Adventure, July 1, 1928 — page 185: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE THRALDOM OF SINGAN the panting of a hunting lion. There was neither mirth in it, nor satisfaction. It suggested nothing but brute, physical strength. CHAPTER VIII THE TURN Be THE MOMENT there ap- OF THE SCALES peared to be no way of getting on board the launch without being seen. They lay there listening, not five yards away from the very man they wanted, able to hear every word that was said. The conversation they overheard was carried on in English and French alter- nately. In moments of extreme tension old Le Camus lapsed into his mother tongue, though for the most part Scala spoke in English. And it was he who did most of the talking. “Have you ever known me not mean what I say?” they heard him ask. “But, my friend,” he went on, in a voice meant to be conciliatory, “do not distress your- self. She will come back to me all right. She may be here at any moment.” “And then?” the old man asked. They could see, his face, scared, agonized, like that of a man in torture. “And then?” said Scala. “To Singan, where once and for all I have done with both of you.” He rapped out these words with a kind of vicious glee; and they saw him throw back his black curly head, as if -he laughed again. “Yes,” he went on. ‘I’ve had enough of you. Valérie has done her best to fool me. But I am neither blind nor a fool.” Le Camus was staring at him, his, fea- tures immobile, his whole face like wax, his lips parted. For a moment he never moved. “Diable!” he exclaimed, and then in English. “You are not human.” “T am too clever to be that, perhaps,” said Scala. ‘You are nothing to me but an incumbrance. I shall be glad enough to get rid of you. Valérie knows that, and therefore she will come back.” 179 “What will you do with her in Sin- gan?” Le Camus asked. “She shall have time to repent,” said Scala. “For the rest of her life she can find what consolation she can in a Malay harem, and such sympathy as she can get from the daughters of Malay fisherfolk and Hainanese coolies.” The old man must have flung himself upon his knees, for his face suddenly dis- appeared, and they could see nothing but his thin clasped hands. He _ spoke volubly, excitedly, and in such rapid French that of those who were listening only Madame Scala could understand a word. During these brief moments she -ex- perienced the most terrible anxiety, the most fearful suspense. She was powerless to help. She saw in torment—as she had often seen before—the old, broken man who was her-father. She knew the vio- lence of her husband’s temperament and his unscrupulousness. And yet all this time she had the strength of mind and the courage not to cry out and disclose the fact that she and her companions were there. She had crawled to Cartwright’s side. When the old man flung himself upon his knees, the young planter extended a hand and grasped one of hers in a mute attempt to strengthen her fortitude. Presently Le Camus rose to his feet, and they could see the tear drops stream- ing down his hollow cheeks, to hang like like shining drewrops in his white un- kempt beard. Sheer physical exhaustion had at last silenced the old man. He stood there trembling, panting. Scala made a cluck- ing noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, much as one does to a naughty child, suggesting regret more than disapproval. “Pray calm yourself,” said he. “I can well understand that for you these minutes must seem unconscionably long. It is but natural that you should be over- anxious. Permit me to recommend your usual solace—the opium pipe.” He appeared to lean forward to take comicloooks.com