The Argus Pheasant Part 24

"Let me congratulate you," Peter Gross began, but Muller stayed him.

"No, not yet, _mynheer_. What I have said is for your ears alone.

Remember, you know nothing."

"Your confidence is safe with me," Peter Gross a.s.sured him.

Muller suddenly recollected his duties as host.

"Ho, _mynheer_, you must have some Hollands with me," he cried hospitably. "A toast to our good fellows.h.i.+p." He clapped his hands and Cho Seng appeared in the doorway.

"A gla.s.s of lemonade or iced tea, if you please," Peter Gross stated.

"You are a teetotaler?" Muller cried in dismay.

"As resident of Bulungan, yes, _mynheer_. A servant of the state cannot be too careful."

Muller laughed. "Lemonade and _jenever_, Cho Seng," he directed. "Well, _mynheer_, I'll wager you are the only resident in all the colonies that will not take his gla.s.s of Hollands. If it were not for _jenever_ many of us could not live in this inferno. Sometimes it is well to be able to forget for a short time."

"If one has a burdened conscience," Peter Gross conditioned quietly.

Muller started. He intuitively felt the words were not idle observation, and he glanced at Peter Gross doubtfully. The resident was looking over the broad expanse of sea, and presently remarked:

"You have a splendid view here, _mynheer_. I hope the outlook from my house is half so good."

Muller roused himself. "That is so, _mynheer_," he said. "I had almost forgotten; we will have to put your house in order at once. It has not been occupied for two years, and will need a thorough cleaning.

Meanwhile you must be my guest."

"I thank you, _mynheer_," Peter Gross replied quietly.

"You will have an establishment, _mynheer_?" Muller asked curiously.

"Have you brought servants? If not, I shall be glad to loan you Cho Seng."

"Thank you, I am well provided," Peter Gross a.s.sured.

Cho Seng padded out on the porch and served them. Being a well-trained servant, he scarcely glanced at his employer's guest, but Peter Gross favored him with a thoughtful stare.

"Your servant has been with you a long time, _mynheer_?" he inquired carelessly.

"A year, _mynheer_. I got him from Batavia. He was recommended by--a friend." The pause was perceptible.

"His face seems familiar," Peter Gross remarked in an offhand manner.

"But that's probably imagination. It is hard to tell these Chinese apart."

Conscious of having said too much again, Muller made no reply. They sipped their drinks in silence, Peter Gross thinking deeply the while why Ah Sing should make a former waiter in his _rumah makan_ Muller's servant. Presently he said:

"If it is not too much trouble, _mynheer_, could you show me my house?"

"Gladly, _mynheer_," Muller exclaimed, rising with alacrity. "It is only a few steps. We will go at once."

For the next half hour Peter Gross and he rambled through the dwelling.

It was modeled closely after the _controlleur's_ own, with a similar green and white facade facing the sea. The atmosphere within was damp and musty, vermin scurried at their approach, but Peter Gross saw that the building could be made tenable in a few days. At last they came to a sequestered room on the north side, facing the hills. An almost level expanse of garden lay back of it.

"This was Mynheer de Jonge's own apartment," Muller explained. "Here he did most of his work." He sighed heavily. "He was a fine old man. It is too bad the good G.o.d had to take him away from us."

Peter Gross's lips pressed together tightly.

"Mynheer de Jonge was careless of his health, I hear," he remarked. "One cannot be too careful in Bulungan. Therefore, _mynheer_, I must ask you to get me a crew of men busy at once erecting two long houses, after these plans." He took a drawing from his pocket and showed it to Muller.

The _controlleur_ blinked at it with a puzzled frown.

"These buildings will ruin the view, _mynheer_," he expostulated. "Such long huts--they are big enough for thirty men. What are they for?"

"Protection against the fevers, _mynheer_," Peter Gross said dryly. "The fevers that killed Mynheer de Jonge."

That evening, when Peter Gross had returned to the s.h.i.+p, Muller and Van Slyck met to compare notes. The captain was still boiling with anger; the resident's visit to Fort Wilhelmina had not soothed his ruffled temper.

"He told me he brought twenty-five irregulars with him for work in the bush," Van Slyck related. "They are a separate command, and won't be quartered in the fort. If this Yankee thinks he can meddle in the military affairs of the residency he will find he is greatly mistaken."

"Where will they be quartered?" Muller asked.

"I don't know."

"Maybe he will place them in the huts he has ordered me to build back of the residency," Muller remarked, rubbing his bald pate thoughtfully.

"He told you to build some huts?" Van Slyck asked.

"Yes, some long huts. Big enough for thirty men. He said they were to be a protection against the fevers."

"The fevers?" Van Slyck exclaimed in amazement.

"Yes, the fevers that killed Mynheer de Jonge, he said."

Van Slyck's face became livid with pa.s.sion. "Against the fevers that killed de Jonge, eh?" he snarled. "The d.a.m.ned Yankee will find there are more than fevers in Bulungan."

He flashed a sharp look at Muller.

"When you see Koyala," he said, "send her to me."

CHAPTER XIV

KOYALA'S DEFIANCE

From his quarters in the residency building, the same room where his predecessor, the obstinate and perverse de Jonge, had lived his brief and inglorious career, Peter Gross looked across the rolling expanse to the jungle-crested hills of Bulungan.