napau_?"

"It's our philosophy, where we find meaning and life and beauty in every
aspect of the world."

"That sjambak in the cage could do with a little less _napau_ right
now."

"No doubt he is unhappy," she agreed.

"Unhappy! He's being tortured!"

"He broke the Sultan's law. His life is no longer his own. It belongs to
Singhalut. If the Sultan wishes to use it to warn other wrongdoers, the
fact that the man suffers is of small interest."

"If they all wear that metal ornament, how can they hope to hide out?"
He glanced at her own bare bosom.

"They appear by night--slip through the streets like ghosts...." She
looked in turn at Murphy's loose shirt. "You will notice persons
brushing up against you, feeling you," she laid her hand along his
breast, "and when this happens you will know they are agents of the
Sultan, because only strangers and the House may wear shirts. But now,
let me sing to you--a song from the Old Land, old Java. You will not
understand the tongue, but no other words so join the voice of the
_gamelan_."

* * * * *

"This is the gravy-train," said Murphy. "Instead of a garden suite with
a private pool, I usually sleep in a bubble-tent, with nothing to eat
but condensed food."

Soek Panjoebang flung the water out of her sleek black hair. "Perhaps,
Weelbrrr, you will regret leaving Cirgamesc?"

"Well," he looked up to the transparent roof, barely visible where the
sunlight collected and refracted, "I don't particularly like being shut
up like a bird in an aviary.... Mildly claustrophobic, I guess."

After breakfast, drinking thick coffee from tiny silver cups, Murphy
looked long and reflectively at Soek Panjoebang.

"What are you thinking, Weelbrrr?"

Murphy drained his coffee. "I'm thinking that I'd better be getting to
work."

"And what do you do?"

"First I'm going to shoot the palace, and you sitting here in the garden
playing your _gamelan_."

"But Weelbrrr--not _me_!"

"You're a part of the universe, rather an interesting part. Then I'll
take the square...."

"And the sjambak?"

A quiet voice spoke from behind. "A visitor, Tuan Murphy."

Murphy turned his head. "Bring him in." He looked back to Soek
Panjoebang. She was on her feet.

"It is necessary that I go."

"When will I see you?"

"Tonight--at the Barangipan."

* * * * *

The quiet voice said, "Mr. Rube Trimmer, Tuan."

Trimmer was small an