The reader was here interrupted by a loud voice crying out in the verandah:  
“Donnerwetter! what has become of Mr. Grenits?”
 
“That’s our Pole,” said van Rheijn, folding up the letter he was reading and replacing it in his pocket. “There is nothing specially interesting in the end of William’s letter, and I do not [394]think it advisable to allow a private communication of this kind to spread beyond our own little circle.”
 
The door opened and Dr. Murowski entered. Having shaken hands with the prisoner and greeted the other gentlemen, he said in a queer lingo of his own, made up of Dutch, German, and Polish, but which we will not attempt to reproduce:
 
“Rather behind time, I fear, gentlemen, rather behind time, but donnerwetter—!”
 
“Come, come, doctor,” said van Beneden with a laugh, “no strong language if you please. I daresay you fell in with Miss van Bemmelen on the green.”
 
The doctor reddened up to the very roots of his hair, as he replied in some confusion:
 
“Well, yes, I did meet her—”
 
“In that case, my dear fellow,” continued van Beneden, “you need not trouble yourself to make any apology at all, where there is a lady in the case—”
 
“Stuff and nonsense!” broke in Murowski, “I wasn’t in her company for five minutes!”
 
“If that be the case, doctor,” said van Rheijn, “we must ask you why you have kept us so long. You knew we were all here waiting for you.”
 
“Oh, never mind,” put in Grashuis with a smile, “don’t press him too hard—our learned friend has probably been hunting some other pretty little butterfly!”
 
“Yes, I can see him,” continued van Beneden, “net in hand, running after some splendid Sphynx.”
 
“Indeed,” growled Murowski, “you seem to have a pretty lively imagination. Sphynx indeed! A funny kind of Sphynx has been after me!”
 
Van Rheijn laughed aloud. “Now, come,” said he, “illustrious countryman of Sobieski, of Poniatowski, and so many other worthies in ski, let us have your news—for news you evidently have to tell us. Let us have it. But, mind you, whatever excuse you may have to make—it will have to be a a good one.”
 
“As I was strolling about the green enjoying the music,” began the doctor, “my chief called me aside and said he wanted to see me at his quarters as soon as ever the concert was over.”
 
“Well, what of that?” cried the friends.
 
“A request of this kind,” rejoined the Pole, “is, as you know, gentlemen, tantamount to a positive order.” [395]
 
“Yes, yes,” cried van Rheijn, full of curiosity, “we grant you that; but what important communication had he to make to you?”
 
“No doubt some case of pneumato—” began van Beneden.
 
But Murowski did not give him time to complete his sentence.
 
“He simply wanted to tell me that I am to be transferred to another station.”
 
“You are going to leave us?” exclaimed the friends in a breath.
 
“Yes, gentlemen, so it seems—you see I have been a very long time settled in this place,” grumbled Murowski, “it must be quite five months and a half.”
 
“Well, and where are they going to send you to?”
 
“To Gombong, it appears.”
 
“They might very easily have packed you off to a worse place,” said van Rheijn, “to Singkelen, for instance, or to Atjeh.”
 
“Oh, I have no doubt you are quite right there,” sighed Murowski, “but where on earth is Gombong? You must excuse my ignorance, gentlemen,” continued he, with a smile, “the study of Indian geography is, I fear, somewhat neglected in Poland.”
 
“Gombong,” exclaimed van Rheijn, “is in Bagelen.”
 
“Indeed,” replied the Pole, “I am much obliged to you for the information; but where may Bagelen be?”
 
“Bagelen,” said the embryo-controller, with a certain sense of superiority, pointing in the required direction, “Bagelen is only just over there.”
 
“Not over the sea then?” cried Murowski, evidently much relieved.
 
“No, no, my dear fellow, not a bit of it; a carriage will take you there very comfortably. But, why don’t you ask van Nerekool, he has but just returned from the very place. He knows all about it. Why! he lost his heart there!”
 
“Lost his heart? At Gombong?” asked Murowski, looking from one to the other with a puzzled air.
 
“Not exactly at Gombong; but at all events very close by, at Karang Anjer. Do you know Miss van Gulpendam?”
 
“Pretty Miss van Gulpendam! Of course I do,” exclaimed the doctor.
 
“Very well then, Miss van Gulpendam has gone to Karang Anjer, and she has taken our friend’s heart along with her.”
 
“That’s smart,” replied the Pole, quite mistaking the meaning of the word he employed.
 
“Oh, you think so?” asked Grashuis, drily. [396]
 
This conversation, as may well be supposed, was highly distasteful to van Nerekool. He hastened to put an end to it by saying:
 
“Gentlemen, I vote we begin to think of our experiment.”
 
“Ah, you are right,” exclaimed the doctor, “our experientia by all means; experientia optima rerum magistra you know. By-the-bye, did you receive the parcel I sent you?”
 
“Oh, yes,” answered Grenits, “you will find it safe on that little table yonder.”
 
Thereupon Murowski produced his instruments; a couple of thermometers, a hygrometer, an aneroid barometer, a stethoscope, and a small chemical balance.
 
While he was arranging these, van Rheijn opened the other parcel, which contained a bedoedan and a small box of tjandoe.
 
“I say,” cried van Beneden, who was the first to open the little box, “precious nasty stuff this looks!”
 
Murowski took the box from him, examined the contents, and then falling at once into a lecturing tone, he began:
 
“Opium is an amorphous, sticky substance which, being of a gummy nature, is not fissile but plastic. It is of a dark brown colour, possesses a faint sweetish smell, and is somewhat oily to the touch. Its chief constituents are morphine and narcotine, in the absence of these the drug has no value.”
 
“But,” interrupted van Beneden somewhat impatiently, “which of us is to submit to the experiment?”
 
“The best plan to settle that question,” said van Rheijn, “would be, I think, to draw lots.”
 
“Very good,” put in Murowski, “providing you allow me to stand out, as I shall have to watch the experiment.”
 
“Now, I think,” suggested Grenits, “you had better let me make the trial.”
 
“Why you, rather than anyone of us?”
 
“Why, because, being a prisoner,” replied Grenits, “I have plenty of time on my hands to get over the effects of the debauch.”
 
“You are quite right,” said van Rheijn, “I never thought of that—I must be at my office as usual to-morrow morning.”
 
“And I,” continued van Beneden, “I have to be in court, on Setrosmito’s business, you know.”
 
“Of course, of course!” cried all in chorus, “not one of us must, on any account, miss that trial.”
 
“Very good,” said Grenits, “we are all agreed then that I am to be the smoker.” [397]
 
“It is very kind of you, Theodoor, to make the offer.”
 
“All right, I am quite ready to begin.”
 
“Very likely,” interrupted Murowski, “but that is more than I am.”
 
“No, and I am not ready yet,” said Edward van Rheijn.
 
Thereupon, assuming the most severe professional gravity, the worthy Pole commenced carefully to weigh out the stock of opium, which he found came to 142 grains. This fact he noted down in his pocket-book.
 
“You had better add,” said van Rheijn, “that there are twenty-five matas.”
 
“Twenty-five what?” asked Murowski, again with a puzzled look.
 
“Twenty-five matas,” repeated van Rheijn.
 
“Matas!” exclaimed the doctor. “What? eyes?”
 
The general burst of merriment which followed the question served only to augment the doctor’s surprise.
 
“Eyes!” laughed van Rheijn, “no, no, nothing of the kind. The Government table of opium weights runs thus: 1 pikoe = 100 katties, 1 kattie = 16 ta?ls, 1 ta?l = 10 tji, and 1 tji = 10 matas, and therefore—”
 
“All right, all right!” cried Murowski, as he joined in the laugh, “now I see it.”
 
“But, gentlemen,” he continued, “we must look sharp, the sun has set.”
 
It was nearly a quarter past six and, in the month of August, the sun in Java sets some time before that hour.
 
Murowski requested Grenits to have the lamps lighted, and when the servant had brought in the lights, the Pole continued:
 
“Now then, Grenits, get your clothes off!”
 
“What is that for?” asked Theodoor.
 
“My dear fellow,” replied the doctor, “I must have you in pyjamas; for I shall have narrowly to watch the action of the chest.”
 
Grenits retired to his bedroom, and in a few minutes returned clad in his ordinary night clothing. The doctor then made him lie down on the divan, he felt his pulse, examined his tongue, sounded him with the stethoscope, and carefully took his temperature. During these preliminaries the countenance of Murowski wore a look of stern solemnity which, no doubt, ought to have impressed the spectators with the feelings of respect and awe due to a high priest of science; but which, unfortunately, only served to excite their merriment. Even Grenits himself could hardly repress a smile. [398]
 
“What in the world is the good of all that hocus-pocus?” whispered August van Beneden to Grashuis.
 
“Why are you lawyers,” rejoined the other, “always fencing with scraps of Latin? It is the correct thing, I suppose. It is a trick of the trade.”
 
At length Grenits said: “Well, doctor, is my carcase in pretty good order?”
 
“Perfect,” replied Murowski, “perfectly normal; I must have a look at the barometer, and then our experiment may begin at once.”
 
The barometer recorded 745 m.m., and the doctor made a note of the reading.
 
“There, now,” he said to Grenits, “I am quite ready—no, no, wait a bit—there is something else. When did you last partake of food?”
 
“At half-past twelve,” replied Grenits, “the usual dinner.”
 
“Thank you,” said the doctor, and looking at his watch he continued, “It is now half-past six—just six hours ago. Did you partake of anything in the way of spirits?”
 
“No, nothing of the kind,” answered Grenits, “nothing but a little pale ale.”
 
The doctor then placed his thermometers in position under the patient’s arms.
 
While all this was doing, van Rheijn was busily employed dividing the opium into twenty-five equal parts. Then he lit the lamps, and, warming the bits of opium at the flame of the little lamp to make them soft, he kneaded into each of them some very finely cut Javanese tobacco, and then rolled them into small round pills. His friends looked on with some surprise at the dexterity with which he performed these manipulations; for he had not told them that, previously, he had asked Lim Ho to show him how the thing ought to be done. This lesson the wily Chinaman had been only too willing to give him. “Who knows,” thought he, with a grin, “perhaps the Europeans may take a fancy to the delicacy.” When Edward had prepared his pills, he produced the bedoedan. It consisted of a tolerably thick bamboo stem some nine or ten inches in length, highly polished and of a beautiful light-brown tint. This stem was open at one end and sealed at the other. Very near to the closed end and at right angles to the stem, a small earthenware bowl was inserted into the wood.
 
“It is a spick-span brand new one, I can assure you,” said van Rheijn to Theodoor, “I bought it myself for this very occasion.” [399]
 
“Thank heaven for that!” cried Grenits. “Just fancy if one of those old sots had been sucking and slobbering at it! Bah! it makes me sick to think of it.”
 
“That shows how innocent you are,” rejoined van Rheijn, “your real lover of opium, your ‘feinschmecker,’ prizes an old pipe very highly. When the stem is thoroughly saturated and the bowl thickly encrusted with juice, the smoke must be indeed delicious.”
 
Thus saying, Edward put one of the little pills into the bowl and handed the pipe, thus loaded, to his friend, while he drew the little table with the lamp within easy reach of the smoker.
 
Grenits lay stretched out at full length on the divan, the front of his kabaai was wide open, so that the action of the chest was plainly visible, and his head rested on a somewhat hard pillow.
 
“Now,” remarked Grashuis, “there is only one thing lacking, and that is the greasy filthy pillow we saw in the den at Kaligaweh.”
 
“Much obliged to you, Leendert,” laughed Grenits. “I would not for the world touch t............