Van Nerekool’s interference was destined to bear very little fruit; but, on the other hand, it involved him in the most serious troubles. He was so young, he was so utterly without experience of all the complicated mazes of injustice which, in Dutch India, are found in both the judicial and administrative departments as soon as ever these are brought into contact with anything that touches the great Opium monopoly. [64]  
A few weeks after his conversation with Anna van Gulpendam, she told him, on the occasion of another visit which he paid to her family, that Ardjan had been discharged from the hospital, but only to be immediately committed to jail. Thereupon, van Nerekool began to make inquiries from the President of the Council at Santjoemeh, and from him he heard that the Javanese was lying in prison on an accusation of smuggling opium in considerable quantities.
 
“But,” added the President, Mr. Zuidhoorn, “there is, in this case, one very curious feature, which I do not at all understand.”
 
“Indeed,” said van Nerekool, “what may that be?”
 
“Why, it is this,” said Mr. Zuidhoorn. “Last week I received a letter from the Resident, in which he tells me in what order and on what dates he wants us to take the cases we have before us.”
 
“Why,” cried van Nerekool, “he has no right whatever to do that—such dictation is perfectly illegal—it is directly contrary to the law!”
 
“Precisely so,” continued Zuidhoorn. “And, as you may suppose, I have flatly refused to obey his directions. But listen further. On that list of his, Ardjan’s trial is put the very last of all. Can you make that out?”
 
“Well,” said van Nerekool, “I daresay it is because he has no proofs against the man. In fact, I feel persuaded that it is a mere trumped up case, and knowing that it is so, he wishes to keep the man as long as possible in custody, so that when ultimately he is acquitted, he may have the satisfaction of saying: the fellow has been so many months locked up for my pleasure.”
 
Mr. Zuidhoorn cast a sharp look at his young colleague. “It may be so,” said he, after a pause, “however, that is not the view I take of the matter.”
 
“Indeed,” said the other, “what, then, is your opinion?”
 
“Well,” said Mr. Zuidhoorn, “you know, I suppose, that I have applied for leave of absence on account of my health, and that I am going to Holland?”
 
“I have heard so,” replied the young man; “but what of that?”
 
“What of that?” repeated the President. “Don’t you see! If the cases should be taken in the order van Gulpendam directs, why then, we have so many of them that Ardjan cannot possibly be tried before six or eight weeks.” [65]
 
“Certainly, I see that,” said van Nerekool; “but—”
 
“You see,” continued the President, “by that time I shall be far enough away.”
 
“Quite so,” rejoined the other; “but what does that matter? I suppose some other judge will be appointed in your place to preside at Santjoemeh, while you are absent.”
 
A bitter smile curled the lip of Mr. Zuidhoorn. “Who knows?” said he, “where that substitute may have to come from. Travelling in India is a slow business. If, for instance, Mr. Raabtoon were called from Padang, or Mr. Nellens had to come from Makassar, why, there are two months gone before either of them can be properly installed, and meanwhile—”
 
“Meanwhile,” interrupted van Nerekool, “they may appoint some other member of the court for the time being, to get through the unfinished cases.”
 
“Yes,” replied Mr. Zuidhoorn. “They could do that no doubt; but they will not. You know well enough that in case of absence on leave, the Resident has the power himself to preside at the Council.”
 
“Yes,” said van Nerekool; “what if he did?”
 
“If he did,” continued Mr. Zuidhoorn, “it is obvious enough what would happen. As soon as I am gone, the Resident will take Ardjan’s case himself.”
 
“But, my dear sir,” said van Nerekool, “why should he do such a thing?”
 
“How can I tell why?” replied the other. “You recollect how, some time ago, a colonial minister wrote to the king and drew his majesty’s attention to the fact that officials are systematically bribed by the opium farmers, and that thus the authority of those who have to carry out the laws is undermined, seeing that they are wholly under the influence of the Chinese opium farmers and smugglers. Look you, my dear sir, I have much more experience in these matters than you can have, and when I come to consider the evident anxiety there seems to exist at headquarters, to have this case of Ardjan’s put off to the last, then I cannot but suspect that an attempt is being made to get the case out of the hands of the unprejudiced and competent judge.”
 
“But,” exclaimed van Nerekool, indignantly, “that is most monstrous, it is infamous.”
 
“No doubt it is,” quietly said the President.
 
“And what course have you taken?” asked van Nerekool.
 
“I have taken the only course I could take,” replied Mr. [66]Zuidhoorn. “I have simply done my duty. I have already told you that I have flatly refused to put off the case. It will, therefore, come before us in its proper turn, that is to say, about Tuesday fortnight.”
 
It was not, however, to be so.
 
A few days before the above conversation took place between the legal officials, the Resident, Mr. van Gulpendam, received an unexpected visit.
 
Yes, the visit was a wholly unexpected one, for it was Sunday, and about two o’clock in the afternoon, at a time when, of all others, no man in Dutch India looks to be disturbed. About eleven o’clock that same morning, Mr. van Gulpendam had gone to his club, and had amused himself with a game or two at billiards. He liked to show his subordinates that, though he had not cruised about Delft or Leyden, he yet was just as handy as they were at cutting a ball into the middle pocket, and had not forgotten how to put on side. About one o’clock, he had gone home, had made an excellent and hearty luncheon, and then, in the pleasing consciousness of being able to enjoy the Lord’s Day undisturbed, had put on his pyjamas and kabaai, and was just preparing to turn in for his afternoon nap. His hand was already on the handle of his bedroom door, when lo, his chief servant appeared in his usual quiet, stealthy way, slid down to the ground, made a most respectful “sembah,” and softly whispered that Babah Lim Yang Bing requested the honour of a few moments’ interview with the Kandjeng toean.
 
“Babah Lim Yang Bing,” exclaimed van Gulpendam, in surprise. “What? the Opium farmer?”
 
“Engèh, Kandjeng toean.”
 
“Show him in at once,” ordered the master.
 
“But, van Gulpendam,” said his wife, “what are you thinking about? In that costume?”
 
“It does not matter, my dear,” replied the husband, “we must sail when the wind blows fair. But—oh yes—” and, calling another attendant, he ordered, “Go and fetch the pajoeng stand here.”
 
Laurentia shrugged her shoulders. “There’s a pretty thing, the Resident in pyjamas and kabaai, and the golden pajoeng by his side.”
 
“It looks more dignified, my dear. You leave me to manage, we are having a fair breeze, I tell you. Now you run away to your nest.” [67]
 
“Humph,” muttered Laurentia, with her most captivating smile. “Very sociable, I must say, all alone. Come, my dear,” she continued, “do send that Chinaman about his business.”
 
“Not a bit of it,” said van Gulpendam, “we must keep the galley fire in—you seem to forget our bill to John Pryce.”
 
But the lady had vanished. One of her female attendants had come in and whispered to her mistress that M?Bok Karijah was in the kitchen waiting to see her.
 
This M?Bok Karijah was a friend of Nènèh Wong Toewa and pretty nearly as old as she was; but she had more strings to her bow than Mrs. van Gulpendam’s confidante, for besides being a doekoen, she was also a bep?rr?, a dealer in jewellery.
 
“Much use her coming now,” muttered the lady, “now that my husband has this Chinaman on his hands.”
 
She hastened however to her room, and ordered her servant to show the old woman up.
 
At the entrance of the pandoppo the Chinaman and the old crone met. Neither, however, seemed to have the slightest knowledge of the other; but a smile played upon the lips of the babah. For anyone but M?Bok Karijah that smile was no more than the stereotyped smirk which the sallow face of every Celestial wears when he is about to enter the presence of a superior. The old woman, however, knew that it was a smile of inward satisfaction. Preceded by the servant girl she entered the inner gallery and was admitted into the njonja’s bed-chamber, while the Chinaman approached the Resident who sat comfortably balancing himself in his rocking-chair by the side of which was displayed the pajoeng stand which surrounded the high and mighty lord with its lustre of umbrellas.
 
“Well, babah,” began van Gulpendam as with a careless gesture he motioned the Chinaman to a seat, “Well, babah, what brings you here this hot time of day?”
 
The Chinaman took a chair without ceremony, and with a sly look he said airily, “Oh I merely came to inquire after the health of the Kandjeng toean.”
 
“The deuce you have, babah, I must say you might have chosen some other time for that.”
 
“Oh, pray don’t say so, Kandjeng toean. Really this is the very best time for a little quiet chat. Body and mind are now both at rest, and this is the very moment for a little business.”
 
“Oh so,” said van Gulpendam, with a laugh, “the babah has come on business, has he?”
 
“That is why,” said the Chinaman lowering his voice, “I [68]was so anxious that no one should see me slipping into the garden of the Residence.”
 
Van Gulpendam pricked his ears.
 
“You are very mysterious, babah,” said he, “have you come to bother me again about that confounded opium?”
 
“Yes, Kandjeng toean, and for something else besides.”
 
“Very well, babah, let us hear what you have to say.” He had it on the tip of his tongue to call out, “Very well, babah, haul away,” and, had he at the moment known how to get it out in Malay, out it would have come. But he had time to reflect that the Chinaman would not, in any case, have appreciated the force of the nautical phrase.
 
Babah Lim Yang Bing, then, in his oily fashion proceeded to give his version of the seizure of opium near the djaga monjet in the Moeara Tjatjing, and made some attempt to explain to the Resident that what had been seized there was in reality no opium at all.
 
“Oh, indeed,” laughed van Gulpendam, “that is your tack is it? It was not opium—what was it then?”
 
“Oh, Kandjeng toean,” smiled the other, “it was nothing but scrapings of opium pipes mixed with the thickened juice of certain plants.”
 
“Well,” said the Resident in a mocking tone of voice, “if that be so, then there is an end of the matter, then there is nothing illegal at all in it.”
 
“Yes, yes,” replied the other, “but the inspector of police insists that it is opium.”
 
“The deuce he does!” said van Gulpendam.
 
“Yes,” said the Chinaman, “and he has consulted a couple of Chinese experts, and these, not knowing where the stuff came from, and judging by the smell and the taste have come to the conclusion, and have publicly declared, that it is first class tjandoe, very superior to that which the government supplies us farmers with.”
 
“You mean to tell me,” cried van Gulpendam in amazement, “that the inspector has told you all that?”
 
“Yes, Kandjeng toean, and he has done more than that He has placed a sample of it into the hands of a chemist.”
 
“Well,” said the other. “And what is the chemist’s opinion?”
 
“He has made an affidavit,” replied the Chinaman, “to the effect that it is real tjandoe containing thirty-two per cent. of morphine.” [69]
 
“That settles the matter,” said the Resident. “I am sorry for it babah, I cannot help you at all, things must take their course.”
 
“But,” insinuated the other, “if the Kandjeng toean would—”
 
“No, no, babah!” said van Gulpendam in an absent kind of way, as if his mind was on something else. “No, babah, I can do nothing for you.”
 
“I am very sorry to hear it,” said the Chinaman affecting to sigh though the stereotyped smile still hovered on his lips. Then, with ready tact dropping that topic of conversation altogether, he began to talk about indifferent matters, about the gossip of the day, the state of trade, about the ships that had just come in, and so on—when suddenly he said: “Yesterday, you know, the Wyberton of the Rotterdam Lloyd came into harbour. She has brought me a splendid consignment of Havanah cigars. I have had a few of them packed up as samples in cases of a dozen. They are very fine indeed. I happen to have one of these little cases about me. Will the Kandjeng toean do me the favour of having a look at it?”
 
With these words the wily Chinaman produced a cigar-case, which, as far as outward appearance went, was really very pretty indeed, it was very tastefully embroidered with bunches of red roses.
 
The Resident took the case, looked at it, admired it, and opened it. It contained twelve cigars, very fine looking Havanahs, which, by their fragrance, were undoubtedly of an excellent brand. But, as the Chinaman went on talking, the Resident looked at the case and its contents in a very abstracted mood, as if he hardly saw it at all, his thoughts were evidently elsewhere. At length, he handed the case back, and said, “Yes, a very pretty thing—it seems a very fine sample.”
 
“Would the Kandjeng toean condescend to accept them at my hands?” asked the Chinaman with his most winning smile.
 
“What? you wish me—?”
 
“Oh sir, it is but the merest trifle. The Kandjeng toean will have the pleasure of smoking a really excellent cigar—I will answer for it—and he will be conferring the greatest favour upon me if he will accept them as a little present.”
 
Without making any reply, without so much as a sign of consent, the Resident listlessly allowed the gift to drop on a little table that stood by his side, and, just as if nothing whatever had happened, he took up the conversation precisely where it had been broken off. [70]
 
“When that opium came ashore,” said he, “did anyone happen to be present?”
 
“No one, Kandjeng toean, but my two spies, Liem King and Than Khan.”
 
“Can you trust the fellows?”
 
“Most absolutely,” was the reply, “there is not the smallest fear from that quarter.”
 
“And the opium was discovered, you say, close to the spot where Ardjan was picked up?”
 
“Not two hundred yards from where he was,” replied the Chinaman.
 
“And they found the djoekoeng in which he came ashore did they not?” asked van Gulpendam.
 
“Yes, Kandjeng toean, it was a surf boat.”
 
“That is all I want to know, babah,” said the Resident.
 
The astute Chinaman took the hint, he rose and was preparing to leave; but the Resident motioned him back to his seat.
 
“You have not said a word yet, babah, about that other business,” said van Gulpendam carelessly.
 
“What business?”
 
“Your son Lim Ho has treated Ardjan most barbarously.”
 
“One has nothing but sorrow from one’s children, Kandjeng toean,” said the Chinaman piteously.
 
“That is all very fine,” said the Resident, “but the chief medical officer has made an official report which is very serious, very serious indeed. I am afraid, I am afraid—”
 
“Ah, this is a world of suffering and woe, Kandjeng toean,” sighed Lim Yang Bing most dolefully. “Is there no possible means of squaring it with the doctor?”
 
“Who knows,” said van Gulpendam thoughtfully. “Now if I had the matter in hand, I might perhaps—”
 
“O pray, Kandjeng toean,” whined the Chinaman. “Do pray help me I beseech you.”
 
“I shall see,” said van Gulpendam. “A great deal depends upon yourself, babah. You know the penalty for ill-treatment is very severe.”
 
The Chinaman, in a moment, took the not too delicate hint. He felt in his pocket and drew forth a little silver tea-caddy of most exquisite workmanship. Said he; “That Wyberton I mentioned just now, has brought me some very fine silver ware from Paris. Just look at that fretwork. Do you think van Kempen in the Hague could turn out anything better than that?” [71]
 
Van Gulpendam took the box. “Aye, aye,” said he, as he examined it, “it is marvellously pretty—very tasteful I must say.”
 
“I have had the box filled with the choicest Chousong, such tea never reaches Europe, it is reserved for the court at Pekin. Just smell it, Kandjeng toean, is it not delicious?”
 
The resident opened the tea-caddy and put his nose to it, but not before he had had a peep inside it. “Most delicious,” he exclaimed. “Why, babah, you must send me some of that tea, we cannot get anything worth drinking here, the njonja is always grumbling at her storekeeper.”
 
“Oh!” cried the Chinaman, “may I beg the Kandjeng toean to accept that little sample as an offering to the njonja?”
 
“Thank you very much, babah, I am pleased to accept it in her name. I am sure she will be delighted with it.”
 
The face of the Celestial glowed with satisfaction; he felt that now he had his foot fairly in the stirrup. “I may hope then,” said he, “that the Kandjeng toean will—”
 
“I can promise you nothing at all, babah,” said the Resident. “I shall see, however, what I can do.” He rose as he spoke—a sign that the interview was at an end; but suddenly a thought seemed to strike him. “Do you know who it is that has charged your son with ill-treating Ardjan?”
 
“Yes, I do, Kandjeng toean, it is Pak Ardjan, the father of the mate.”
 
“He is a notorious opium smuggler, is he not? Some day or other he will burn his fingers at it.”
 
The Chinaman looked up in surprise; but he saw through it.
 
“At least,” continued van Gulpendam, in the most off-hand way, “that is what I hear from the police, it is no business of mine. I shall see what I can do.”
 
Babah Lim Yang Bing stepped up to the great man and familiarly held out his hand; Jack was as good as his master now. But just at that moment a handsome big dog—one of Anna’s favourites—came bounding into the pandoppo, and wagging his tail, came jumping up at his master. Van Gulpendam took the animal’s paw and coolly placed it into the babah’s outstretched palm.
 
“Oh, it is all the same to me, noble sir,” said the Chinaman, with his false smile, as he heartily shook the dog’s honest paw.
 
The Dutch official thoroughly understood those words of the Chinaman. As soon as he was alone in the pandoppo, [72]he, with a greedy look, opened the cigar-case and emptied it on the table. His face beamed with joy, for round each Havanah there was very neatly wrapped a bank-note of a thousand guilders, in such a manner that one half of the cigars only was covered, and nothing could be seen of the paper when first the case was opened. Next he put his fingers into the tea-caddy. Yes, there again he encountered the same soft kind of paper. He was about to pull it out; but suddenly he thought better of it, he hurriedly replaced the precious cigars, snatched up the case and the silver box, and rushed into his private office where he immediately sat down and began to write the letter which so puzzled the President of the Council at Santjoemeh. Just as he had sealed it, he heard his wife coming into the inner gallery, and taking leave of M?Bok Karijah.
 
“A lucky day,” he whispered in her ear, as he threw his arm round her neck. “A lucky day,” and thus he drew her along.
 
“A lucky day?” she asked, replying to his embrace by folding her arm round his waist as she gazed at him with moist and glittering eyes.
 
Thus they went to the bedroom. When he got there van Gulpendam carefully closed the door and double locked it. Then he drew his wife to the table, and, taking a seat, he shook out upon it the contents of the cigar-case and of the tea-caddy, while Laurentia stood by him, her eyes fixed upon the bits of paper. There were five-and-twenty of them, there could be no mistake about them, for the mark upon their silky surface told plainly enough that each represented the value of one thousand guilders. A shade of disappointment passed over Laurentia’s handsome features. It passed away in an instant, and was gone long before her husband could notice it. He saw her eagerly seizing upon the notes, carefully unrolling them from the cigars and smoothing down those which had come out of the tea-caddy in a sadly crumpled condition.
 
“Twenty-five thousand guilders!” cried she. “A pretty sum indeed—Truly it is a lucky day, for added to what I have got—”
 
“What have you got?” cried her husband.
 
“Yes, what I have just now received from M?Bok Karijah!”
 
“Let us see! What did she give you?” eagerly cried van Gulpendam. [73]
 
“I will show you presently; but first this.” As she spoke she took up a little parcel which was lying on the table by the side of a cardboard box which bore marks of having already been opened. She then carefully stripped off and put aside the pisang-leaves in which the parcel was wrapped, and at length she produced a small cup of the commonest earthenware, which contained a greenish, quivering jelly, of most disgusting appearance. “First take this,” said Laurentia, as, with a tiny Chinese spoon, she scooped out of the greenish mass, a piece about the size of a hazel-nut, and held it to her husband’s lips as though she was going to feed him. “First take that, Gulpie, dear—and then I will show you.”
 
Van Gulpendam cast a most comical look of despair at the gruesome morsel, while his face assumed an expression of loathing which baffles description. “That filthy stuff again,” he whined submissively. “You know it is no good.”
 
“Oh, yes,” said she, “it is—this is quite a new drug. It must work, M?Bok Karijah brought it to me only this morning.”
 
“Do you intend me to swallow that horrid stuff?”
 
“Come, Gulpie,” said his wife, as she still held the spoon to his mouth. “Now, don’t be childish, swallow it at once. You will see how it will work,” continued she, as she patted his back with her hand. “Now, there’s a dear, swallow it down, and then I will tell you how I have had as good a Hari ontong as you.”
 
Whether his wife’s coaxing words and ardent looks, or his intense curiosity to know what she had to tell him, overcame his repugnance matters but little. Suffice it to say, that the poor wretch shut his eyes, and opened his mouth, while his wife, with the spoon, put the pale-greenish mess upon his tongue. As he tasted it he heaved so violently with intense disgust, that an explosion seemed imminent.
 
“Come, swallow, swallow!” cried Laurentia, again patting his back with her soft hand. “So, so, that’s right; and now clean the spoon, the stuff is much too precious to waste.”
 
So the unhappy man was compelled to lick up and swallow the last vestige of the nauseous compound which clung to the spoon.
 
“And now,” said he, “now for your story.”
 
“Come here, Gulpie,” said his wife, in her most coaxing manner. “Come here and sit down by me on the divan, and I will tell you all about it.” She took up the box from the [74]table, and seating herself cross-legged on the divan after the fashion of the natives, she drew her husband close to her side.
 
And now she proceeded to relate to him how M?Bok Karijah had, in the strictest confidence, told her how madly Lim Ho was in love with the baboe Dalima, and, as if they both did not know that well enough already, she added, with a strange smile, that he would do anything in the world to gain possession of the maiden. The forcible abduction from under the very eyes of her mistress was indeed proof sufficient of the ardour of his passion, and the poor fellow had been most grievously disappointed that he had been unable to attain his object.
 
Fair Laurentia did not tell her husband all this simply, and as a matter of fact story. No, no, she was an artiste in the arts of wheedling and seduction. She took her time and knew how to impart to her tale the necessary shades and tints—here and there seeming to hesitate as if modestly disinclined to enter into somewhat questionable details; and then again at the right moment launching out into a freedom of speech which threatened to become impassioned if it did not indeed actually border upon the indecent. And so she managed to finish her story by a glowing description of the ardent Chinaman and the personal charms of lovely Dalima.
 
Van Gulpendam had first listened to her attentively, her highly coloured narrative had greatly interested him. But—Was it the effect of the drug he had swallowed, or was it an occasional peep into fair Laurentia’s half-open kabaja, or were there other influences at work which made him lose his mental balance? At all events, the man was trembling with excitement when his fair neighbour brought her story to an end with the words:
 
“M?Bok Karijah implored me to lend her my assistance and to exert my influence with Dalima to make her yield to Lim Ho’s ardent passion. As earnest of the man’s gratitude she offered me this.”
 
Thus saying, Laurentia opened the box and drew forth a magnificent red coral necklace depending from which hung a large rosette of precious stones.
 
“Look, Gulpie, look!” she cried, triumphantly, “these brilliants alone are worth more than ten thousand guilders,” and as she spoke she threw the necklace over her well-shaped shoulders. The deep red corals showed off splendidly on the [75]soft pearly white skin, while the rich clasp of jewels lay glittering on her heaving bosom.
 
But van Gulpendam had no eyes for the costly gift. He clasped his fair wife to his breast as he exclaimed beside himself with passion:
 
“You are lovely, my Laurentia! You are too lovely!”
 
“The drug, the drug,” cried she, “you see it is the drug! M?Bok Karijah has surpassed herself. You see, Gulpie, you see!”
 
“Yes; darling Laurie,” cried he, in ecstasy. “It must be the stuff. I feel it working in my veins.”
 
“Indeed, indeed, this is—this is indeed, a lucky day!”