ntellectually. There was no need for more thinking, for any display
of mental ingenuity. He had done with it all. All his notions were
perfectly fixed and he could go over them in the same ghostly way in
which he haunted the deck of the Emma. At the sight of the ring Lingard
would return to Hassim and Immada, now captives, too, though Jorgenson
certainly did not think them in any serious danger. What had happened
really was that Tengga was now holding hostages, and those Jorgenson
looked upon as Lingard's own people. They were his. He had gone in with
them deep, very deep. They had a hold and a claim on King Tom just as
many years ago people of that very race had had a hold and a claim
on him, Jorgenson. Only Tom was a much bigger man. A very big man.
Nevertheless, Jorgenson didn't see why he should escape his own
fate--Jorgenson's fate--to be absorbed, captured, made their own either
in failure or in success. It was an unavoidable fatality and Jorgenson
felt certain that the ring would compel Lingard to face it without
flinching. What he really wanted Lingard to do was to cease to take the
slightest interest in those whites--who were the sort of people that
left no footprints.

Perhaps at first sight, sending that woman to Lingard was not the best
way toward that end. Jorgenson, however, had a distinct impression in
which his morning talk with Mrs. Travers had only confirmed him, that
those two had quarrelled for good. As, indeed, was unavoidable. What did
Tom Lingard want with any woman? The only woman in Jorgenson's life had
come in by way of exchange for a lot of cotton stuffs and several
brass guns. This fact could not but affect Jorgenson's judgment since
obviously in this case such a transaction was impossible. Therefore
the case was not serious. It didn't exist. What did exist was Lingard's
relation to the Wajo exiles, a great and warlike adventure such as no
rover in those seas had ever attempted.

That Tengga was much more ready to negotiate than to fight, the old
adventurer had not the slightest doubt. How Lingard would deal with him
was not a concern of Jorgenson's. That would be easy enough. Nothing
prevented Lingard from going to see Tengga and talking to him with
authority. All that ambitious person really wanted was to have a share
in Lingard's wealth, in Lingard's power, in Lingard's friendship. A year
before Tengga had once insinuated to Jorgenson, "In what way am I less
worthy of being a friend than