Part 52 (1/2)

This took her breath away. ”But I must tell you. There is something in my coming which is not clear to me.”

”You can tell me nothing that I don't know already,” he said in a pleading tone. ”Say nothing. Sit still. Time enough to-morrow.

To-morrow! The night is drawing to an end and I care for nothing in the world but you. Let me be. Give me the rest that is in you.”

She had never heard such accents on his lips and she felt for him a great and tender pity. Why not humour this mood in which he wanted to preserve the moments that would never come to him again on this earth?

She hesitated in silence. She saw him stir in the darkness as if he could not make up his mind to sit down on the bench. But suddenly he scattered the embers with his foot and sank on the ground against her feet, and she was not startled in the least to feel the weight of his head on her knee. Mrs. Travers was not startled but she felt profoundly moved. Why should she torment him with all those questions of freedom and captivity, of violence and intrigue, of life and death? He was not in a state to be told anything and it seemed to her that she did not want to speak, that in the greatness of her compa.s.sion she simply could not speak. All she could do for him was to rest her hand lightly on his head and respond silently to the slight movement she felt, sigh or sob, but a movement which suddenly immobilized her in an anxious emotion.

About the same time on the other side of the lagoon Jorgenson, raising his eyes, noted the stars and said to himself that the night would not last long now. He wished for daylight. He hoped that Lingard had already done something. The blaze in Tengga's compound had been re-lighted.

Tom's power was unbounded, practically unbounded. And he was invulnerable.

Jorgenson let his old eyes wander amongst the gleams and shadows of the great sheet of water between him and that hostile sh.o.r.e and fancied he could detect a floating shadow having the characteristic shape of a man in a small canoe.

”O! Ya! Man!” he hailed. ”What do you want?” Other eyes, too, had detected that shadow. Low murmurs arose on the deck of the Emma. ”If you don't speak at once I shall fire,” shouted Jorgenson, fiercely.

”No, white man,” returned the floating shape in a solemn drawl. ”I am the bearer of friendly words. A chief's words. I come from Tengga.”

”There was a bullet that came on board not a long time ago--also from Tengga,” said Jorgenson.

”That was an accident,” protested the voice from the lagoon. ”What else could it be? Is there war between you and Tengga? No, no, O white man!

All Tengga desires is a long talk. He has sent me to ask you to come ash.o.r.e.”

At these words Jorgenson's heart sank a little. This invitation meant that Lingard had made no move. Was Tom asleep or altogether mad?

”The talk would be of peace,” declared impressively the shadow which had drifted much closer to the hulk now.

”It isn't for me to talk with great chiefs,” Jorgenson returned, cautiously.

”But Tengga is a friend,” argued the nocturnal messenger. ”And by that fire there are other friends--your friends, the Rajah Ha.s.sim and the lady Immada, who send you their greetings and who expect their eyes to rest on you before sunrise.”

”That's a lie,” remarked Jorgenson, perfunctorily, and fell into thought, while the shadowy bearer of words preserved a scandalized silence, though, of course, he had not expected to be believed for a moment. But one could never tell what a white man would believe. He had wanted to produce the impression that Ha.s.sim and Immada were the honoured guests of Tengga. It occurred to him suddenly that perhaps Jorgenson didn't know anything of the capture. And he persisted.

”My words are all true, Tuan. The Rajah of Wajo and his sister are with my master. I left them sitting by the fire on Tengga's right hand. Will you come ash.o.r.e to be welcomed amongst friends?”

Jorgenson had been reflecting profoundly. His object was to gain as much time as possible for Lingard's interference which indeed could not fail to be effective. But he had not the slightest wish to entrust himself to Tengga's friendliness. Not that he minded the risk; but he did not see the use of taking it.

”No!” he said, ”I can't go ash.o.r.e. We white men have ways of our own and I am chief of this hulk. And my chief is the Rajah Laut, a white man like myself. All the words that matter are in him and if Tengga is such a great chief let him ask the Rajah Laut for a talk. Yes, that's the proper thing for Tengga to do if he is such a great chief as he says.”

”The Rajah Laut has made his choice. He dwells with Belarab, and with the white people who are huddled together like trapped deer in Belarab's stockade. Why shouldn't you meantime go over where everything is lighted up and open and talk in friends.h.i.+p with Tengga's friends, whose hearts have been made sick by many doubts; Rajah Ha.s.sim and the lady Immada and Daman, the chief of the men of the sea, who do not know now whom they can trust unless it be you, Tuan, the keeper of much wealth?”

The diplomatist in the small dugout paused for a moment to give special weight to the final argument:

”Which you have no means to defend. We know how many armed men there are with you.”

”They are great fighters,” Jorgenson observed, unconcernedly, spreading his elbows on the rail and looking over at the floating black patch of characteristic shape whence proceeded the voice of the wily envoy of Tengga. ”Each man of them is worth ten of such as you can find in the Settlement.”

”Yes, by Allah. Even worth twenty of these common people. Indeed, you have enough with you to make a great fight but not enough for victory.”

”G.o.d alone gives victory,” said suddenly the voice of Jaffir, who, very still at Jorgenson's elbow, had been listening to the conversation.