"Yes, I did once, at Singapore. I thought I"d like to see what it was like."
"What happened?"
"Nothing very thrilling, to tell you the truth. I thought I was going to have the most exquisite emotions. I expected visions, like de Quincey"s, you know. The only thing I felt was a kind of physical well-being, the same sort of feeling that you get when you"ve had a Turkish bath and are lying in the cooling room, and then a peculiar activity of mind so that everything I thought of seemed extremely clear."
"I know"
"I really felt that two and two are four and there could not be the smallest doubt about it. But next morning-oh G.o.d! My head reeled. I was as sick as a dog, I was sick all day, I vomited my soul out, and as I vomited I said to myself miserably: And there are people who call this fun."
Grosely leaned back in his chair and gave a low mirthless laugh.
"I expect it was bad stuff. Or you went at it too hard. They saw you were a mug and gave you dregs that had been smoked already. They"re enough to turn anybody up. Would you like to have another try now? I"ve got some stuff here that I know"s good."
"No, I think once was enough for me."
D"you mind if I have a pipe or two? You want it in a climate like this. It keeps you from getting dysentery. And I generally have a bit of a smoke about this time."
"Go ahead," I said.
He spoke again to the woman and she, raising her voice, called out something in a raucous tone. An answer came from the room behind the wooden part.i.tion and after a minute or two an old woman came out carrying a little round tray. She was shrivelled and old and when she entered gave me an ingratiating smile of her stained mouth. Grosely got up and crossed over to the bed and lay on it. The old woman set the tray down on the bed; on it was a spirit-lamp, a pipe, a long needle, and a little round box of opium. She squatted on the bed and Grosely"s wife got on it too and sat, her feet tucked up under her, with her back against the wall. Grosely watched the old woman while she put a little pellet of the drug on the needle, held it over the flame till it sizzled, and then plugged it into the pipe. She handed it to him and with a great breath he inhaled it, he held the smoke for a little while and then blew it out in a thick grey cloud. He handed her back the pipe and she started to make another. n.o.body spoke. He smoked three pipes in succession and then sank back.
"By George, I feel better now I was feeling all in. She makes a wonderful pipe, this old hag. Are you sure you won"t have one?"
"Quite."
"Please yourself Have some tea then."
He spoke to his wife, who scrambled off the bed and went out of the room. Presently she came back with a little china pot of tea and a couple of Chinese bowls.
"A lot of people smoke here, you know. It does you no harm if you don"t do it to excess. I never smoke more than twenty to twenty-five pipes a day. You can go on for years if you limit yourself to that. Some of the Frenchmen smoke as many as forty or fifty a day. That"s too much. I never do that, except now and then when I feel I want a binge. I"m bound to say it"s never done me any harm."
We drank our tea, pale and vaguely scented and clean on the palate. Then the old woman made him another pipe and then another. His wife has got back on to the bed and soon curling herself up at his feet went to sleep. Grosely smoked two or three pipes at a time, and while he was smoking seemed intent upon nothing else, but in the intervals he was loquacious. Several times I suggested going, but he would not let me. The hours wore on. Once or twice while he smoked I dozed. He told me all about himself He went on and on. I spoke only to give him a cue. I cannot relate what he told me in his own words. He repeated himself He was very long-winded and he told me his story confusedly, first a late bit, then an early bit, so that I had to arrange the sequence for myself; sometimes I saw that, afraid he had said too much, he held something back; sometimes he lied and I had to make a guess at the truth from the smile he gave me or the look in his eyes. He had not the words to describe what he had felt, and I had to conjecture his meaning from slangy metaphors and hackneyed, vulgar phrases. I kept on asking myself what his real name was, it was on the tip of my tongue and it irritated me not to be able to recall it, though why it should in the least matter to me I did not know. He was somewhat suspicious of me at first and I saw that this escapade of his in London and his imprisonment had been all these years a tormenting secret. He had always been haunted by the fear that sooner or later someone would find out.
"It"s funny that even now you shouldn"t remember me at the hospital," he said, looking at me shrewdly. "You must have a rotten memory."
"Hang it all, it"s nearly thirty years ago. Think of the thousands of people I"ve met since then. There"s no reason why I should remember you any more than you remember me."
"That"s right. I don"t suppose there is."
It seemed to rea.s.sure him. At last he had smoked enough and the old woman made herself a pipe and smoked it. Then she went over to the mat on which the child was lying and huddled down beside it. She lay so still that I supposed she had fallen directly asleep. When at last I went I found my boy curled up on the footboard of the rickshaw in so deep a slumber that I had to shake him. I knew where I was and I wanted air and exercise, so I gave him a couple of piastres and told him I would walk.
It was a strange story I carried away with me.
It was with a sort of horror that I had listened to Grosely, telling me of those twenty years he had spent in China. He had made money, I do not know how much, but from the way he talked I should think something between fifteen and twenty thousand pounds, and for a tide-waiter it was a fortune. He could not have come by it honestly, and little as I knew of the details of his trade, by his sudden reticences, by his leers and hints I guessed that there was no base transaction that, if it was made worth his while, he jibbed at. I suppose that nothing paid him better than smuggling opium, and his position gave him the opportunity to do this with safety and profit. I understood that his superior officers had often had their suspicions of him, but had never been able to get such proof of his malpractices as to justify them in taking any steps. They contented themselves with moving him from one port to another, but that did not disturb him; they watched him, but he was too clever for them. I saw that he was divided between the fear of telling me too much to his discredit and the desire to boast of his own astuteness. He prided himself on the confidence the Chinese had placed in him.
"They knew they could trust me," he said, "and it gave me a pull. I never double-crossed a Chinaman once."
The thought filled him with the complacency of the honest man. The Chinese discovered that he was keen on curios and they got in the habit of giving him bits or bringing him things to buy; he never made inquiries how they had come by them and he bought them cheap. When he had got a good lot he sent them to Peking and sold them at a handsome profit. I remembered how he had started his commercial career by buying things at auctions and p.a.w.ning them. For twenty years by shabby shift and petty dishonesty he added pound to pound, and everything he made he invested in Shanghai. He lived penuriously, saving half his pay; he never went on leave because he did not want to waste his money, he would not have anything to do with the Chinese women, he wanted to keep himself free from any entanglement; he did not drink. He was consumed by one ambition, to save enough to be able to go back to England and live the life from which he had been s.n.a.t.c.hed as a boy. That was the only thing he wanted. He lived in China as though in a dream; he paid no attention to the life around him; its colour and strangeness, its possibilities of pleasure, meant nothing to him. There was always before him the mirage of London, the Criterion Bar, himself standing with his foot on the rail, the promenade at the Empire and the Pavilion, the picked-up harlot, the serio-comic at the music-hall, and the musical comedy at the Gaiety. This was life and love and adventure. This was romance. This was what he yearned for with all his heart. There was surely something impressive in the way in which during all those years he had lived like an anchorite with that one end in view of leading again a life that was so vulgar. It showed character.
"You see," he said to me, "even if I"d been able to get back to England on leave I wouldn"t have gone. I didn"t want to go till I could go for good. And then I wanted to do the thing in style."
He saw himself putting on evening clothes every night and going out with a gardenia in his b.u.t.tonhole, and he saw himself going to the Derby in a long coat and a brown hat and a pair of opera gla.s.ses slung over his shoulder. He saw himself giving the girls a look over and picking out the one he fancied. He made up his mind that on the night he arrived in London he would get blind, he hadn"t been drunk for twenty years; he couldn"t afford to in his job, you had to keep your wits about you. He"d take care not to get drunk on the ship on the way home. He"d wait till he got to London. What a night he"d have! He thought of it for twenty years.
I do not know why Grosely left the Chinese Customs, whether the place was getting too hot for him, whether he had reached the end of his service, or whether he had ama.s.sed the sum he had fixed. But at last he sailed. He went second cla.s.s; he did not intend to start spending money till he reached London. He took rooms in Jermyn Street, he had always wanted to live there, and he went straight to a tailor"s and ordered himself an outfit. Slap up. Then he had a look round the town. It was different from how he remembered it, there was much more traffic and he felt confused and a little at sea. He went to the Criterion and found there was no longer a bar where he had been used to lounge and drink. There was a restaurant in Leicester Square where he had been in the habit of dining when he was in funds, but he could not find it; he supposed it had been torn down. He went to the Pavilion, but there were no women there; he was rather disgusted and went on to the Empire, he found they had done away with the Promenade. It was rather a blow. He could not quite make it out. Well, anyhow, he must be prepared for changes in twenty years, and if he couldn"t do anything else he could get drunk. He had had fever several times in China and the change of climate had brought it on again, he wasn"t feeling any too well, and after four or five drinks he was glad to go to bed.
That first day was only a sample of many that followed it. Everything went wrong. Grosely"s voice grew peevish and bitter as he told me how one thing and another had failed him. The old places were gone, the people were different, he found it hard to make friends, he was strangely lonely; he had never expected that in a great city like London. That"s what was wrong with it London had become too big, it wasn"t the jolly, intimate place it had been in the early nineties. It had gone to pieces. He picked up a few girls, but they weren"t as nice as the girls he had known before, they weren"t the fun they used to be, and he grew dimly conscious that they thought him a rum sort of cove. He was only just over forty and they looked upon him as an old man. When he tried to cotton on to a lot of young fellows standing round a bar they gave him the cold shoulder. Anyway, these young fellows didn"t know how to drink. He"d show them. He got soused every night, it was the only thing to do in that d.a.m.ned place, but by Jove, it made him feel rotten next day. He supposed it was the climate of China. When he was a medical student he could drink a bottle of whisky every night and be as fresh as a daisy in the morning. He began to think more about China. All sorts of things that he never knew he had noticed came back to him. It wasn"t a bad life he"d led there. Perhaps he"d been a fool to keep away from those Chinese girls, they were pretty little things some of them, and they didn"t put on the airs these English girls did. One could have a d.a.m.ned good time in China if one had the money he had. One could keep a Chinese girl and get into the club, and there"d be a lot of nice fellows to drink with and play bridge with and billiards. He remembered the Chinese shops and all the row in the streets and the coolies carrying loads and the ports with the junks in them and the rivers with paG.o.das on the banks. It was funny, he never thought much of China while he was there and now-well, he couldn"t get it out of his mind. It obsessed him. He began to think that London was no place for a white man. It had just gone to the dogs, that was the long and short of it, and one day the thought came to him that perhaps it would be a good thing if he went back to China. Of course it was silly, he"d worked like a slave for twenty years to be able to have a good time in London, and it was absurd to go and live in China. With his money he ought to be able to have a good time anywhere. But somehow he couldn"t think of anything else but China. One day he went to the pictures and saw a scene at Shanghai. That settled it. He was fed up with London. He hated it. He was going to get out and this time he"d get out for good. He had been home a year and a half, and it seemed longer to him than all his twenty years in the East. He took a pa.s.sage on a French boat sailing from Ma.r.s.eilles, and when he saw the coast of Europe sink into the sea he heaved a great sigh of relief. When they got to Suez and he felt the first touch of the East he knew he had done the right thing. Europe was finished. The East was the only place.
He went ash.o.r.e at Djibouti and again at Colombo and Singapore, but though the ship stopped for two days at Saigon he remained on board there. He"d been drinking a good deal and he was feeling a bit under the weather. But when they reached Haiphong, where they were staying for forty-eight hours, he thought he might just as well have a look at it. That was the last stopping-place before they got to China. He was bound for Shanghai. When he got there he meant to go to a hotel and look around a bit and then get hold of a girl and a place of his own. He would buy a pony or two and race. He"d soon make friends. In the East they weren"t so stiff and stand-offish as they were in London. Going ash.o.r.e, he dined at the hotel and after dinner got into a rickshaw and told the boy he wanted a woman. The boy took him to the shabby tenement in which I had sat for so many hours and there were the old woman and the girl who was now the mother of his child. After a while the old woman asked him if he wouldn"t like a smoke. He had never tried opium, he had always been frightened of it, but now he didn"t see why he shouldn"t have a go. He was feeling good that night and the girl was a jolly cuddlesome little thing; she was rather like a Chinese girl, small and pretty, like an idol. Well, he had a pipe or two, and he began to feel very happy and comfortable. He stayed all night. He didn"t sleep. He just lay, feeling very restful, and thought about things.
"I stopped there till my ship went on to Hong-Kong," he said. "And when she left I just stopped on."
"How about your luggage?" I asked.
For I am perhaps unworthily interested in the manner people combine practical details with the ideal aspects of life. When in a novel penniless lovers drive in a long, swift racing car over the distant hills I have always a desire to know how they managed to pay for it; and I have often asked myself how the characters of Henry James in the intervals of subtly examining their situation coped with the physiological necessities of their bodies.
"I only had a trunk full of clothes, I was never one to want much more than I stood up in, and I went down with the girl in a rickshaw to fetch it. I only meant to stay on till the next boat came through. You see, I was so near China here I thought I"d wait a bit and get used to things, if you understand what I mean, before I went on."
I did. Those last words of his revealed him to me. I knew that on the threshold of China his courage had failed him. England had been such a terrible disappointment that now he was afraid to put China to the test too. If that failed him he had nothing. For years England had been like a mirage in the desert. But when he had yielded to the attraction, those shining pools and the palm trees and the green gra.s.s were nothing but the rolling sandy dunes. He had China, and so long as he never saw it again he kept it.
"Somehow I stayed on. You know, you"d be surprised how quickly the days pa.s.s. I don"t seem to have time to do half the things I want to. After all I"m comfortable here. The old woman makes a d.a.m.ned good pipe, and she"s a jolly little girl, my girl, and then there"s the kid. A lively young beggar. If you"re happy somewhere what"s the good of going somewhere else?"
I looked round that large bare sordid room. There was no comfort in it and not one of the little personal things that one would have thought might have given him the feeling of home. Grosely had taken on this equivocal little apartment, which served as a house of a.s.signation and as a place for Europeans to smoke opium in, with the old woman who kept it, just as it was, and he camped, rather than lived, there still as though next day he would pack his traps and go. After a little while he answered my question.
"I"ve never been so happy in my life. I often think I"ll go on to Shanghai some day, but I don"t suppose I ever shall. And G.o.d knows, I never want to see England again."
"Aren"t you awfully lonely sometimes for people to talk to?"
"No. Sometimes a Chinese tramp comes in with an English skipper or a Scotch engineer, and then I go on board and we have a talk about old times. There"s an old fellow here, a Frenchman who was in the Customs, and he speaks English; I go and see him sometimes. But the fact is I don"t want anybody very much. I think a lot. It gets on my nerves when people come between me and my thoughts. I"m not a big smoker, you know, I just have a pipe or two in the morning to settle my stomach, but I don"t really smoke till night. Then I think."
"What d"you think about?"
"Oh, all sorts of things. Sometimes about London and what it was like when I was a boy. But mostly about China. I think of the good times I had and the way I made my money, and I remember the fellows I used to know, and the Chinese. I had some narrow squeaks now and then, but I always came through all right. And I wonder what the girls would have been like that I might have had. Pretty little things. I"m sorry now I didn"t keep one or two. It"s a great country, China; I love those shops, with an old fellow sitting on his heels smoking a water-pipe, and all the shop-signs. And the temples. By George, that"s the place for a man to live in. There"s life."
The mirage shone before his eyes. The illusion held him. He was happy. I wondered what would be his end. Well, that was not yet. For the first time in his life perhaps he held the present in his hand.
THE LETTER.
Outside on the quay the sun beat fiercely. A stream of motors, lorries and buses, private cars and hirelings, sped up and down the crowded thoroughfare, and every chauffeur blew his horn; rickshaws threaded their nimble path amid the throng, and the panting coolies found breath to yell at one another; coolies, carrying heavy bales, sidled along with their quick jog-trot and shouted to the pa.s.ser-by to make way; itinerant vendors proclaimed their wares. Singapore is the meeting-place of a hundred peoples; and men of all colours, black Tamils, yellow c.h.i.n.ks, brown Malays, Armenians, Jews, and Bengalis, called to one another in raucous tones. But inside the office of Messrs Ripley, Joyce, and Naylor it was pleasantly cool; it was dark after the dusty glitter of the street and agreeably quiet after its unceasing din. Mr Joyce sat in his private room, at the table, with an electric fan turned full on him. He was leaning back, his elbows on the arms of the chair, with the tips of the outstretched fingers of one hand resting neatly against the tips of the outstretched fingers of the other. His gaze rested on the battered volumes of the Law Reports which stood on a long shelf in front of him. On the top of a cupboard were square boxes of j.a.panned tin, on which were painted the names of various clients.
There was a knock at the door.
"Come in."
A Chinese clerk, very neat in his white ducks, opened it.
"Mr Crosbie is here, sir."
He spoke beautiful English, accenting each word with precision, and Mr Joyce had often wondered at the extent of his vocabulary. Ong Chi Seng was a Cantonese, and he had studied law at Gray"s Inn. He was spending a year or two with Messrs Ripley, Joyce, and Naylor in order to prepare himself for practice on his own account. He was industrious, obliging, and of exemplary character.
"Show him in," said Mr Joyce.
He rose to shake hands with his visitor and asked him to sit down. The light fell on him as he did so. The face of Mr Joyce remained in shadow. He was by nature a silent man, and now he looked at Robert Crosbie for quite a minute without speaking. Crosbie was a big fellow, well over six feet high, with broad shoulders, and muscular. He was a rubber-planter, hard with the constant exercise of walking over the estate, and with the tennis which was his relaxation when the day"s work was over. He was deeply sunburned. His hairy hands, his feet in clumsy boots were enormous, and Mr Joyce found himself thinking that a blow of that great fist could easily kill the fragile Tamil. But there was no fierceness in his blue eyes; they were confiding and gentle; and his face, with its big, undistinguished features, was open, frank, and honest. But at this moment it bore a look of deep distress. It was drawn and haggard.
"You look as though you hadn"t had much sleep the last night or two," said Mr Joyce.
"I haven"t."
Mr Joyce noticed now the old felt hat, with its broad double brim, which Crosbie had placed on the table; and then his eyes travelled to the khaki shorts he wore, showing his red hairy thighs, the tennis shirt open at the neck, without a tie, and the dirty khaki jacket with the ends of the sleeves turned up. He looked as though he had just come in from a long tramp among the rubber trees. Mr Joyce gave a slight frown.
"You must pull yourself together, you know. You must keep your head."
"Oh, I"m all right."
"Have you seen your wife today?"
"No, I"m to see her this afternoon. You know, it is a d.a.m.ned shame that they should have arrested her."
"I think they had to do that," Mr Joyce answered in his level, soft tone. "I should have thought they"d have let her out on bail."
"It"s a very serious charge."
"It is d.a.m.nable. She did what any decent woman would do in her place. Only, nine women out of ten wouldn"t have the pluck. Leslie"s the best woman in the world. She wouldn"t hurt a fly. Why, hang it all, man, I"ve been married to her for twelve years, do you think I don"t know her? G.o.d, if I"d got hold of the man I"d have wrung his neck, I"d have killed him without a moment"s hesitation. So would you."
"My dear fellow, everybody"s on your side. No one has a good word to say for Hammond. We"re going to get her off. I don"t suppose either the a.s.sessors or the judge will go into court without having already made up their minds to bring in a verdict of not guilty."
"The whole thing"s a farce," said Crosbie violently. She ought never to have been arrested in the first place, and then it"s terrible, after all the poor girl"s gone through, to subject her to the ordeal of a trial. There"s not a soul I"ve met since I"ve been in Singapore, man or woman, who hasn"t told me that Leslie was absolutely justified. I think it"s awful to keep her in prison all these weeks."
"The law is the law After all, she confesses that she killed the man. It is terrible, and I"m dreadfully sorry for both you and her."
"I don"t matter a hang," interrupted Crosbie.
"But the fact remains that murder has been committed, and in a civilized community a trial is inevitable."
"Is it murder to exterminate noxious vermin? She shot him as she would have shot a mad dog."
Mr Joyce leaned back again in his chair and once more placed the tips of his ten fingers together. The little construction he formed looked like the skeleton of a roof He was silent for a moment.
"I should be wanting in my duty as your legal adviser," he said at last, in an even voice, looking at his client with his cool, brown eyes, "if I did not tell you that there is one point which causes me just a little anxiety. If your wife had only shot Hammond once, the whole thing would be absolutely plain sailing. Unfortunately she fired six times."
"Her explanation is perfectly simple. In the circ.u.mstances anyone would have done the same."
"I dare say," said Mr Joyce, "and of course I think the explanation is very reasonable. But it"s no good closing our eyes to the facts. It"s always a good plan to put yourself in another man"s place, and I can"t deny that if I were prosecuting for the Crown that is the point on which I should centre my inquiry."
"My dear fellow, that"s perfectly idiotic"
Mr Joyce shot a sharp glance at Robert Crosbie. The shadow of a smile hovered over his shapely lips. Crosbie was a good fellow, but he could hardly be described as intelligent.
"I dare say it"s of no importance," answered the lawyer, "I just thought it was a point worth mentioning. You haven"t got very long to wait now, and when it"s all over I recommend you to go off somewhere with your wife on a trip, and forget all about it. Even though we are almost dead certain to get an acquittal, a trial of that sort is anxious work, and you"ll both want a rest."
For the first time Crosbie smiled, and his smile strangely changed his face. You forgot the uncouthness and saw only the goodness of his soul.
"I think I shall want it more than Leslie. She"s borne up wonderfully. By G.o.d, there"s a plucky little woman for you."
"Yes, I"ve been very much struck by her self-control," said the lawyer. "I should never have guessed that she was capable of such determination."
His duties as her counsel had made it necessary for him to have a good many interviews with Mrs Crosbie since her arrest. Though things had been made as easy as could be for her, the fact remained that she was in gaol, awaiting her trial for murder, and it would not have been surprising if her nerves had failed her. She appeared to bear her ordeal with composure. She read a great deal, took such exercise as was possible, and by favour of the authorities worked at the pillow lace which had always formed the entertainment of her long hours of leisure. When Mr Joyce saw her, she was neatly dressed in cool, fresh, simple frocks, her hair was carefully arranged, and her nails were manicured. Her manner was collected. She was able even to jest upon the little inconveniences of her position. There was something casual about the way in which she spoke of the tragedy, which suggested to Mr Joyce that only her good breeding prevented her from finding something a trifle ludicrous in a situation which was eminently serious. It surprised him, for he had never thought that she had a sense of humour.
He had known her off and on for a good many years. When she paid visits to Singapore she generally came to dine with his wife and himself, and once or twice she had pa.s.sed a week-end with them at their bungalow by the sea. His wife had spent a fortnight with her on the estate, and had met Geoffrey Hammond several times. The two couples had been on friendly, if not on intimate, terms, and it was on this account that Robert Crosbie had rushed over to Singapore immediately after the catastrophe and begged Mr Joyce to take charge personally of his unhappy wife"s defence.
The story she told him the first time he saw her she had never varied in the smallest detail. She told it as coolly then, a few hours after the tragedy, as she told it now She told it connectedly, in a level, even voice, and her only sign of confusion was when a slight colour came into her cheeks as she described one or two of its incidents. She was the last woman to whom one would have expected such a thing to happen. She was in the early thirties, a fragile creature, neither short nor tall, and graceful rather than pretty. Her wrists and ankles were very delicate, but she was extremely thin, and you could see the bones of her hands through the white skin, and the veins were large and blue. Her face was colourless, slightly sallow, and her lips were pale. You did not notice the colour of her eyes. She had a great deal of light brown hair, and it had a slight natural wave; it was the sort of hair that with a little touching-up would have been very pretty, but you could not imagine that Mrs Crosbie would think of resorting to any such device. She was a quiet, pleasant, una.s.suming woman. Her manner was engaging, and if she was not very popular it was because she suffered from a certain shyness. This was comprehensible enough, for the planter"s life is lonely, and in her own house, with people she knew, she was in her quiet way charming. Mrs Joyce, after her fortnight"s stay, had told her husband that Leslie was a very agreeable hostess. There was more in her, she said, than people thought; and when you came to know her you were surprised how much she had read and how entertaining she could be.
She was the last woman in the world to commit murder.
Mr Joyce dismissed Robert Crosbie with such rea.s.suring words as he could find and, once more alone in his office, turned over the pages of the brief But it was a mechanical action, for all its details were familiar to him. The case was the sensation of the day, and it was discussed in all the clubs, at all the dinner tables, up and down the Peninsula, from Singapore to Penang. The facts that Mrs Crosbie gave were simple. Her husband had gone to Singapore on business, and she was alone for the night. She dined by herself, late, at a quarter to nine, and after dinner sat in the sitting-room working at her lace. It opened on the veranda. There was no one in the bungalow, for the servants had retired to their own quarters at the back of the compound. She was surprised to hear a step on the gravel path in the garden, a booted step, which suggested a white man rather than a native, for she had not heard a motor drive up, and she could not imagine who could be coming to see her at that time of night. Someone ascended the few stairs that led up to the bungalow, walked across the veranda, and appeared at the door of the room in which she sat. At the first moment she did not recognize the visitor. She sat with a shaded lamp, and he stood with his back to the darkness.
"May I come in?" he said.
She did not even recognize the voice.
"Who is it?" she asked.
She worked with spectacles, and she took them off as she spoke. "Geoff Hammond."
"Of course. Come in and have a drink."
She rose and shook hands with him cordially. She was a little surprised to see him, for though he was a neighbour neither she nor Robert had been lately on very intimate terms with him, and she had not seen him for some weeks.
He was the manager of a rubber estate nearly eight miles from theirs, and she wondered why he had chosen this late hour to come and see them. "Robert"s away," she said. "He had to go to Singapore for the night." Perhaps he thought his visit called for some explanation, for he said: "I"m sorry. I felt rather lonely tonight, so I thought I"d just come along and see how you were getting on."
"How on earth did you come? I never heard a car."
"I left it down the road. I thought you might both be in bed and asleep."
This was natural enough. The planter gets up at dawn in order to take the roll-call of the workers, and soon after dinner he is glad to go to bed. Hammond"s car was in point of fact found next day a quarter of a mile from the bungalow.
Since Robert was away there was no whisky and soda in the room. Leslie did not call the boy, who was probably asleep, but fetched it herself Her guest mixed himself a drink and filled his pipe.
Geoff Hammond had a host of friends in the colony. He was at this time in the late thirties, but he had come out as a lad. He had been one of the first to volunteer on the outbreak of war, and had done very well. A wound in the knee caused him to be invalided out of the army after two years, but he returned to the Federated Malay States with a D.S.O. and an M.C. He was one of the best billiard-players in the colony. He had been a beautiful dancer and a fine tennis-player, but though able no longer to dance, and his tennis, with a stiff knee, was not so good as it had been, he had the gift of popularity and was universally liked. He was a tall, good-looking fellow, with attractive blue eyes and a fine head of black, curling hair. Old stagers said his only fault was that he was too fond of the girls, and after the catastrophe they shook their heads and vowed that they had always known this would get him into trouble.
He began now to talk to Leslie about the local affairs, the forthcoming races in Singapore, the price of rubber, and his chances of killing a tiger which had been lately seen in the neighbourhood. She was anxious to finish by a certain date a piece of lace on which she was working, for she wanted to send it home for her mother"s birthday, and so put on her spectacles again, and drew towards her chair the little table on which stood the pillow.