests pass with stolid unconcern. She heard many tales told
around her of far-off countries, of strange customs, of events
stranger still. Those men were brave; but the most fearless of
them spoke of their chief with fear. Often the man they called
their master passed before her, walking erect and indifferent, in
the pride of youth, in the flash of rich dress, with a tinkle of
gold ornaments, while everybody stood aside watching anxiously
for a movement of his lips, ready to do his bidding. Then all
her life seemed to rush into her eyes, and from under her veil
she gazed at him, charmed, yet fearful to attract attention. One
day he noticed her and asked, "Who is that girl?" "A slave,
Tuan! A girl that sells cakes," a dozen voices replied together.
She rose in terror to run on shore, when he called her back; and
as she stood trembling with head hung down before him, he spoke
kind words, lifting her chin with his hand and looking into her
eyes with a smile. "Do not be afraid," he said. He never spoke
to her any more. Somebody called out from the river bank; he
turned away and forgot her existence. Taminah saw Almayer
standing on the shore with Nina on his arm. She heard Nina's
voice calling out gaily, and saw Dain's face brighten with joy as
he leaped on shore. She hated the sound of that voice ever
since.
After that day she left off visiting Almayer's compound, and
passed the noon hours under the shade of the brig awning. She
watched for his coming with heart beating quicker and quicker, as
he approached, into a wild tumult of newly-aroused feelings of
joy and hope and fear that died away with Dain's retreating
figure, leaving her tired out, as if after a struggle, sitting
still for a long time in dreamy languor. Then she paddled home
slowly in the afternoon, often letting her canoe float with the
lazy stream in the quiet backwater of the river. The paddle hung
idle in the water as she sat in the stern, one hand supporting
her chin, her eyes wide open, listening intently to the
whispering of her heart that seemed to swell at last into a song
of extreme sweetness. Listening to that song she husked the rice
at home; it dulled her ears to the shrill bickerings of Bulangi's
wives, to the sound of angry reproaches addressed to herself.
And when the sun was near its setting she walked to the
bathing-place and heard it as she stood on the tender grass of
the low bank, her robe at her feet, and looked at the reflection
of her figure on the glass-like surface of the creek. Listening
to it she walked slowly back, her wet hair hanging over her
shoulders; laying down to rest under the bright stars, she closed
her eyes to the murmur of the water below, of the warm wind
above; to the voice of nature speaking through the faint noises
of the great forest, and to the song of her own heart.
She heard, but did not understand, and drank in the dreamy joy of
her new existence without troubling about its meaning or its end,
till the full consciousness of life came to her through pain and
anger. And she suffered horribly the first time she saw Nina's
long canoe drift silently past the sleeping house of Bulangi,
bearing the two lovers into the white mist of the great river.
Her jealousy and rage culminated into a paroxysm of physical pain
that left her lying panting on the river bank, in the dumb agony
of a wounded animal. But she went on moving patiently in the
enchanted circle of slavery, going through her task day after day
with all the pathos of the grief she could not express, even to
herself, locked within her breast. She shrank from Nina as she
would have shrunk from the sharp blade of a knife cutting into
her flesh, but she kept on visiting the brig to feed her dumb,
ignorant soul on her own despair. She saw Dain many times. He
never spoke, he never looked. Could his eyes see only one
woman's image? Could his ears hear only one woman's voice? He
never noticed her; not once.
And then he went away. She saw him and Nina for the last time on
that morning when Babalatchi, while visiting his fish baskets,
had his suspicions of the white man's daughter's love affair with
Dain confirmed beyond the shadow of doubt. Dain disappeared, and
Taminah's heart, where lay useless and barren the seeds of all
love and of all hate, the possibilities of all passions and of
all sacrifices, forgot its joys and its sufferings when deprived
of the help of the senses. Her half-formed, savage mind, the
slave of her body--as her body was the slave of another's
will--forgot the faint and vague image of the ideal that had
found its beginning in the physical promptings of her savage
nature. She dropped back into the torpor of her former life and
found consolation--even a certain kind of happiness--in the
thought that now Nina and Dain were separated, probably for ever.
He would forget. This thought soothed the last pangs of dying
jealousy that had nothing now to feed upon, and Taminah found
peace. It was like the dreary tranquillity of a desert, where
there is peace only because there is no life.
And now he had returned. She had recognised his voice calling
aloud in the night for Bulangi. She had crept out after her
master to listen closer to the intoxicating sound. Dain was
there, in a boat, talking to Bulangi. Taminah, listening with
arrested breath, heard another voice. The maddening joy, that
only a second before she thought herself incapable of containing
within her fast-beating heart, died out, and left her shivering
in the old anguish of physical pain that she had suffered once
before at the sight of Dain and Nina. Nina spoke now, ordering
and entreating in turns, and Bulangi was refusing, expostulating,
at last consenting. He went in to take a paddle from the heap
lying behind the door. Outside the murmur of two voices went on,
and she caught a word here and there. She understood that he was
fleeing from white men, that he was seeking a hiding-place, that
he was in some danger. But she heard also words which woke the
rage of jealousy that had been asleep for so many days in her
bosom. Crouching low on the mud in the black darkness amongst
the piles, she heard the whisper in the boat that made light of
toil, of privation, of danger, of life itself, if in exchange
there could be but a short moment of close embrace, a look from
the eyes, the feel of light breath, the touch of soft lips. So
spoke Dain as he sat in the canoe holding Nina's hands while
waiting for Bulangi's return; and Taminah, supporting herself by
the slimy pile, felt as if a heavy weight was crushing her down,
down into the black oily water at her feet. She wanted to cry
out; to rush at them and tear their vague shadows apart; to throw
Nina into the smooth water, cling to her close, hold her to the
bottom where that man could not find her. She could not cry, she
could not move. Then footsteps were heard on the bamboo platform
above her head; she saw Bulangi get into his smallest canoe and
take the lead, the other boat following, paddled by Dain and
Nina. With a slight splash of the paddles dipped stealthily into
the water, their indistinct forms passed before her aching eyes
and vanished in the darkness of the creek.
She remained there in the cold and wet, powerless to move,
breathing painfully under the crushing weight that the mysterious
hand of Fate had laid so suddenly upon her slender shoulders, and
shivering, she felt within a burning fire, that seemed to feed
upon her very life. When the breaking day had spread a pale
golden ribbon over the black outline of the forests, she took up
her tray and departed towards the settlement, going about her
task purely from the force of habit. As she approached Sambir
she could see the excitement and she heard with momentary
surprise of the finding of Dain's body. It was not true, of
course. She knew it well. She regretted that he was not dead.
She should have liked Dain to be dead, so as to be parted from
that woman--from all women. She felt a strong desire to see
Nina, but without any clear object. She hated her, and feared
her and she felt an irresistible impulse pushing her towards
Almayer's house to see the white woman's face, to look close at
those eyes, to hear again that voice, for the sound of which Dain
was ready to risk his liberty, his life even. She had seen her
many times; she had heard her voice daily for many months past.
What was there in her? What was there in that being to make a
man speak as Dain had spoken, to make him blind to all other
faces, deaf to all other voices?
She left the crowd by the riverside, and wandered aimlessly among
the empty houses, resisting the impulse that pushed her towards
Almayer's campong to seek there in Nina's eyes the secret of her
own misery. The sun mounting higher, shortened the shadows and
poured down upon her a flood of light and of stifling heat as she
passed on from shadow to light, from light to shadow, amongst the
houses, the bushes, the tall trees, in her unconscious flight
from the pain in her own heart. In the extremity of her distress
she could find no words to pray for relief, she knew of no heaven
to send her prayer to, and she wandered on with tired feet in the
dumb surprise and terror at the injustice of the suffering
inflicted upon her without cause and without redress.
The short talk with Reshid, the proposal of Abdulla steadied her
a little and turned her thoughts into another channel. Dain was
in some danger. He was hiding from white men. So much she had
overheard last night. They all thought him dead. She knew he
was alive, and she knew of his hiding-place. What did the Arabs
want to know about the white men? The white men want with Dain?
Did they wish to kill him? She could tell them all--no, she
would say nothing, and in the night she would go to him and sell
him his life for a word, for a smile, for a gesture even, and be
his slave in far-off countries, away from Nina. But there were
dangers. The one-eyed Babalatchi who knew everything; the white
man's wife--she was a witch. Perhaps they would tell. And then
there was Nina. She must hurry on and see.
In her impatience she left the path and ran towards Almayer's
dwelling through the undergrowth between the palm trees. She
came out at the back of the house, where a narrow ditch, full of
stagnant water that overflowed from the river, separated
Almayer's campong from the rest of the settlement. The thick
bushes growing on the bank were hiding from her sight the large
courtyard with its cooking shed. Above them rose several thin
columns of smoke, and from behind the sound of strange voices
informed Taminah that the Men of the Sea belonging to the warship
had already landed and were camped between the ditch and the
house. To the left one of Almayer's slave-girls came down to the
ditch and bent over the shiny water, washing a kettle. To the
right the tops of the banana plantation, visible above the
bushes, swayed and shook under the touch of invisible hands
gathering the fruit. On the calm water several canoes moored to
a heavy stake were crowded together, nearly bridging the ditch
just at the place where Taminah stood. The voices in the
courtyard rose at times into an outburst of calls, replies, and
laughter, and then died away into a silence that soon was broken
again by a fresh clamour. Now and again the thin blue smoke
rushed out thicker and blacker, and drove in odorous masses over
the creek, wrapping her for a moment in a suffocating veil; then,
as the fresh wood caught well alight, the smoke vanished in the
bright sunlight, and only the scent of aromatic wood drifted
afar, to leeward of the crackling fires.
Taminah rested her tray on a stump of a tree, and remained
standing with her eyes turned towards Almayer's house, whose roof
and part of a whitewashed wall were visible over the bushes. The
slave-girl finished her work, and after looking for a while
curiously at Taminah, pushed her way through the dense thicket
back to the courtyard. Round Taminah there was now a complete
solitude. She threw herself down on the ground, and hid her face
in her hands. Now when so close she had no courage to see Nina.
At every burst of louder voices from the courtyard she shivered
in the fear of hearing Nina's voice. She came to the resolution
of waiting where she was till dark, and then going straight to
Dain's hiding-place. From where she was she could watch the
movements of white men, of Nina, of all Dain's friends, and of
all his enemies. Both were hateful alike to her, for both would
take him away beyond her reach. She hid herself in the long
grass to wait anxiously for the sunset that seemed so slow to
come.
On the other side of the ditch, behind the bush, by the clear
fires, the seamen of the frigate had encamped on the hospitable
invitation of Almayer. Almayer, roused out of his apathy by the
prayers and importunity of Nina, had managed to get down in time
to the jetty so as to receive the officers at their landing. The
lieutenant in command accepted his invitation to his house with
the remark that in any case their business was with Almayer--and
perhaps not very pleasant, he added. Almayer hardly heard him.
He shook hands with them absently and led the way towards the
house. He was scarcely conscious of the polite words of welcome
he greeted the strangers with, and afterwards repeated several
times over again in his efforts to appear at ease. The agitation
of their host did not escape the officer's eyes, and the chief
confided to his subordinate, in a low voice, his doubts as to
Almayer's sobriety. The young sub-lieutenant laughed and
expressed in a whisper the hope that the white man was not
intoxicated enough to neglect the offer of some refreshments.
"He does not seem very dangerous," he added, as they followed
Almayer up the steps of the verandah.
"No, he seems more of a fool than a knave; I have heard of him,"
returned the senior.
They sat around the table. Almayer with shaking hands made gin
cocktails, offered them all round, and drank himself, with every
gulp feeling stronger, steadier, and better able to face all the
difficulties of his position. Ignorant of the fate of the brig
he did not suspect the real object of the officer's visit. He
had a general notion that something must have leaked out about
the gunpowder trade, but apprehended nothing beyond some
temporary inconveniences. After emptying his glass he began to
chat easily, lying back in his chair with one of his legs thrown
negligently over the arm. The lieutenant astride on his chair, a
glowing cheroot in the corner of his mouth, listened with a sly
smile from behind the thick volumes of smoke that escaped from
his compressed lips. The young sub-lieutenant, leaning with both
elbows on the table, his head between his hands, looked on
sleepily in the torpor induced by fatigue and the gin. Almayer
talked on--
"It is a great pleasure to see white faces here. I have lived
here many years in great solitude. The Malays, you understand,
are not company for a white man; moreover they are not friendly;
they do not understand our ways. Great rascals they are. I
believe I am the only white man on the east coast that is a
settled resident. We get visitors from Macassar or Singapore
sometimes--traders, agents, or explorers, but they are rare.
There was a scientific explorer here a year or more ago. He
lived in my house: drank from morning to night. He lived
joyously for a few months, and when the liquor he brought with
him was gone he returned to Batavia with a report on the mineral
wealth of the interior. Ha, ha, ha! Good, is it not?"
He ceased abruptly and looked at his guests with a meaningless
stare. While they laughed he was reciting to himself the old
story: "Dain dead, all my plans destroyed. This is the end of
all hope and of all things." His heart sank within him. He felt
a kind of deadly sickness.
"Very good. Capital!" exclaimed both officers. Almayer came out
of his despondency with another burst of talk.
"Eh! what about the dinner? You have got a cook with you.
That's all right. There is a cooking shed in the other
courtyard. I can give you a goose. Look at my geese--the only
geese on the east coast--perhaps on the whole island. Is that
your cook? Very good. Here, Ali, show this Chinaman the cooking
place and tell Mem Almayer to let him have room there. My wife,
gentlemen, does not come out; my daughter may. Meantime have
some more drink. It is a hot day."
The lieutenant took the cigar out of his mouth, looked at the ash
critically, shook it off and turned towards Almayer.
"We have a rather unpleasant business with you," he said.
"I am sorry," returned Almayer. "It can be nothing very serious,
surely."
"If you think an attempt to blow up forty men at least, not a
serious matter you will not find many people of your opinion,"
retorted the officer sharply.
"Blow up! What? I know nothing about it" exclaimed Almayer.
"Who did that, or tried to do it?"
"A man with whom you had some dealings," answered the lieutenant.
"He passed here under the name of Dain Maroola. You sold him the
gunpowder he had in that brig we captured."
"How did you hear about the brig?" asked Almayer. "I know
nothing about the powder he may have had."
"An Arab trader of this place has sent the information about your
goings on here to Batavia, a couple of months ago," said the
officer. "We were waiting for the brig outside, but he slipped
past us at the mouth of the river, and we had to chase the fellow
to the southward. When he sighted us he ran inside the reefs and
put the brig ashore. The crew escaped in boats before we could
take possession. As our boats neared the craft it blew up with a
tremendous explosion; one of the boats being too near got
swamped. Two men drowned--that is the result of your
speculation, Mr. Almayer. Now we want this Dain. We have good
grounds to suppose he is hiding in Sambir. Do you know
where he is? You had better put yourself right with the
authorities as much as possible by being perfectly frank with me.
Where is this Dain?"
Almayer got up and walked towards the balustrade of the verandah.
He seemed not to be thinking of the officer's question. He
looked at the body laying straight and rigid under its white
cover on which the sun, declining amongst the clouds to the
westward, threw a pale tinge of red. The lieutenant waited for
the answer, taking quick pulls at his half-extinguished cigar.
Behind them Ali moved noiselessly laying the table, ranging
solemnly the ill-assorted and shabby crockery, the tin spoons,
the forks with broken prongs, and the knives with saw-like blades
and loose handles. He had almost forgotten how to prepare the
table for white men. He felt aggrieved; Mem Nina would not help
him. He stepped back to look at his work admiringly, feeling
very proud. This must be right; and if the master afterwards is
angry and swears, then so much the worse for Mem Nina. Why did
she not help? He left the verandah to fetch the dinner.
"Well, Mr. Almayer, will you answer my question as frankly as it
is put to you?" asked the lieutenant, after a long silence.
Almayer turned round and looked at his interlocutor steadily.
"If you catch this Dain what will you do with him?" he asked.
The officer's face flushed. "This is not an answer," he said,
annoyed.
"And what will you do with me?" went on Almayer, not heeding the
interruption.
"Are you inclined to bargain?" growled the other. "It would be
bad policy, I assure you. At present I have no orders about your
person, but we expected your assistance in catching this Malay."
"Ah!" interrupted Almayer, "just so: you can do nothing without
me, and I, knowing the man well, am to help you in finding him."
"This is exactly what we expect," assented the officer. "You
have broken the law, Mr. Almayer, and you ought to make amends."
"And save myself?"
"Well, in a sense yes. Your head is not in any danger," said the
lieutenant, with a short laugh.
"Very well," said Almayer, with decision, "I shall deliver the
man up to you."
Both officers rose to their feet quickly, and looked for their
side-arms which they had unbuckled. Almayer laughed harshly.
"Steady, gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "In my own time and in my own
way. After dinner, gentlemen, you shall have him."
"This is preposterous," urged the lieutenant. "Mr. Almayer, this
is no joking matter. The man is a criminal. He deserves to
hang. While we dine he may escape; the rumour of our arrival--"
Almayer walked towards the table. "I give you my word of honour,
gentlemen, that he shall not escape; I have him safe enough."
"The arrest should be effected before dark," remarked the young
sub.
"I shall hold you responsible for any failure. We are ready, but
can do nothing just now without you," added the senior, with
evident annoyance.
Almayer made a gesture of assent. "On my word of honour," he
repeated vaguely. "And now let us dine," he added briskly.
Nina came through the doorway and stood for a moment holding the
curtain aside for Ali and the old Malay woman bearing the dishes;
then she moved towards the three men by the table.
"Allow me," said Almayer, pompously. "This is my daughter.
Nina, these gentlemen, officers of the frigate outside, have done
me the honour to accept my hospitality."
Nina answered the low bows of the two officers by a slow
inclination of the head and took her place at the table opposite
her father. All sat down. The coxswain of the steam launch came
up carrying some bottles of wine.
"You will allow me to have this put upon the table?" said the
lieutenant to Almayer.
"What! Wine! You are very kind. Certainly, I have none myself.
Times are very hard."
The last words of his reply were spoken by Almayer in a faltering
voice. The thought that Dain was dead recurred to him vividly
again, and he felt as if an invisible hand was gripping his
throat. He reached for the gin bottle while they were uncorking
the wine and swallowed a big gulp. The lieutenant, who was
speaking to Nina, gave him a quick glance. The young sub began
to recover from the astonishment and confusion caused by Nina's
unexpected appearance and great beauty. "She was very beautiful
and imposing," he reflected, "but after all a half-caste girl."
This thought caused him to pluck up heart and look at Nina
sideways. Nina, with composed face, was answering in a low, even
voice the elder officer's polite questions as to the country and
her mode of life. Almayer pushed his plate away and drank his
guest's wine in gloomy silence.
