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Lakamba's dull eyes became animated suddenly. "Take care, Tuan Abdulla," he said, "take care. The behaviour of that unclean white madman is furious in the extreme. He offered to strike . . ." "On my head, you are safe, O Giver of alms!" interrupted Babalatchi. Abdulla looked from one to the other, and the faintest flicker of a passing smile disturbed for a moment his grave composure.
Babalatchi, coming out of the red and smoky light of his little bamboo house, glanced upwards, drew in a long breath of the warm and stagnant air, and stood for a moment with his good eye closed tightly, as if intimidated by the unwonted and deep silence of Lakamba's courtyard.
Babalatchi clambered out slowly and went on fastening his canoe with fastidious care, as if not in a hurry to meet Almayer, whom he saw looking at him from the verandah. This delay gave Almayer time to notice and greatly wonder at Babalatchi's official get-up. The statesman of Sambir was clad in a costume befitting his high rank.
Lingard swung his legs quickly round the corner of his seat. "Hallo!" he said, surprised. The cloud of smoke stirred, and a slow wisp curled out through the new opening. The torch flickered, hissed, and went out, the glowing end falling on the mat, whence Babalatchi snatched it up and tossed it outside through the open square.
"We do not," answered Lingard, "because those that we cannot see do not speak." "Never speak! And never complain with sounds that are not words?" exclaimed Babalatchi, doubtingly. "It may be so or your ears are dull. We Malays hear many sounds near the places where men are buried. To-night I heard . . . Yes, even I have heard. . . . I do not want to hear any more," he added, nervously.
A cry in the mist then another and, before Babalatchi could answer, two little canoes dashed up to the landing-place, and two of the principal citizens of Sambir, Daoud Sahamin and Hamet Bahassoen, who had been confidentially invited to meet Abdulla, landed quickly and after greeting Babalatchi walked up the dark courtyard towards the house.
Ali, who was walking last, stopped before Lingard, very stiff and upright. He said "That one-eyed Babalatchi is gone, with all his women. He took everything. All the pots and boxes. Big. Heavy. Three boxes." He grinned as if the thing had been amusing, then added with an appearance of anxious concern, "Rain coming." "We return," said Lingard. "Make ready."
"I am alone, I am alone," he wailed feebly, groping vaguely about with his trembling hands. "Is there anybody near me? Is there anybody? I am afraid of this strange place." "I am by your side, O Leader of the brave," said Babalatchi, touching his shoulder lightly. "Always by your side as in the days when we both were young: as in the time when we both went with arms in our hands."
There were rumours of a missing trading prau belonging to Menado, but they were vague and remained mysterious. Babalatchi told a story which it must be said in justice to Patalolo's knowledge of the world was not believed.
It was like a breath long drawn. I wish I had burnt the paper over the body before it was buried." "Yes," assented Babalatchi. "But the white men had him thrown into a hole at once. You know he found his death on the river," he added cheerfully, "and his ghost may hail the canoes, but would leave the land alone." Mrs.
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