Mr. van Gulpendam came rushing in.  
Stately and dignified as was the “Kandjeng toean Residèn” (High and mighty Lord Resident), yet when fair Laurentia called in that tone of voice he became briskness personified. A wicked world, indeed, whispered that on such occasions he dared not for his life be one whit less nimble.
 
The resident was, like his fair spouse, in undress; he had on only a pair of pyjamas and a “Kabaja,” and in this airy costume was seated in the outer fore-gallery of the [40]spacious residence, engaged in leisurely sipping his coffee and enjoying his morning cigar, when the voice of his wife was heard re-echoing through the house: “Gulpendam, Gulpenda-am!”
 
As if electrified, at the last long drawn-out syllable, van Gulpendam flew up out of his rocking-chair, and that with such violence and speed, that he drove the thing flying away several feet behind him.
 
“Man, the umbrella, quickly!” he roared.
 
Besides the habitual and constant use of nautical terms to which we have already alluded, van Gulpendam had another weakness; he would always insist upon having the emblem of his authority, the pajoeng, (umbrella) close by his side. In the very entrance of the official mansion four of these umbrellas were placed in a stand by the chair which the Lord Resident was wont to occupy. In his private office another pajoeng stood close by his writing desk; in his bedroom yet another was conspicuous at the head of the residential bed-stead. Thieves might break in during the night, such was his argument, and at the majesty of the mighty pajoeng would recoil in horror. To that argument Laurentia, imperious though she was, had had to bow, and had been forced to suffer the emblem of her lord’s supremacy in the inmost sanctuary of her bed-chamber; but in the pandoppo where, in her capacity of mistress of the house, she was determined to rule supreme—no pajoeng was ever allowed to intrude. If the Resident wished to go out for a walk then it was always “Man, the umbrella!” and the umbrella and the cigar-case and the lighted slow match obediently followed his footsteps. Sometimes when the great man would cool his forehead in the breeze, the servant obsequiously carried the official gold-laced cap—reverently it was carried behind him as a priest might bear some holy relic.
 
As van Gulpendam made his appearance in the pandoppo he was greeted with the words, somewhat sternly uttered: “What business has that pajoeng here? You know I won’t have the thing in this place.” And turning very sharply upon the unhappy attendant, Laurentia cried: “Back with you, away, quick!” and a single look from the master caused the man to disappear with his umbrella faster, indeed, than he had entered.
 
“I say,” said Mrs. van Gulpendam, addressing her husband, “Dalima has come back. I want you just to guess where that good-for-nothing creature has been to.” [41]
 
“What is the use of my trying to guess?” replied the husband. “She has no doubt dropped anchor somewhere in the dessa.”
 
“In the dessa,” scornfully exclaimed the lady, “oh, no doubt. Not a bit of it—she has been on the tramp with that Ardjan of her’s.”
 
“Pardon, madam!” cried the poor girl, who understood Dutch quite well enough not to lose a syllable of her mistress’s words.
 
“And now,” Laurentia went on, all in a breath, “now she has came home with quite a romantic tale. She pretends that she has been carried off, forsooth, by Lim Ho, and that she has passed the night in a ship. Just fancy that.”
 
At the name of Lim Ho, and at the mention of the word “ship,” the Resident pricked his ears. The captain of the Matamata, the guardship, had sent in a report in which he had said that the Kiem Ping Hin had been cruising about the coast. That schooner-brig belonged to the opium farmer, who was shrewdly suspected of being in close league with the opium smugglers. Hence the attention of the Resident was so suddenly arrested.
 
“What ship?” asked van Gulpendam, somewhat hastily.
 
“How should I know what ship?” replied his wife. “You had better ask that wretched girl.”
 
“Pardon, madam!” cried Dalima, as she was still cowering in great terror on the floor of the pandoppo.
 
“Come, Dalima,” said van Gulpendam, with some kindness in his voice, “come now, my girl, just tell us what has really happened to you.”
 
“Allah, master, they have caught Ardjan. Have pity!”
 
“They have caught Ardjan, you say,” interrupted van Gulpendam, “who have caught him?”
 
“Babah Than Khan and babah Liem King,” replied the girl, weeping bitterly.
 
“Oh ho,” muttered her master to himself, and then turning to the girl again, he said, aloud, “Where did they lay hands on him?”
 
“In the Moeara Tjatjing, toean,” was the reply.
 
“In the Moeara Tjatjing,” said van Gulpendam, musingly; “what brought him there, I wonder?”
 
“He had just escaped with me,” sobbed Dalima.
 
“That’s it, now what did I tell you!” almost shrieked Laurentia. [42]
 
“From the ship,” added poor Dalima, between her sobs.
 
“Aye, no doubt!” cried her mistress. “Run away from this house. That is nearer the truth!”
 
“For goodness sake,” said the Resident, apart to his wife, “let the girl get under weigh, or else we shall never get to land,” and turning to Dalima, he said: “Now come, first of all, let us hear how you got on board the ship.”
 
Thereupon, the poor girl, still seated cross-legged on the floor, began to tell her master all that had befallen her from the time of her forcible abduction out of his garden, to the moment that she had succeeded in gnawing through the ropes which bound her, and had taken to headlong flight.
 
Just as the girl was beginning her tale, Anna had quietly re-entered the pandoppo, and thus heard the whole story.
 
“Well,” said the Resident, when Dalima had ended the story of her woes. “Well, that is a curious tale certainly; and now what about Ardjan—did you leave him behind you at the Moeara Tjatjing?”
 
“Why, sir,” replied Dalima, “he could not move, he was tied hand and foot when the two Chinamen carried him off on the pole. They could not, however, have taken him very far; for scarcely had I got my feet free, before I saw their lanterns shining between the trees, and heard their voices approaching. Had it been light enough they must have seen me running away, and most probably I should never have got clear of them at all.”
 
“Then you suppose Ardjan is still there?” asked her master, somewhat eagerly.
 
“That I cannot say, toean,” replied Dalima. “I overheard them saying to each other that they intended first to take Ardjan to the djaga monjet, and then come back and fetch me.”
 
“To the djaga monjet,” hastily cried van Gulpendam. “Man! man!”
 
“If I were you,” said his wife, as bitterly as she could, “I would this time leave the pajoeng behind.”
 
But without taking the slightest notice of the amiable remark, the Resident turned to the servant, who had appeared at his call, and said: “Man, you will go at once with a couple of your mates to the Moeara Tjatjing. As you go you are to rouse the people of the neighbouring dessas, and take as many of them with you as you think you will require to help you, and then you will try and arrest Ardjan the Javanese. Baboe Dalima there will show you the way.” [43]
 
“Oh, you believe the girl’s story then?” contemptuously asked Laurentia.
 
“Well, not all of it perhaps,” replied her husband, “but anyhow it is of the utmost importance that the matter should be cleared up.” And turning to his servant, he went on: “You carry out my orders to the letter; do you hear? And now go, and take Dalima with you.”
 
When both had disappeared, van Gulpendam said in a whisper to his wife: “At the bottom of all this mystery, depend upon it, there is some opium-scandal. Whenever Lim Ho’s name is mixed up in anything, there is something going on that must not see the light; and—if my soundings are correct—then—the rich papa will have to pay the piper.”
 
These words the Resident accompanied with a most expressive gesture, moving his thumb and fore-finger as a man who is counting down money. Mrs. van Gulpendam tried to stop him by looking significantly at her daughter Anna.
 
“Oh, come, come,” laughed the husband, “she is no longer a baby. When you were her age you had seen a good deal more than that at your parents’. She must by degrees get to understand where all the housekeeping-money comes from.” And drawing his daughter to him, he said to her, as he patted her smooth cheek, “I am right, Anna, am I not? When by-and-bye you are married, you will like to live in a fine house like this, you will like to have your jewels like your mother, you will want fine dresses, elegant carriages, the best and most thorough-bred horses, eh?”
 
“Well, my dear father,” replied the fair girl with a blush and a most bewitching smile, “I suppose every girl would; however, I am not particularly fond of all these things.”
 
“Oh, no,” interrupted the Resident with a laugh, “we know all about that. All girls talk just as you do when they are your age. It is always the same thing, ‘Beauty when unadorned &c., &c.’ But,” he continued, “all that sentiment does not last very long; in time women begin to see that the vital question is to appear as beautiful as possible. And now, my girl, you run away, and go and have a look to my breakfast; I have ordered it to be laid in the verandah and I have asked my secretary van Nes to come and have it with me. You know he is a man who knows what is good—so mind you look to the honour of the galley.”
 
When his daughter had left the pandoppo to do her father’s bidding, he turned to his wife and said: “Now, my dear [44]Laurentia, just you listen to me. In a day or two I have to pay our bill to John Pryce of Batavia, it comes to 20,000 guilders, as you know, and of that sum I haven’t got the first thousand together yet. Now, if I am right about this Lim Ho business, why then you will see, we shall have fair weather enough for our money-question; oh yes, and we shall log a good bit more than that—we shall have a nice little sum in the locker after the bill is paid—that may come in handy—what do you say, eh?”
 
“Of course,” replied his wife thoughtfully, “but then that running away of Dalima, I don’t like—”
 
“Now, now,” cried her husband, “just you wait a bit, don’t be in a hurry, don’t go running off the stocks too fast! If the girl’s yarn be true, then—yes—I am afraid that Lim Ho has been fishing behind the net. And yet, when I come to look at it that is not so bad for us either. It will only make him clap on more sail and—if we can only keep our helm steady, then that little job may turn out a very nice little breeze for us. A Chinaman, you know, will go far—aye he will go very far to gratify his passions. So you just let me brace up, and mind don’t you go taking the wind out of my sails.”
 
It was growing rather late in the evening—about half past seven—when the Oppas, who had been sent out, returned and reported to his master that, with Dalima’s help, he had found Ardjan. The news came to Mr. van Gulpendam just after he had risen from table, and was sitting with his wife and daughter in the cool front gallery of the sumptuous Residential mansion. They were awaiting the arrival of some friends and acquaintances who were, on that evening, to partake of the family’s friendly and sociable hospitality. Yes—we use the words friendly and sociable hospitality; for the van Gulpendams, with all their faults, were very hospitable, and could be most friendly and sociable. Of course their intense worldliness and love of display had a great deal to do with their hospitality; but it was so tempered by the bon-ton of both host and hostess that, on such evenings as this, their ostentation was hardly, if at all, perceptible. This was to be a friendly and sociable evening. On such evenings not every one had the entrée of the Residence; they were, in fact, quite different from the grand official receptions.
 
These formal receptions took place regularly, once a week, on Wednesday. Then lower officials, subaltern officers, leading men of commerce, planters, strangers, in one word mere [45]official visitors were received. On these grand occasions the Lord Resident would appear in state, clad in light-blue cloth coat with silver buttons, in white cashmere trousers, in all the splendour, in short, which his high office could shed upon poor mortal man. Then also his handsome wife decked out in all her jewellery would flaunt about like a gorgeous peacock. But at such receptions not a gleam, not a vestige of friendliness or sociability could be discovered within the walls of the house. Then on the one side, there was nothing but pride, conceit and arrogance, and, on the other, all was humility and obsequious cringing with here and there a little touch of half-concealed mockery. But the ordinary evening gatherings were for intimate friends and highly-placed officials who, by reason of their position or wealth, could venture familiarly to approach the Residential throne. Invitations there were none; but certain dignitaries were sure to put in an appearance, such as the Commandant of the garrison who was a Colonel at least, the President of the High Court of Justice, the Chief of the Medical Staff, the President of the Local Board of Trade, and such like. All these good people came without ceremony, without compliment, stood and chatted for a moment or two with Mrs. van Gulpendam or said a few pretty things to her fair daughter, shook hands with the Resident in a friendly way, talked over the bits of news of the day and then settled down at the little card-tables for a quiet game. As a rule Mrs. van Gulpendam would take a hand, and, it must be said, that she was by no means amongst the least lucky of the players, especially when, towards the end of the evening, the play began to run rather high. Of this love of play dear little Anna used to make excellent use. As soon as she had seen the guests properly attended to, she would slip away indoors, take her seat at her piano, and there would give herself up to the full enjoyment of Chopin or Beethoven or Mozart, whose masterpieces the young girl revelled in and would study with the enthusiasm of a born musician.
 
Such was to be this evening’s programme, though as the sequel will show, the music was to serve quite another purpose.
 
When the “Oppas” had, in minute detail, reported all he had learnt to know about poor Ardjan, and how he had conveyed the Javanese who was in a burning fever, to the hospital to be there further taken care of—the countenance of his chief brightened up wonderfully.
 
“The deuce, the deuce,” he muttered between his teeth, [46]“that bit of a joke with the devil-nettle may come to cost Lim Ho’s worthy papa a pretty penny!”
 
From a distance Mrs. van Gulpendam was eagerly watching the emotions which were pretty clearly reflected on her husband’s countenance. But the good humour of the Resident rose to absolute satisfaction when the man went on reporting to him that his people, with the assistance of the inhabitants of the dessa, had discovered certain small casks and tins carefully stowed away in the dense underwood, and which, in all probability, contained opium.
 
“Who, do you say, found these things?” asked the Resident.
 
“Oh!” said the Oppas, “all of us.”
 
“What,” fell in van Gulpendam, somewhat taken aback, “did the dessa folk see them as well as you?”
 
“Engèh (yes), Kandjeng toean,” replied the man, who was seated cross-legged in front of his master.
 
The reply evidently did not please his excellency at all, and his displeasure was plainly reflected in his face.
 
“And where did you make this haul?” he continued. “Have you brought it along with you?”
 
“Pardon me, Kandjeng toean,” replied the Oppas, “I had the things taken to the chief inspector of police.”
 
“Stupid ass!” muttered van Gulpendam almost inaudibly.
 
“Engèh, Kandjeng toean,” was the stolid reply—the man did not understand the epithet.
 
The word “Engèh” is always in the mouth of a Javanese whenever he addresses a European. He will give that answer even when he has not understood a word of what has been said to him, and it must not be taken to express any opinion of his own, but it is simply a meaningless and polite kind of consent to whatever his superior may choose to say to him. Van Gulpendam thoroughly knew the Javanese character, and was therefore not the least surprised at his man’s answer.
 
“Go,” said he, “to the inspector and tell him that I want him to come to me at once.” The servant still retaining his posture, pushed himself backward for a few paces, then sprang up and hurried off to carry out his master’s order. A few moments later, after the usual greetings and compliments had been exchanged, the conversation became general.
 
Anna seized this opportunity, and quietly slipped away, scarcely noticed by any one present. Dalima, she knew, had returned, and she was full of curiosity to hear what had become [47]of Ardjan. She had managed to overhear a few scraps of her father’s conversation with the “Oppas,” but had not been able to get at the truth of the story. When she reached the pandoppo she found Dalima there, seated, cross-legged as usual, but with tears streaming down her cheeks.
 
“What in the world has happened to you, Dalima?” cried she. “Do tell us all about it.”
 
“O Nana,” cried the poor girl, “they have abused my Ardjan so shamefully!”
 
And thereupon she told her mistress in what a pitiable state she had found her lover. “Oh,” she sobbed, “if I could have got there a little sooner!”
 
“But, who has treated him so dreadfully?” cried Anna full of sympathy.
 
“Lim Ho,” replied Dalima.
 
“Lim Ho?” said Anna. “Why, what was he doing there?”
 
“That I can’t tell you,” replied the girl. “All I can say is that I recognised him quite plainly as he was rowed past the djaga monjet ‘out of the Moeara Tjatjing.’?”
 
“Oh, you may have been mistaken, Dalima,” said her young mistress.
 
“Mistaken, Nana! Oh no,” replied the girl. “I could see him clench his fist in anger when he caught sight of me. I feel sure, indeed, he would have put back had he dared; and the few words Ardjan could speak have made me certain it was he.”
 
“But,” asked Anna, “what could have induced him to torture the poor fellow so unmercifully with the kamadoog?”
 
“I am sure I don’t know,” said Dalima, colouring; “perhaps it was because Ardjan is my sweetheart; it may be because he rescued me from the Kiem Ping Hin. Oh, dearest Nana,” continued the poor girl, with a flood of tears, “poor dear Ardjan has gone mad, he does nothing but rave.”
 
“And where is he now?” asked Anna, striving to quiet the sobbing girl.
 
“He is in the hospital; the police took him there after they had gone to fetch the inspector.”
 
“The inspector?” cried Anna. “What had he to do with it?”
 
“The men took some small casks and some tins which they had found, to his house,” was Dalima’s reply.
 
“Opium!” exclaimed Anna, now really frightened. “Where did they find the horrid stuff?” [48]
 
“They found it close to the hut where Ardjan was tortured.”
 
“Close to the hut, you say,” cried Anna. “They found it at the same time that they discovered Ardjan?”
 
“Yes, Na,” faltered Dalima, scarcely audibly.
 
For a moment the fair girl stood as if lost in thought. “I hope it will not compromise poor Ardjan,” said she, musingly, and then, having collected her thoughts, she again turned to Dalima, and said:
 
“Were you quite alone with Ardjan when you left the ship in the djoekoeng?”
 
“Quite alone, Nana.”
 
“You are sure, there was nothing in the djoekoeng when you got into her? Now think well.”
 
“Quite sure, Nana, nothing whatever,” replied Dalima. “How could there be? We slid along a bit of rope into the boat, while the storm was howling all round us, and glad enough we were to get out of the ship and away from her as soon as possible.”
 
Nonna Anna reflected for a few moments. Then she started as if a sudden thought had struck her, ran into her own room, which adjoined the pandoppo, and soon returned carrying with her a writing case. She put it down before one of the lamps which were burning there, and hurriedly scribbled a little note. When she had sealed it, she handed it to the maid, and said:
 
“Now, Dalima, listen to me. Do you really love Ardjan, and are you anxious to save him?”
 
“Oh, Nana,” cried the poor girl, ready again to burst into tears; “how can you ask that?”
 
“Very well,” said Anna, quietly, “then take this note to Mr. van Nerekool, you understand?”
 
“Oh yes, I know,” cried the girl; “he lives in Aboe Street close by the Catholic Church. But it is so far away, and it is now so late.”
 
“Then you had better tell Sodikromo, the gardener’s boy, to go with you,” said Anna. “You can take a ‘sados’ (dos-à-dos) and you will soon be there and back—So now quick—make haste.”
 
It did not take Sodikromo long to get the vehicle ready, and soon he and Dalima were on their way with the nonna’s message.
 
While this was going on in the pandoppo, Mr. and Mrs. van Gulpendam were receiving their guests, who kept on gradually arriving, with the courtesy and suavity they could so well put on. [49]
 
“Well, that is kind of you, colonel, I call it really very kind of you to remain faithful to our little party,” said Laurentia to a gentleman who had just come in. He was in plain clothes; but his bearing and his white hair closely clipped and his bristling moustache plainly proclaimed him a soldier.
 
“And why, madam,” replied he, “what may have led you to suppose that I would have denied myself the pleasure of presenting myself here to-night?”
 
“Van Gulpendam has told me,” replied the hostess, “that there has been very ugly news from Atjeh, and that a considerable part of our garrison would have to leave. So I took it for granted that you would be much too busy to—”
 
“Do what, madam?” said the colonel, smiling.
 
“To come and take my hand here as usual?”
 
“By no means, I can assure you that a good deal would have to happen before I would forego the pleasure of your charming society. Oh, no,” he continued, “I have given my orders—the rest, the chief of my staff will see to.”
 
“And you,” said Laurentia, turning to another of her newly-arrived guests, “have not these sad tidings given you a great deal to do? A very large medical staff will have to accompany the expedition—at least, as member of the Red Cross I have received some such intimation from Batavia.”
 
“No, madam,” replied the gentleman thus addressed, who was chief medical officer at Santjoemeh. “I have not to complain of overwork. Every provision for our expedition to Atjeh has been made and I need not trouble my head about it any more. But, for all that, I can assure you that I was in real danger of being obliged to miss your pleasant party this evening.”
 
“Indeed,” said Laurentia, with much assumed interest, “I hope there is no case of serious illness among our friends, doctor?”
 
“I am glad to say there is not, madam,” replied the doctor. “But, as I was at my dinner this afternoon, the young surgeon on duty at the hospital came running in to tell me that I was urgently wanted. A young native, he said, had been brought in by the police, who was in a most dreadful condition, suffering from something which completely puzzled him. His diagnostica was altogether at fault.”
 
“His—what was at fault, did you say, doctor?” enquired Mrs van Gulpendam. [50]
 
“His diagnostica, madam,” replied the surgeon. “That is the name, you know, we give to the science by which we recognize a special form of disease. Well, as the young fellow assured me that the patient was in an extremely critical state—in fact in extremis—I had no choice but to go and see him. You know, dear madam,” proceeded the surgeon, sententiously, “a physician’s devotion must be that of a priest.”
 
“Oh, I know, of course,” replied Laurentia, with a slight smile; “but pray go on.”
 
“Well,” continued the surgeon, “I went all the way to the hospital. And now, just guess what was the matter!—Oh, those young doctors of the new school! The fellow had his mouth full of fine words—of absent diaeresis, of efflorescentia, of formicatio, of hemianthropia, and what not. But he couldn’t see with all his brand new science, that he had to do with a very simple—though I must own—a most severe case of urtication.”
 
“A severe case of what?” enquired Laurentia.
 
“Why, madam, of urtication,” replied the doctor, “the man had undergone, somehow or other, a most severe flogging with nettle-leaves.”
 
“Nettle-leaves!” exclaimed van Gulpendam, breaking into the conversation, his interest being thoroughly aroused at the doctor’s words. “These things,” he continued, “are called in Javanese, I think, Kamadoog—are they not, doctor?”
 
“Precisely so, Resident, you are quite right,” was the surgeon’s reply.
 
“Pray, doctor, do go on with your story,” said van Gulpendam. “Ten knots an hour if you please.”
 
“Well,” said the doctor, “that foolish young fellow might have let me finish my dinner in peace. There was nothing to be done in the case but what the people of the dessa had done already, the parts most afflicted had to be covered with sirih-chalk and the other parts with oil. It was very simple. The man was, of course, in a burning fever, but I need not have been disturbed for that, there are antifebrilia and antidinika in abundance in store, he might have administered them without calling me in.”
 
“And how long,” asked van Gulpendam, somewhat eagerly, “do the effects of such an urtication, as you call it, last?”
 
“Oh, that is impossible to say, that depends entirely upon how the nettle has been applied. This patient of ours has had an uncommonly heavy dose of it, and, in my opinion, the fever [51]will last some forty-eight hours. Then, I hope, it will abate, but it will be quite a fortnight before the man is on his legs again.”
 
“A fortnight,” said van Gulpendam, with a frown. “Why, that is a long time.”
 
“Yes,” said the surgeon, “it will be quite a fortnight, and then only if all goes well.”
 
“And tell me,” continued the Resident, “will it leave any serious consequences?”
 
“None whatever, my dear sir. If the patient once gets well over the fever, there will be none.”
 
“But surely,” insisted van Gulpendam, “there will be scars and the skin will be discoloured.”
 
“Certainly not—nothing of the kind,” replied the other.
 
“So that,” continued the Resident, “after the cure there will be no visible proofs of the treatment he has received?”
 
“There will be none. But, Resident, why all these questions? Perhaps you take some special interest in the man?”
 
“Not I,” said van Gulpendam, carelessly, but yet with some confusion. “Why should I? I know nothing about the case, I have heard nothing about it; but I have heard so much of the terrible effects of the Hoekoem Kamadoog that I often have wished to learn something more about it.”
 
Other guests were arriving, and so the conversation dropped. After the usual greetings the card-tables were occupied, while Anna was busying herself at the tea-table. Play had, however, scarcely begun before the chief inspector of police was announced. He paid his respects to the lady of the house, interchanged a few words with some of his acquaintance, and then turning to the Resident he said: “I beg your pardon, sir, for thus disturbing you; but the message I received, left me no choice but to intrude myself upon you at once.”
 
“Quite right, quite right, Mr. Meidema,” said the host, as he rose from his seat and turning to his partners he said: “Gentlemen, you must oblige me by playing a three-handed game for a few minutes, I have urgent business with Mr. Meidema.”
 
The two officials entered a side-chamber which opened upon the gallery, and after having carefully shut the door, Mr. van Gulpendam, without preface whatever, said to the inspector:
 
“Mr. Meidema, you have made a considerable capture of opium to-day, I hear.”
 
“Yes, Resident,” was the reply, “three buttertubs full, and [52]fifteen tins have been delivered into my custody. In the tubs the opium was packed just like butter, one little tub of ten kilos, inside a larger one, and surrounded by coarse salt. The tins contain about five kilos each. The whole amounts to about one and a half ‘pikols.’?”
 
“So, so,” said van Gulpendam, “that is a pretty good haul.”
 
“Which are worth,” continued Meidema, “I should say, about nine thousand guilders.”
 
“How do you make that out?” asked the Resident. “You know Government delivers the raw opium to the farmers at the rate of 30 guilders the kattie. Now, 30 × 150, is, according to my reckoning, no more than four thousand five hundred guilders. I am right, am I not?”
 
“You are perfectly right, sir,” replied Meidema. “But you must remember that this is not raw material. We have got hold of tjandoe, and you know, I suppose, that one kattie of raw opium gives only fifteen thirty second parts of pure tjandoe.”
 
“I daresay you are right,” said the other. “But,” he added, fixing a very strange look upon his inspector, “are you quite sure it is opium?”
 
Without appearing to notice his superior officer’s look, Meidema answered at once: “It is something better than that, sir, it is tjandoe. Look at the sample, I have one here with me. It is the purest Bengal article.”
 
“Hadn’t we better,” said van Gulpendam, “submit that sample to a chemist for analysis?”
 
“Just as you please,” said Meidema; “but I see not the slightest need for that. It is tjandoe, and it contains, at least, twenty or thirty per cent of morphia.”
 
“Indeed,” quoth van Gulpendam. “I was only thinking—Well, it is your business, you know what is best. The contraband has been placed in your custody. You know, I suppose, where it came from?”
 
“Oh yes, sir, I know where it came from. Your chief servant told me that it was put on shore from the Kiem Ping Hin, and you know—”
 
“From the Kiem Ping Hin,” hastily exclaimed van Gulpendam. “What makes you think that?”
 
“What makes me think that?” slowly repeated Meidema. “Why, Resident, I told you just now your chief servant told me so.”
 
“Man, man,” cried the Resident, in a loud voice.
 
The servant thus summoned appeared; and then turning to [53]Mr. Meidema and pointing to the Javanese, the Resident said: “Is that the man who told you this?”
 
“Yes, sir,” said Meidema, “that is the man.”
 
“Man,” said the Resident, as he sternly fixed his eye upon his Javanese servant, “that opium which you delivered to the toean Inspector, was found upon Ardjan—was it not?”
 
“Engèh, Kandjeng toean,” was the man’s reply. “But”—
 
“I will have no ‘buts,’?” cried van Gulpendam, “simply yes or no.”
 
“Engèh, Kandjeng toean,” said the man again stolidly.
 
“You hear it, Mr. Meidema?”
 
“Oh yes, Resident, I hear it,” replied the inspector, in a strange tone of voice.
 
“Very well, then,” continued his superior officer, “you will please to draw up your official report in accordance with that man’s evidence.”
 
“But, sir—” began the other.
 
“I will have no ‘buts,’?” interrupted van Gulpendam, sharply. “All you have to do is to do your duty.”
 
“Have you any other commands for me, Resident?” drily asked the inspector, with a stiff bow.
 
“No, thank you—none at present.”
 
A few moments later the card parties were in full swing, and Laurentia, who was holding splendid hands, was in unusually high spirits, and exceedingly talkative.
 
“Humph,” muttered her husband, as he took his seat at his own table. “She is beginning rather early—rather too early I am afraid.”