"Oh, but they had a scrap!" the other said.

  "What do you mean? Was there a fight!—a fight with Heyst?" asked Davidson,

  much perturbed, if somewhat incredulous.

  "Heyst? No, these two—the bandmaster, the fellow who's taking these women

  about and our Schomberg. Signor Zangiacomo ran amuck in the morning, and went

  for our worthy friend. I tell you, they were rolling on the floor together on this very

  veranda, after chasing each other all over the house, doors slamming, women

  screaming, seventeen of them, in the dining-room; Chinamen up the trees. Hey,

  John? You climb tree to see the fight, eh?"

  The boy, almond-eyed and impassive, emitted a scornful grunt, finished wiping

  the table, and withdrew.

  "That's what it was—a real, go-as-you-please scrap. And Zangiacomo began it.

  Oh, here's Schomberg. Say, Schomberg, didn't he fly at you, when the girl was

  missed, because it was you who insisted that the artists should go about the

  audience during the interval?"

  Schomberg had reappeared in the doorway. He advanced. His bearing was

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  stately, but his nostrils were extraordinarily expanded, and he controlled his

  voice with apparent effort.

  "Certainly. That was only business. I quoted him special terms and all for your

  sake, gentlemen. I was thinking of my regular customers. There's nothing to do in

  the evenings in this town. I think, gentlemen, you were all pleased at the

  opportunity of hearing a little good music; and where's the harm of offering a

  grenadine, or what not, to a lady artist? But that fellow—that Swede—he got round

  the girl. He got round all the people out here. I've been watching him for years. You

  remember how he got round Morrison."

  He changed front abruptly, as if on parade, and marched off. The customers at

  the table exchanged glances silently. Davidson's attitude was that of a spectator.

  Schomberg's moody pacing of the billiard-room could be heard on the veranda.

  "And the funniest part is," resumed the man who had been speaking before—an

  English clerk in a Dutch house—"the funniest part is that before nine o'clock that

  same morning those two were driving together in a gharry down to the port, to look

  for Heyst and the girl. I saw them rushing around making inquiries. I don't know

  what they would have done to the girl, but they seemed quite ready to fall upon

  your Heyst, Davidson, and kill him on the quay."

  He had never, he said, seen anything so queer. Those two investigators working

  feverishly to the same end were glaring at each other with surprising ferocity. In

  hatred and mistrust they entered a steam-launch, and went flying from ship to ship

  all over the harbour, causing no end of sensation. The captains of vessels, coming

  on shore later in the day, brought tales of a strange invasion, and wanted to know

  who were the two offensive lunatics in a steam-launch, apparently after a man and

  a girl, and telling a story of which one could make neither head nor tail. Their

  reception by the roadstead was generally unsympathetic, even to the point of the

  mate of an American ship bundling them out over the rail with unseemly

  precipitation.

  Meantime Heyst and the girl were a good few miles away, having gone in the

  night on board one of the Tesman schooners bound to the eastward. This was

  known afterwards from the Javanese boatmen whom Heyst hired for the purpose at

  three o'clock in the morning. The Tesman schooner had sailed at daylight with the

  usual land breeze, and was probably still in sight in the offing at the time. However,

  the two pursuers after their experience with the American mate, made for the shore.

  On landing, they had another violent row in the German language. But there was no

  second fight; and finally, with looks of fierce animosity, they got together into a

  gharry—obviously with the frugal view of sharing expenses—and drove away,

  leaving an astonished little crowd of Europeans and natives on the quay.

  After hearing this wondrous tale, Davidson went away from the hotel veranda,

  which was filling with Schomberg's regular customers. Heyst's escapade was the

  general topic of conversation. Never before had that unaccountable individual been

  the cause of so much gossip, he judged. No! Not even in the beginnings of the

  Tropical Belt Coal Company when becoming for a moment a public character was

  he the object of a silly criticism and unintelligent envy for every vagabond and

  adventurer in the islands. Davidson concluded that people liked to discuss that sort

  of scandal better than any other.

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  I asked him if he believed that this was such a great scandal after all.

  "Heavens, no!" said that excellent man who, himself, was incapable of any

  impropriety of conduct. "But it isn't a thing I would have done myself; I mean even

  if I had not been married."

  There was no implied condemnation in the statement; rather something like

  regret. Davidson shared my suspicion that this was in its essence the rescue of a

  distressed human being. Not that we were two romantics, tingeing the world to the

  hue of our temperament, but that both of us had been acute enough to discover a

  long time ago that Heyst was.

  "I shouldn't have had the pluck," he continued. "I see a thing all round, as it

  were; but Heyst doesn't, or else he would have been scared. You don't take a

  woman into a desert jungle without being made sorry for it sooner or later, in one

  way or another; and Heyst being a gentleman only makes it worse."

  CHAPTER SIX

  We said no more about Heyst on that occasion, and it so happened that I did not

  meet Davidson again for some three months. When we did come together, almost

  the first thing he said to me was:

  "I've seen him."

  Before I could exclaim, he assured me that he had taken no liberty, that he had

  not intruded. He was called in. Otherwise he would not have dreamed of breaking

  in upon Heyst's privacy.

  "I am certain you wouldn't," I assured him, concealing my amusement at his

  wonderful delicacy. He was the most delicate man that ever took a small steamer to

  and fro among the islands. But his humanity, which was not less strong and

  praiseworthy, had induced him to take his steamer past Samburan wharf (at an

  average distance of a mile) every twenty-three days—exactly. Davidson was

  delicate, humane, and regular.

  "Heyst called you in?" I asked, interested.

  Yes, Heyst had called him in as he was going by on his usual date. Davidson was

  examining the shore through his glasses with his unwearied and punctual humanity

  as he steamed past Samburan.

  I saw a man in white. It could only have been Heyst. He had fastened some sort

  of enormous flag to a bamboo pole, and was waving it at the end of the old wharf.

  Davidson didn't like to take his steamer alongside—for fear of being indiscreet, I

  suppose; but he steered close inshore, stopped h
is engines, and lowered a boat. He

  went himself in that boat, which was manned, of course, by his Malay seamen.

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  Heyst, when he saw the boat pulling towards him, dropped his signalling-pole;

  and when Davidson arrived, he was kneeling down engaged busily in unfastening

  the flag from it.

  "Was there anything wrong?" I inquired, Davidson having paused in his narrative

  and my curiosity being naturally aroused. You must remember that Heyst as the

  Archipelago knew him was not—what shall I say—was not a signalling sort of

  man.

  "The very words that came out of my mouth," said Davidson, "before I laid the

  boat against the piles. I could not help it!"

  Heyst got up from his knees and began carefully folding up the flag thing, which

  struck Davidson as having the dimensions of a blanket.

  "No, nothing wrong," he cried. His white teeth flashed agreeably below the

  coppery horizontal bar of his long moustaches.

  I don't know whether it was his delicacy or his obesity which prevented

  Davidson from clambering upon the wharf. He stood up in the boat, and, above

  him, Heyst stooped low with urbane smiles, thanking him and apologizing for the

  liberty, exactly in his usual manner. Davidson had expected some change in the

  man, but there was none. Nothing in him betrayed the momentous fact that within

  that jungle there was a girl, a performer in a ladies' orchestra, whom he had carried

  straight off the concert platform into the wilderness. He was not ashamed or defiant

  or abashed about it. He might have been a shade confidential when addressing

  Davidson. And his words were enigmatical.

  "I took this course of signalling to you," he said to Davidson, "because to

  preserve appearances might be of the utmost importance. Not to me, of course. I

  don't care what people may say, and of course no one can hurt me. I suppose I have

  done a certain amount of harm, since I allowed myself to be tempted into action. It

  seemed innocent enough, but all action is bound to be harmful. It is devilish. That

  is why this world is evil upon the whole. But I have done with it! I shall never lift a

  little finger again. At one time I thought that intelligent observation of facts was the

  best way of cheating the time which is allotted to us whether we want it or not; but

  now I, have done with observation, too."

  Imagine poor, simple Davidson being addressed in such terms alongside an

  abandoned, decaying wharf jutting out of tropical bush. He had never heard

  anybody speak like this before; certainly not Heyst, whose conversation was

  concise, polite, with a faint ring of playfulness in the cultivated tones of his voice.

  "He's gone mad," Davidson thought to himself.

  But, looking at the physiognomy above him on the wharf, he was obliged to

  dismiss the notion of common, crude lunacy. It was truly most unusual talk. Then

  he remembered—in his surprise he had lost sight of it—that Heyst now had a girl

  there. This bizarre discourse was probably the effect of the girl. Davidson shook off

  the absurd feeling, and asked, wishing to make clear his friendliness, and not

  knowing what else to say:

  "You haven't run short of stores or anything like that?"

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  Heyst smiled and shook his head:

  "No, no. Nothing of the kind. We are fairly well off here. Thanks, all the same. If

  I have taken the liberty to detain you, it is I not from any uneasiness for myself and

  my—companion. The person I was thinking of when I made up my mind to invoke

  your assistance is Mrs. Schomberg."

  "I have talked with her," interjected Davidson.

  "Oh! You? Yes, I hoped she would find means to—"

  "But she didn't tell me much," interrupted Davidson, who was not averse from

  hearing something—he hardly knew what.

  "H'm—Yes. But that note of mine? Yes? She found an opportunity to give it to

  you? That's good, very good. She's more resourceful than one would give her credit

  for."

  "Women often are—" remarked Davidson. The strangeness from which he had

  suffered, merely because his interlocutor had carried off a girl, wore off as the

  minutes went by. "There's a lot of unexpectedness about women," he generalized

  with a didactic aim which seemed to miss its mark; for the next thing Heyst said

  was:

  "This is Mrs. Schomberg's shawl." He touched the stuff hanging over his arm.

  "An Indian thing, I believe," he added, glancing at his arm sideways.

  "It isn't of particular value," said Davidson truthfully.

  "Very likely. The point is that it belongs to Schomberg's wife. That Schomberg

  seems to be an unconscionable ruffian—don't you think so?"

  Davidson smiled faintly.

  "We out here have got used to him," he said, as if excusing a universal and guilty

  toleration of a manifest nuisance. "I'd hardly call him that. I only know him as a

  hotel-keeper."

  "I never knew him even as that—not till this time, when you were so obliging as

  to take me to Sourabaya, I went to stay there from economy. The Netherlands

  House is very expensive, and they expect you to bring your own servant with you.

  It's a nuisance."

  "Of course, of course," protested Davidson hastily.

  After a short silence Heyst returned to the matter of the shawl. He wanted to

  send it back to Mrs. Schomberg. He said that it might be very awkward for her if

  she were unable, if asked, to produce it. This had given him, Heyst, much

  uneasiness. She was terrified of Schomberg. Apparently she had reason to be.

  Davidson had remarked that, too. Which did not prevent her, he pointed out,

  from making a fool of him, in a way, for the sake of a stranger.

  "Oh! You know!" said Heyst. "Yes, she helped me—us."

  "She told me so. I had quite a talk with her," Davidson informed him. "Fancy

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  anyone having a talk with Mrs. Schomberg! If I were to tell the fellows they

  wouldn't believe me. How did you get round her, Heyst? How did you think of it?

  Why, she looks too stupid to understand human speech and too scared to shoo a

  chicken away. Oh, the women, the women! You don't know what there may be in

  the quietest of them."

  "She was engaged in the task of defending her position in life," said Heyst. "It's a

  very respectable task."

  "Is that it? I had some idea it was that," confessed Davidson.

  He then imparted to Heyst the story of the violent proceedings following on the

  discovery of his flight. Heyst's polite attention to the tale took on a sombre cast; but

  he manifested no surprise, and offered no comment. When Davidson had finished

  he handed down the shawl into the boat, and Davidson promised to do his best to

  return it to Mrs. Schomberg in some secret fashion. Heyst expressed his thanks in a

  few simple words, set off by his manner of
finished courtesy. Davidson prepared to

  depart. They were not looking at each other. Suddenly Heyst spoke:

  "You understand that this was a case of odious persecution, don't you? I became

  aware of it and—"

  It was a view which the sympathetic Davidson was capable of appreciating.

  "I am not surprised to hear it," he said placidly. "Odious enough, I dare say. And

  you, of course—not being a married man—were free to step in. Ah, well!"

  He sat down in the stern-sheets, and already had the steering lines in his hands

  when Heyst observed abruptly:

  "The world is a bad dog. It will bite you if you give it a chance; but I think that

  here we can safely defy the fates."

  When relating all this to me, Davidson's only comment was:

  "Funny notion of defying the fates—to take a woman in tow!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Some considerable time afterwards—we did not meet very often—I asked

  Davidson how he had managed about the shawl and heard that he had tackled his

  mission in a direct way, and had found it easy enough. At the very first call he

  made in Samarang he rolled the shawl as tightly as he could into the smallest

  possible brown-paper parcel, which he carried ashore with him. His business in the

  town being transacted, he got into a gharry with the parcel and drove to the hotel.

  With his precious experience, he timed his arrival accurately for the hour of

  Schomberg's siesta. Finding the place empty as on the former occasion, he marched

  into the billiard-room, took a seat at the back, near the sort of dais which Mrs.

  Schomberg would in due course come to occupy, and broke the slumbering silence

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  of the house by thumping a bell vigorously. Of course a Chinaman appeared

  promptly. Davidson ordered a drink and sat tight.

  "I would have ordered twenty drinks one after another, if necessary," he said—

  Davidson's a very abstemious man—"rather than take that parcel out of the house

  again. Couldn't leave it in a corner without letting the woman know it was there. It

  might have turned out worse for her than not bringing the thing back at all."

  And so he waited, ringing the bell again and again, and swallowing two or three

  iced drinks which he did not want. Presently, as he hoped it would happen, Mrs.