ment. Do you know what answer I
got?"

Lingard stopped short in his walk before Almayer, who went on, after an
impressive pause, with growing animation.

"All brought it: 'The Rajah sends a friend's greeting, and does not
understand the message.' That was all. Not a word more could Ali get
out of him. I could see that Ali was pretty well scared. He hung about,
arranging my hammock--one thing and another. Then just before going
away he mentioned that the water-gate of the Rajah's place was heavily
barred, but that he could see only very few men about the courtyard.
Finally he said, 'There is darkness in our Rajah's house, but no sleep.
Only darkness and fear and the wailing of women.' Cheerful, wasn't it?
It made me feel cold down my back somehow. After Ali slipped away I
stood here--by this table, and listened to the shouting and drumming in
the settlement. Racket enough for twenty weddings. It was a little past
midnight then."

Again Almayer stopped in his narrative with an abrupt shutting of lips,
as if he had said all that there was to tell, and Lingard stood staring
at him, pensive and silent. A big bluebottle fly flew in recklessly into
the cool verandah, and darted with loud buzzing between the two men.
Lingard struck at it with his hat. The fly swerved, and Almayer dodged
his head out of the way. Then Lingard aimed another ineffectual blow;
Almayer jumped up and waved his arms about. The fly buzzed desperately,
and the vibration of minute wings sounded in the peace of the early
morning like a far-off string orchestra accompanying the hollow,
determined stamping of the two men, who, with heads thrown back and
arms gyrating on high, or again bending low with infuriated lunges, were
intent upon killing the intruder. But suddenly the buzz died out in a
thin thrill away in the open space of the courtyard, leaving Lingard
and Almayer standing face to face in the fresh silence of the young day,
looking very puzzled and idle, their arms hanging uselessly by their
sides--like men disheartened by some portentous failure.

"Look at that!" muttered Lingard. "Got away after all."

"Nuisance," said Almayer in the same tone. "Riverside is overrun with
them. This house is badly placed . . . mosquitos . . . and these big
flies . . . . last week stung Nina . . . been ill four days . . . poor
child. . . . I wonder what such damned things are made for!"

CHAPTER TWO

After a long silence, during which Almayer had moved t