CAT
HEADY MILNER RIDEOUT



3143.5.95.5
HARVARD COLLEGE
LIBRARY
DIAN
VA
ET
HA
VE
MIA.
Olsi
ECCLE
JONN
LESIAE
ADE
CHR
ÜNV.M
THE GIFT OF
CHESTER NOYES GREENOUGH
CLASS OF 1898
PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH


Vicario Guackecampestni
c.m.g.
Catulam hanc inoxiam
haud necessariam dican't
libeus lubens
Him. R.
Christmas
1925





THE SIAMESE CAT





3143.5.95.5
Copyright, 1907, McClure, Phillips & Company
HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY
GIFT C4
CHESTER NOYES GREENOUGH
Sept 26, 1927
Copyright, 1907, The Curtis Publishing Company





CONTENTS
CHAPTER
PAGE
I TIME AND CHANCE : ...... 3
II CHITS AND CATS .......
III THE LURKER IN THE RUINS ... 61
IV BLINDMAN'S-BUFF .......
V ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG” .
VI THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS ..
VII THE CATS HOLIDAY ...... 173
VIII AMENDS
........... 201


CHAPTER ONE
TIME AND CHANCE





“TIME AND CHANCE”
The Fates and the Feline brought it all to pass.
In doing so they roamed a wide territory,— the
privilege both of those grim gadabout humour-
ists, the Parcae, and of harmless, necessary
cats.
By chance, within the gates of a Japanese
temple, a sudden shower caught Owen Scarlett
idling, and drove him into the nearest shelter,
which happened to be a tiny, dark aquarium.
There, lounging pleasantly, listening to the
raindrops on the roof, watching the purple
and golden fish steer through cool bubbles
green as jade, he found himself near a group
of three women in the dusk. Europeans, there-
fore tourists, he thought. As the tank con-
tained nothing but a few coral rocks and pink
[3]


THE SIAMESE CAT
sponges, he was about to pass on, when by
chance he saw that one of the sponges was
breathing, with an oozy, half-organic motion,
sucking in bubbles through some shapeless
orifice. He watched, and suddenly the breath-
ing mass shot out, opened like a ragged um-
brella of pink flesh, sailed along the glass with
tentacles writhing, and stared at them with an
evil black eye set in a pulpy face.
The women squealed, and the nearest turned
instinctively to Scarlett.
“Horrible!” she cried. “Ugh!” They both
made the same face of. disgust, and then in
a comic impulse of relief, smiled at each other.
Even in the green light from the tank, she
was a pretty girl. Her eyes shone blue and
friendly, her face bright with the candour of
youth. In a flash, however, she had bethought
herself and turned away.
“It's a devil-fish, Aunty,” she said with com-
[4]


THE SIAMESE CAT
posure. “Do come and see something pleas-
ant.” And she led away her two elder compan-
ions.
That was all: but for months afterward,
when hard work had crushed out the memory
of his brief holiday in Japan; in odd moments,
among the leprous goblin cities of the China
Coast, among the million rat-hole lives of
Canton, or Wu-chow, or Hoi-how, or in offices
overlooking the saffron flood and slushy bund
of a Shanghai winter, he remembered the
incident, and in imagination saw the girl's
clear and merry eyes. A trifle to recall; yet
it was a vague comfort in some of those lonely,
worried, weary moments which, among unholy
sights, sounds and stenches, come to a solitary
white man lost in the flux and flow of the yel-
low myriads. Once, in Hong-Kong, half way
through a letter to his uncle's firm, he looked
up from the type-writer, stared across the har-
[5]


TIME AND CHANCE
ON
down the middle, and under jutting brows,
a pair of deep-set eyes that shone with a
changeable light. His air was that of some
robust, good-humoured Taipan. “All right?”
he laughed; and the tail of his green be-
dragoned silk whisked into the next compart-
ment, from which soon issued a genial roar:
“O boy! My no towel no have-got! Catchee
mai-wun! Fai-di!”
On the evening of the same day, in the din-
ing-room, a German antiquary going to Angkor
looked up from his solitaire, caught Scarlett's
eye across the table, and said guardedly:
“You are not a friendt to der larch man in
der corner smoking, and who now hass gone
top-side, no ?" His glance took in the retreating
figure of the man with the trimly parted beard.
“No,” said Scarlett.
“Dot iss goot,” the German nodded heavily.
“It iss Borkman, der biggest scountrel in der
[7]


TIME AND CHANCE
Scarlett; but the big man, for all that his eyes
held at times an opal glow, appeared too frank
and hearty for so grim a history. And later, the
German innocently told a set of gross fictions,
palpable Shanghai “bunders”; whereas the big
man, when they reached Saigon, went out of
his way to oblige Scarlett with some valuable
information, and laughing all thanks jovially
aside, disappeared down a wide and empty
boulevard of red clay, into that artificial Paris
of the Orient.
Again by chance, it was late March when
Scarlett opened and joyfully read a letter from
his uncle's firm which, ending his long exile on
the China seaboard, recalled him to take charge
of their Oriental department, and gave him
till September to wind up his affairs and reach
the home office.
“Must have made good, more or less,"
thought Owen, happily. “Now which way
[9]


TIME AND CHANCE
“Why, you're the devil-fish girl!” he ex-
claimed. Their laughter mingled happily.
“What a horrid name! But it shows a flatter-
ing memory,” she said. “Still, I knew you clear
across from the doorway, coming in—"
Scarlett replied, in cold and feeble words for
a heart aglow. Their faces might have shown
how glad they were; and of this the girl was
perhaps aware, for on a sudden she made the
matter less personal, saying:
“It's good to see an American again, isn't
it? You live out here in the East ?”
“Not now, thank Heaven,” said Owen.
“Ship me somewhere west of Suez. I'm tired
of it. I'm just going — " By a flash of genius
he stopped before committing himself. “I'm
just going about on a few errands, to and fro
in the world. You're travelling, too, aren't
you?”
“Yes,” replied the girl. “My aunt and I are
us
[11]


THE SIAMESE CAT
going back by Suez. Her friend deserted her in
China, and we've taken a courier to protect
us, and now we're running up to Siam, to
Bangkok.”
“That's odd, isn't it ?” he returned, brazen-
ly. “I have to go there myself, on - a matter.
You go by the German Mail, I suppose ?”
“Oh, no, by the ‘Prapatom,' on Saturday,"
she explained. “There'll be a crowd on
board, and 'a stupid crowd of foreigners,'
I'm afraid.”
“I can promise not to be a foreigner, at
least,” he laughed. “The ‘Prapatom' happens
to be my steamer. ... ”
A straight and shining military youth sud-
denly drew himself up tall before them, and
drawling officially, reported that the dance was
his.
“I hope to see you on board, then, Mr. Scar-
lett,” she called with a smile over her shoulder,
[12]


TIME AND CHANCE
as she was caught into the whirl of skipping
feet and sad, preoccupied faces.
As for Owen, he found an obscure chair in
the verandah. For a long time he smoked,
grateful to destiny, watching the broad banana
leaves, a sheaf of giant quill-pens in living green,
as they drooped and swayed in the lamplight
under the cool, damp breath of the night breeze.
“What luck, what luck!” he told himself in
wonder.
Before the morning had time to glare, Owen
had rattled in a dark-shuttered gharri to the
shipping-office; and two days later, sweltering in
the muffled sunlight under the “Prapatom’s”
awning, he had the satisfaction of seeing large
canvas trunks, marked “L. H.,"slung upon the
forward deck by the wild-haired Malays.
“Lucky I didn't toss heads,” thought this
young adventurer. Never before did clank of
winch or chatter of coolies seem so joyful; never
[ 13 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
ON
before the act of waiting so happy and so vexa-
tious.
But he was not of the sort to hurry matters,
or plan vulgar stratagems among deck-chairs
or places at table. From the upper end of the
captain's mess, he had the mild pleasure of
bowing to Miss Holborow at the lower. She
sat, in white, beside a prim little woman in
grey. Down the length of the table the punkah
wagged slow and cool, like a boom with a
valance of canvas flapping below. As he stole
a look under the frill of this from time to time,
he could see the aunt utter a few staid sen-
tences, and the girl reply.
Presently, to his surprise, in marched a
white-clad giant, his friend of the Saigon
boat,- Borkman of the parted beard. He
chose the chair opposite the two ladies, and
bowed with an almost familiar air. They re-
turned the bow graciously enough.
en-
[14]


TIME AND CHANCE
The captain grunted. He was a clean elderly
Englishman, with cheeks ruddy from whisky
and tropic weather, but fine grey eyes full of
honesty. All through dinner he watched the
lower end of the table; at last he beckoned to
an alert, little, withered Chinaman in a pale
blue robe.
“Ah Fook,” said the captain, rather loudly,
“how fashion this coffee b’long no good ? Make
him more better, chop-chop!”
“Can do,” said the steward, blinking gravely.
“Man-man," the captain went on, in a low-
ered voice, barely audible to Scarlett. “You -
see gentleman down next Number One officer ?
He eat his chow bottom-side Number Two
table breakfast. B’long so. You catchee cards.
You savee ?”
“Can do,” repeated the Celestial.
“Impudent bounder,” the captain grum-
bled; and then, changing the subject, he re-
ma
[15]


THE SIAMESE CAT
marked to Scarlett, “She's making a good
thirteen knots to-night, do you know ?”
Whatever hopes Owen might have had for
that evening were disappointed; for Miss Hol-
borow stayed in the stuffy saloon and played
picquet dutifully with her aunt. Walking seven
miles round the deck,- passing from the mys-
tery of vast moonlit space and a witch-fire
ocean of phosphorous, astern, into the swaying
lantern-light amidships — he could see the
two women through one porthole, and through
the next, in the little hazy smoking-room, the
big countenance of Borkman, presiding radi-
antly over a circle of yellow glasses.
"He has cheek enough,” thought Scarlett.
“I'll have to ask the captain about him some
time.”
Then came a whole morning of delight. Soon
after breakfast, he found himself being intro-
duced to the aunt, and presently sitting in a
ON
[16]


TIME AND CHANCE
TO
canvas sling chair next Miss Holborow herself.
The aunt was a bright-eyed, spare, spinster-
like little matron, whose grey hair was close-
hauled about a pert though elderly head. She
drew in her chin with a bird-like motion, and
gave Owen an odd look, half-friendly, half-
suspicious, which declared — “You seem pass-
able, but one can't be too careful.” All that
she said, however, was:
“How do you do, Mr. Scarlett. My niece has
told me of having met you at the Tanglin
dance.” She spoke as one whose conscience
pursues her to the minutest parts of speech.
“Your name is very familiar to me: it must be
that you have relatives in — ”And, being satis-
fied on this point, Mrs. Holborow withdrew
from the conversation, to become calmly en-
grossed in a magazine essay on "Thoreau, the
Man.” Evidently her mind to her a kingdom
was; yet Owen, looking up from the happiest
[17]


THE SIAMESE CAT
m
W
of talk, could now and then catch the reader's
eye flickering back at them warily out of the
corner, like 'the glance of a nervous mare
driven without blinders.
There was nothing in the talk to disturb
that best of chaperons. The girl and the
young man, having laboriously dug up com-
mon acquaintances, pitched them overboard
and began to find out more about each
other. From their long chairs in the canvas-
muffled sunlight, they could look under the
rail-awnings, out over the sapphire calm of
the South China Sea. All about the ship fly-
ing-fish, like silver humming-birds, skimmed
along on shivering wings, to vanish into the
slope of a little wave with a sunlit splash as of
bullets volleyed and scattering.
“I'm never tired of seeing them,” said the
girl, and screened her eyes with one brown
hand.
( 18 )


TIME AND CHANCE
“No — yes — very pretty,” replied Scar-
lett. It was the flutter of her hair in the
hot, faint breeze that he had been watch-
ing; and his mind was filled with specula-
tion and misgiving. “You've chosen lucky
weather, and a good voyage. Travellers
don't come up here so often; Bangkok's a
quiet place.”
“That's just it,” she rejoined. “I'm tired of
being a tourist in a groove; my aunt's tired of
places that are not quiet. We have an acquaint-
ance or two up there. And then, she hasn't
been happy since we left Japan — doesn't
like the East very well, I'm afraid. Do you,
Aunt Julia ?”
Mrs. Holborow, frowning over the fine
print, tossed her chin impatiently.
“No," she said; then launched a thunder-
bolt. “All the men are bibulous, and the wo-
men devoid of ideas. Of course,” she added,
[ 19 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
glancing off the page, “the scenery is extremely
- er — picturesque.”
She ducked again into the cool depths of
Walden Pond. Scarlett discovered that a pretty
face can twitch into odd curves.
“You see, her friend Mrs. Bolton decided
to stay with relatives,” the girl explained.
“After that I had trouble persuading my aunt
to come on; but she finally gave in when we
found we could take a reliable courier, to
manage our trunks and plunder and things.
He's a jewel, that man! Very good recommen-
dations, and knows everything! My aunt ap-
proves of him, and she's hard to please. Aunt
Julia!”
No answer came from among the pages.
“Aunty dear! Isn't our courier a lovey
duck ?"
Mrs. Holborow looked up severely.
“No,” she informed them. “I wish you
[ 20 ]


TIME AND CHANCE
wouldn't be so silly, Laura. He's quite capable
and obliging; but please don't interrupt me
now, dear. I'm reading such an excellent thing.
This ‘Thoreau, the Man,'— it's so — er —
suggestive, and — human, and — er — stimu-
lating.”
“Let's take a walk, then,” the girl said
promptly; and lagging somewhat in the drowsy
heat, the two started off round the deck. She
was very straight, with no seeming effort to
poise; walked easily, without slatting her arms
or whisking her skirts or thrusting her face
forward; and, altogether, he thought, had the
gait and action of a sensible girl. Several turns
they made together, passing the loungers in
the deck-chairs: Mrs. Holborow, still rapt and
stimulated; a trim nervous Englishman rust-
ling the sheets of the “Pink ’Un,” whom Owen
set down vaguely as the admired courier; a
plump little brown Japanese, smiling toothfully
[21]


THE SIAMESE CAT
at the dreamy universe; Borkman parting
with jewelled fingers his sable-silvered beard,
as he listened politely, but with mirthful eyes,
to the earnest talk of a sallow missionary; and
a rich Chinese merchant who, in a robe of black
figured silk, sat reading with grave approval
“The Swiss Family Robinson.”
In this company they made the voyage, five
lazy, shining days of companionship: cool
sunrise hours when they met in wraps and
sandals, to eat mangoes and watch the Malays
scrub the deck with half-cocoanut-shells; noons
of fierce heat smiting from the zenith, when
the steerage Klings, in turbans of rainbow
plaid, trolled for barracouta in a wake as of
snow and bluing; and nights of veiled moon-
light, when the wide gulf shivered with heat-
lightning, at whose all-pervading tremor the
lost horizon leapt forth black and startling. No
marvel of sea or sky appeared to Scarlett as
[ 22 ]


TIME AND CHANCE
ve
more than Laura's rightful setting and back-
ground. And speech, that to others had been
flat and tedious, became to them as simple as
the elements, potential as springtime, miracu-
lous as revelation.
In those days they should have blessed
“Thoreau, the Man.”
On the last morning, when the azure Gulf
of Siam was lost in the yellow outpour at Koh-
si-chang, and crossing the bar, the “Prapatom”
had steamed into the river, Scarlett and the
girl stood together by the rail. They were
silent, looking back to where, in the liquid
light of dawn, the temple of Pak-nam rose
from a fairy island, like the tall white helmet
of a sunken genie. Slowly the ship moved up a
river of molten copper, between low banks of
vivid green bush and slim areca palms. From
the bosky mouth of a hidden waterway, here
and there, sampans stole out, - a lithe figure
were
wrec
m
[ 23 ]


TIME AND CHANCE
particular sights would vanish: this girl and
her aunt would, like the rest, depart into mem-
ories. They would join their friends, he would
languish among strangers, and all his valiant,
hare-brained stratagem would come to nothing.
That would never do.
“Miss Holborow,” he began in a resolute
voice. “Please don't be offended.” His tone
made her look up quickly for an instant; and
for that instant he floundered in a new and
singular confusion. “You'll think it very odd,
and blunt, and. ... Well, I've seen you
three times, twice by chance. But for all that.
... By George, it won't do to have you
go disappearing here in Siam. The world's
terribly big; especially the East, where you
lose your memory: people and things drop out
of sight everywhere, and maskee! — but for
friends. ..." He stopped, ashamed of this
foolish floundering. Meantime she looked at
[ 25 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
him, so frank and so puzzled that the absurdity
of it all overpowered him.
“Let me be honest, anyway,” he continued,
laughing. “I've not the shadow of any kind of
business up here. I was heading for Europe, in
general, and when you said the other evening
that you were coming up, — why, I lied and
came, too...."
There fell a rather long silence. Below on the
deck, the black fans of the coolies fluttered,
brown legs stirred uneasily on the matting, a
two-stringed fiddle was wailing, and from be-
hind the ventilator-cowl a sing-song voice
chanted an endless improvisation. Metallic
thunder resounded along the ship, and a bare-
foot Chinese boy pattered past, beating the
breakfast gong with a skilful, rubbing stroke.
“We've been good friends for a time,” said
Owen, in conclusion, and then smiled. “It's
best not to have been so on false pretences.”
[ 26 ]


TIME AND CHANCE
The girl searched him through with one
bright, incomprehensible look.
“I think,” she declared slowly, “that you're
a very honest, funny — Boy. Very funny!
Didn't you see, you couldn't dog us round the
world in this way?"
“Couldn't I ?” he answered stubbornly.
“No," said Miss Holborow. “My aunt would
never allow it, for one thing." They laughed,
and moved away towards breakfast. “If you
hadn't told me all that —” she stopped abrupt-
ly—“I knew you were very honest, when I
saw you at the devil-fishes."
When the ship had anchored in the racing
Me-nam, and the howls of coolies and bumping
of sampans announced the hour of disembark-
ing, Scarlett paid his farewell compliments.
“And a pleasure for us, too,” the little spin-
ster-like matron averred, as if it had been a
vote, not wholly of disapproval. “I hope we
we
[ 27 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
IS we
may happen to meet again somewhere. No,
many thanks, our man is seeing to our luggage.
Good-bye, Mr. Scarlett.”
“Good-bye,” said he, and answered the girl's
smile; but it was gloomily that he swung down
on the forward deck and picked out his trunks
from the heap.
“I'm an ass,” he thought, and gave almost
savage directions to the hotel boy.
Near by, Borkman of the glowing eyes
towered calm above the confusion. In cream-
coloured pongee, with a diamond buckle on his
watch-strap, he surveyed the trunks, choosing
among them with a silver-mounted stick of
polished stingaree. “Those b’long my, eight
piecee, catchee that house, chop-chop!” he
commanded, giving the coolie a written card.
The stingaree rapped down sharply on the
canvas trunks marked “L. H.”
Scarlett stared in wonder.
[ 28 ]


TIME AND CHANCE
“I am an ass,” he repeated. “Never guessed
it, never asked Her -
From the bridge-rail above, the Captain-a
purple, sarcastic cherub in the pea-green halo
of a sun-helmet- was forgetting the presence
of ladies.
“Can't you see ?” he roared. “You've
fouled the bloomin' stanchion ? Be-george,
you’re as nimble as that bird they call the ele-
phant!"
Wd
[ 29 ]





CHAPTER TWO
CHITS AND CATS


CHAPTER TWO
CHITS AND CATS
Owen let the launch go puffing to the land,
bearing with it - a white figure among the
bow cushions — all the good, all the gain of the
Orient. He stood and formed a plan.
At the foot of the bridge-ladder he found the
Captain, mollified by the happy effects of epi-
gram, oratory, command, and a stengah with
the Customs Officer.
“Good-bye, sir, I've had a pleasant voyage,”
said Scarlett; and when they had shaken hands
- “By the way, what's wrong with that fellow
Borkman ? I meant to ask before —”
The ruddy little Captain rested his gaze upon
the spire of a distant wat, and meditated, as if
the secret were impaled on the pinnacle. “His
damned ubiquity, for one thing,” he as-
( 33 )


THE SIAMESE CAT
serted, in a voice of slow, tolerant conviction.
Then, as his glance came back to the deck, his
eyes flashed: “Wrong? Why, the fellow's a rot-
ter! A confounded waister! Shouldn't have al-
lowed him aboard my ship, sir! What the devil
do those ladies let him tow round after them
for, eh ? Biggest bloomin' rascal in the East -
notorious ! Ask Newton about the elephants on
his teak concession, or poor old Gatcomb how
he lost his billet, over one scheme. Was an I.
D. B. in Kimberley once, they say. Bah! —”.
The Captain meditated again.
“You seem to know them — nice girl, too
.., Put them ‘near,' as you Americans say.
He's working some squeeze or other now, mind
you _-"
Beside them there bobbed up an umbrella of
yellow paper, glossily varnished, from beneath
which a pigtailed compradore in claret-coloured
robes peered up at them with slant eyes and
[ 34 ]


CHITS AND CATS
oily brown smile. The Captain turned on him
viciously:
“And here's another squeeze! What do you
want, eh ? Money, money — good God, what
a world! See you later, Mr. Scarlett. Just now
we're in a perfect hurrah's nest....”
Vague as the testimony was, it sufficed for
Scarlett. Duty had linked arms with desire,
and his heart was fixed. No rotter, not even the
mildest waister, should be allowed to guide the
Holborows so freely and flagrantly. The sam-
pan that sculled across the brimming race of
the Me-nam carried an indignant champion
and his luggage.
From the dwindling steamer, the Captain
trumpeted through his hands _“Did me in the
eye for Four Hundred Ticals!”
For the next few days Owen went diving
hopefully into the dark interiors of wats. Whole
afternoons he waited there, an impatient lover
[ 35 ]


CHITS AND CATS
cross
At last he become a known visitor at the
counters of shipping-clerks, and between-times,
a solitary sitter in the hotel garden. He felt both
silly and desperate; but at least that ill-sorted
trio should not sail down the Me-nam unob-
served.
On a hot, lonesome day, as he sat on the
little platform which, from the shade of high-
arched, breezy almond trees, looks across
the racing copper flood to the teak-mills,
he was roused by a heavy step and a cheerful
hail:
“Oh, there you are, eh ?” Borkman, clothed
in white, resplendent with gold tical buttons,
sat down and grinned across the white-painted
disc of the little tin table.
“Looking for you all over, Mr. Scarlett,"
he said. “Nice hotel this -- I'm staying at a
livelier place, though, myself, if you understand
me. Go up to their house every morning and
[ 37 ]


CHITS AND CATS
DEAR MR. SCARLETT:
My aunt and I go with the guide to the ruins at Ayuthia
on Thursday morning, and come back by launch in the eve-
ning. If you can come too, we shall be very glad. The Ad-
mirable Bearer will bring your answer by word of mouth. I
hope you can come.
Yours sincerely,
LAURA HOLBOROW.
Can't you help us buy a Siamese cat this afternoon ? We
pick up the A. B. at your hotel, four o'clock.
“You'll come ?” said Borkman, who seemed
to have grasped the situation completely. He
gave the young man a benignant smile, and the
faintest flutter of a wink,- at once impudent
and paternal. “That's good. The ladies will be
pleased, eh?” He rose with the air of one who
ends an audience. “Thursday, then ? Train
at 7:40, you know. Right-oh! Good-bye, my
boy.” And he swaggered off across the clean
sand of the little garden.
Scarlett was left to discover that this pernic-
ious waister had hobnobbed with him, patron-
.
[ 39 ]


CHITS AND CATS
the young man, with indignation. Had it not
been too much work, he would have formed
moral reflections on woman's judgment of
character. Instead, he puzzled once more over
the situation: “A man covered with gold tics
and diamond watch-strap buckles is not of the
courier type. What's his game ?”
He found no answer; and Borkman, when
he reappeared later, stalking large in the river-
garden, did not enlighten him. At the same mo-
ment wheels rattled in the road, and a victoria
drew up at the verandah-end, with a flash of
white through the sunny leafage.
It was she! it was also Aunt Julia: from one,
a radiant, all-rewarding smile; from the other
an indrawn chin and bird-like nod: and Owen
found himself perched on a half-seat facing
them, while Borkman, cracking a whip, led the
way nobly in a high Tum-Tum cart with a
Waler.
[41]


THE SIAMESE CAT
The ponies scampered along the New Road,
clattered down a row of Chinese shops in Sam
Peng, and out along the old city wall, where
they shied at an elephant plodding to his bath.
Scarlett neither marked their course nor knew
that they were in Siam: he was with Laura
Holborow again, hearing her speak, meeting
the glance of those honest eyes where mirth
lived and moved, like swiftness playing over
depth. After an age of dumb sloth, he was
restored to life, to speech, to joy.
“... Very interesting indeed,” Aunt
Julia was expounding, “especially to see and
study Buddhism at home. With all their toler-
ant innovations, they seem to have kept the
purer, primitive beliefs, such as -—"
"Do look!” cried Laura, eagerly. Below the
road stretched a canal, empty at ebb-tide; and
in a sampan on the flat waste of filthy ooze, a
little Siamese, trousered in a yellow panung, lay
[ 42 ]


CHITS AND CATS
supine, pointing a flute skyward and blowing
pastoral notes. Laughing together, these two
young people never listened to pure and primi-
tive Buddhism.
Mrs. Holborow was naturally somewhat
acidulated.
. “This is a very silly expedition that the guide
has persuaded you into,” she told Laura. “The
cat will be a great nuisance, and I dare say a
source of contagion.”
“Oh,” said Scarlett cheerfully, “there's
not much plague or cholera here now."
“A little would be quite sufficient,” replied
Aunt Julia, stiffly.
Presently their driver swerved after Bork-
man's whiplash round a corner, and pulled up
behind the Tum-Tum in a crowded bazaar
that reeked of betel, burning joss-sticks,
Chinese tobacco, frying lard, and green drain-
age. Their burly guide, scattering ducks,
2
.0
[ 43 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
pariah dogs, and black sows, dived under a
monstrous Chinese lantern, and led the party
into the dusk and disorder of a pawnshop. On
his platform beside a tall glass case of silver-
ware, a young Chinaman, naked to the waist,
sat braiding pink threads into his queue. He
stared at the ladies, and coiled the half-finished
strand about his neck.
Borkman presented a hieroglyphic letter,
which the pawnbroker read slowly through
horn-rimmed spectacles, whispering to himself,
and spacing off groups of characters with a
long blue thumb-nail. Meantime the booth
was penned in by a chattering crowd, both
Thai and Hainanese, gathered to watch the
bargain; while imps of children, smeared as
with yellow ochre and dressed only in heel-
bangles or silver fig-leaves, gleefully skipped
in pestilential dust.
The pawnbroker gravely finished the painted
[ 44 ]


CHITS AND CATS
scroll, nodded, grinned — his mouth gaping
blood-red with betel — and snarled something
over his shoulder. A mysterious scuffle rose
in the back shop, and presently a neat-bodied
little Luk-Chin woman came clambering over
a heap of brass-work, hugging three rebellious
cats close to her kerchiefed breast.
Poured sprawling upon the platform, the
cats tried vainly to bolt, then sat ruffled and
indignant, darting side glances of sullen light.
“Isn't he a beauty ?” cried Miss Holborow.
“Careful,” Scarlett warned her. “Don't
admire. Let me do the bargaining; may I ?"
“The big fellow is the only one to buy, sir,”
Borkman advised. Before the ladies, his
manner seemed unnaturally subdued, his
genius rebuked. “Don't buy the little ones,
Mr. Scarlett, that's all. The big chap would
fetch fifty to a hundred pounds in London, as
he stands."
( 45 )


THE SIAMESE CAT
Dnes &
“But the two small ones are blue,” said
Mrs. Holborow, forgetting her general objec-
tion in a particular. “And the King has offi-
cially declared that blue cats are....”
“Oh, Aunt Julia,” cried the girl reproach-
fully, “just see the other. He's a dear.”
The dear uttered a “Yaow!” of unearthly
volume, and stared up with the ice-blue eyes of
a goblin. He was not of the royal hue, but
fawn-coloured, with seal-brown face, paws, and
tail, bat-ears, and bristling moustachios of
snow-white.
“He heard me!” said Laura “I must
have him.”
“No enthusiasm,” commanded Scarlett.
“Let me.” Then, turning to the Chinaman,
who sat in a fine oblivion, smoking a Malacca
tin pipe like a long-spouted silver tea-pot:
“Ni teng ha,” he said, and pointed to one of
the blue cats. “Miu chai gi do ?”
[ 46 ]


CHITS AND CATS
SCO
“Yit ba bat,” sang the pawnbroker, with
a quick gleam in his beady eyes.
“M-hai!” Owen laughed in scornful good
humour. “Ngo gom po guai a!”
Negotiations ceased. Scarlett turned airily
and surveyed the crowd outside.
“What did you tell him ?” asked Miss Hol-
borow, amused.
“I asked how much can catchee this cat,”
Owen replied. “He wants a hundred tics,-
absurd: so I told him to lcwer his price. Don't
be impatient.”
The coolies and the children gaped. One
tall Chinaman, who had looked feverishly
intent, turned about tactfully to await the
renewal of the bargain, presenting an oily
brown back.
“Hallo,” said Owen. “See that, Miss Hol-
borow.”
Between the muscular shoulder-blades, in
[ 47 ]


CHITS AND CATS
gibes. At last Scarlett changed his mongrel
speech to English:
“Well,” he said, “ you can buy the big chap
for forty ticals. He's an unusually good one-
probably stolen. But before you close the
bargain, I must tell you that it's a risk: they
often die going Home, they're quarantined in
London, and probably not even admitted by
our delightful authorities in New York.”
Laura's face clouded, but Borkman came
to the rescue.
"It's not so bad as that, sir,” he declared
cheerfully. “I'll see to him. Get him home
for you with no trouble whatever — abso-
lutely. If Mr. Scarlett is afraid, I'll buy him
on my own responsibility, and you can get him
from me whenever you like, Miss Hol-
borow.”
He had drawn himself up tall, a bearded
protector of ladies.
[ 49 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
an (
ec
US-
“He's the boy to carry cats,” whispered
Laura to Owen, behind Aunt Julia's back.
Borkman caught the buzz of the whisper, and
for a second his eye gleamed with an odd sus-
picion. Then he repeated, amiably — “ It's
quite safe.”
“The whole affair is absurd,” said Aunt
Julia. “We have too much stuff already. A cat
is a — a beast.”
There was no gainsaying this.
“And I foresee, Laura,” she continued
gloomily, “this will be like those white
rabbits that you begged so for when you
were little, and that I had afterwards to
feed.”
“Oh, Aunt Julia,” laughed her niece, “what
a memory you have! But it was only for a week.
.
.
.
»
Owen saw that this discussion tended be-
side the point.
( 50 )


THE SIAMESE CAT
“Good! Just it!” she exclaimed. “Come,
Chao Phya! Come to Missy!”
The new member of the peerage stared
coldly, cried an amazing “Yaow!” and sud-
denly leapt upon the girl's shoulder.
“There!” she cried in triumph. “He's
purring already. The little old dear!”
“Excuse me a moment,” said Borkman,
“I'll be back directly — if you will please wait
here ?"
As he stepped out into the glare, he bumped
against the tall Chinaman of the tattooed
symbol. “Look out there!” he snapped. Then
suddenly they saw, from the shop, his whole
frame struck by some change, and his clenched
fists quiver. The coolie was slinking away;
and as Borkman wheeled half about, his eyes
flamed with rage. It was a new face that they
caught sight of, and not a pleasant one to re-
member.
HITI
[52]


CHITS AND CATS
“Out o’the way!” he roared. “What thing
you do here ? You wantchee catch bamboo-
chow ? Vamoose!”
The Chinaman meekly disappeared in the
crowd. Borkman turned and stalked into a
dark alley across the bazaar.
“Why should be abuse that poor coolie so ?"
Miss Holborow wondered. “I never saw him
lose his temper before.”
He was gone a noticeable time, but reap-
peared all sunshine.
“I saw a little curio in a shop the other day,”
he announced, smiling down at them with
benevolent respect. “I was reminded of it just
now, and — er — made bold to get it, Miss
Holborow, as a present to Chao Phya. I hope
he'll accept it.”
He handed over a silver collar, hung with
three rather large bells, fluted cockle-shells that
tinkled musically. It was wrought with raised
[63]


THE SIAMESE CAT
mar
figures of men and elephants, in a maze of
lotus-leaves.
“Lao work, from a bracelet,” he explained.
“It makes a rather good collar, and I had Sin
Cheong's man put on 'Chao Phya,' while I
waited.”
Mrs. Holborow was drawing on the dignity
of an employer:
“Why, Mr. Borkman,” she began, “you
know we can hardly ..."
“We can hardly thank you enough,” cut in
Laura, with a dangerous glance at her aunt.
“It's beautiful work, and -- and a great sur-
prise. See, it fits His Highness as if made for
him!”
The paternal Borkman beamed on her as
she thanked him once more.
“Almost as well,” he agreed. “And now if
you wish to see that Wat of the Lotuses, it's
time we were going.”
. [54]


CHITS AND CATS
ra
So they left the pawnbroker braiding the
pink threads into his pigtail, and crossed the
viscid drain to the street. The light streamed
level down the white vista of shops. Chao Phya
shook his silver bells in Miss Holborow's lap,
the sais shouted at the opium dreamers in
the road, and they drove off through a double
line of yellow coolies, each shouldering twin
baskets like scales of justice and streaming
past at a stiff-kneed,wincing trot.
Beyond the town, the race-course and the
plains lay flooded in sunset light, and the shafts
of betel palm against the west stood black and
slender, like the crossed lances of a crowded
squadron. The sight-seers alighted before the
gates of Sapatomawan, where a carved and
gilded bridge spanned a klawng brimming with
great pink lotus chalices, and broad green
leaves, stiff as bronze-work. When they had
halted on the steps of the temple, it was already
[ 55 ]


CHITS AND CATS
"and he meant it well, but — why do you dis-
like him so ?”
“I've said nothing of the sort," retorted the
young man.
"I can tell you what you think,” she replied
from her meditation. “Our friends here, Mr.
and Mrs. Sanders, wonder where we got him,
I can see. But what's wrong ? He only looks
like the King of Spades with his hair cropped.
And Aunt Julia is fond of him!” A moment of
silent mirth overcame her; then she looked
grave again. “What do you think he's up to ?”
Scarlett shook his head. “It's — it's absurd !"
he said. The futility of his vague, hearsay
evidence irritated him. “I only wish I knew."
“Yaow!” remarked Chao Phya, and jingled
his silver bells in the dusk.
[57]





CHAPTER THREE
THE LURKER IN THE RUINS


CHAPTER THREE
THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
The barefoot guards saluted the lordly foreign
bust framed in the window of a first-class com-
partment; Borkman, graciously returning the
salute, raised a heavy black tamarind stick,
tipped with kerbau horn; and as if at the
great man's signal, the little train rolled
out from the station, out from the bush
and palm environs of Bangkok, into the
cool, fragrant, dazzled morning on the
open plain. With a parting tally of tiffin-
baskets, he modestly retired to the next
compartment, and left his employers with
Scarlett.
“Hello, Chao Phya,” said the young man.
“I didn't expect you'd be coming.” He falsely
patted the beast, which lay on the leather cush-
[61]


THE SIAMESE CAT
answ
ion beside Miss Holborow, in the attitude of
a sleepy Royal Bengal.
“The guide's frightened me about him,"
she answered. “He says we mustn't let him
out of our sight here, he'd be snapped up so
quickly; and he says the pawnbroker may try
to have him stolen: it's his regular trick, to
sell him again.”
“What 'he,' and what 'him'?” demanded
Mrs. Holborow, acutely. The same white topi
that made the niece a young Pallas helmeted,
made the aunt a grimly sporting zenana mis-
sionary. “That's quite the most careless and
confused speech I've ever heard, even from
you, my dear."
“Now don't pretend, Aunt Julia,”
said Laura mischievously. “Of course,
one 'he' is my big dear” (she hugged
the seal-brown head) “and the other is -
III
yours.”
[ 62 ]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
1
From bank to bank of the sharp-gabled vil-
lage they crossed the copper Me-nam, in a
boat whose thwarts and roof-posts were pol-
ished by generations. A handsome young Dane,
in a white tunic, spurred, belted with a sword,
saluted them on landing. All was ready, he
said, glancing admiration at Laura; he re-
gretted that his duties prevented him from
serving them as guide. And again the lone offi-
cer saluted, gravely, when they trotted off on
his ponies, from headquarters of the mounted
gendarmerie.
Borkman, with Chao Phya at his saddle-
bow, led them along the silent, stifling, brown-
burnt paths of the jungle. The split clay under-
foot exhaled heat; the palm fronds overhead
reflected heat; on either side, tumbling heaps
of brick - outskirts of the ancient city de-
stroyed by Burmese, and now worse racked by
jungle creepers—reverberated heat unbearable.
[65]


THE SIAMESE CAT
CO
“It's a perfect stoke-hole,” sighed Miss
Holborow.
“You — you — w-would come!” gasped
Aunt Julia. She jolted on, flushed, awry, pat-
ient, like a saint enduring the trials of both
Mazeppa and Abed-nego. “You would c-come,
L-Laura !”
“There!” cried the girl suddenly, as they
swung round a bend.
Indeed, she was right to wonder; for before
them, in a waste of fallen walls and broken
spires, rose the ragged, tree-grown, pillared
ruins of a temple; and among these, roofless,
throned above climbing growth, sat the gigan-
tic Buddha, outlined by incandescent gleams
of bronze, smiling majestically from out his
eternal thought. The walls rent and overthrown
by the wild fig, “Splitter of sepulchres”; the
year-long crumbling of stout prachadees; the
green bush growing on the shoulder of the Holy
rull
[66]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
One: all measured the duration and marked
the repose of his dream.
They were dismounting, when Laura cried
in a startled voice:
“What was that ?”
“Where ?” asked Owen, beside her.
“Behind that wall. Some one dodged out of
sight — Just then --”
Owen strode forward, but saw only a pair
of bare feet whisk round the corner of a dis-
tant thicket.
“Some native,” he laughed. “He had a worse
fright than you.”
Borkman had gone ahead with their coolie.
“Tiffin-basket here, I take it, madam ?”
he inquired, returning. At a glance he had
chosen the only possible corner in the stifled
clearing — a ruinous archway, under which
the travellers found both shade from the trucu-
lent sun, and a draught of air, in faint, hot
[67]


THE SIAMESE CAT
breaths, of scant relief. Their coolie had hardly
set down his baskets, before Aunt Julia was
drooping beside them, propped against the
ancient wall.
“Well,” she panted, “this is a preposterous,
preposterous —” words and breath failed her.
“I would not stir,” she declared feebly, “for
all the Buddhas of the Five Worlds.”
Laura knelt beside her in some anxiety;
but her next remark was reassuring:
“Don't crouch and stare in that undignified
posture, like a native! The time for any soli-
citude was before we started — before you
dragged me out on this preposterous — " Again
she found no word sufficient.
The tartness of her tone made Chao Phya
regard her gravely with his goblin eyes. He
stretched, rubbed himself against the wall in
a slant, voluptuous curve, and lay down at the
edge of the shadow in the doorway,
[68]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
“After tiffin we shall all be livelier,” said
Owen cheerfully. “It's been a hard pull in this
heat.”
Borkman was busily opening the baskets —
the picture of a genial comedian playing at
butler.
The tinkle of soda bottles, and the harsh
crackle of dry palm-tops in the hot breeze, dis-
turbed the dreamy noon. Suddenly, loose bricks
rattled down close by in a scrambling rush —
“Oh, stop him!” cried Laura.
In the doorway glare, a pair of yellow arms
made one desperate thrust, seized the dozing
cat, and vanished. Owen caught the flash of a
muscular back and the switching of a black
queue.
Both men leapt to the entrance, slid break-
neck down the steep rubble. But with a flying
start, the thief had ten yards law; and gaining
their feet on solid ground, they saw his saffron
arms
[69]


THE SIAMESE CAT
back and blue trousers vanish into a clump of
bamboo. Scarlett plunged through it next,
Borkman at his heels. Guided by the crashing
ahead, they fought their way as it were through
a white-hot furnace stuffed crisscross with dry
stalks and rasping leaves, a tangle burning to
the touch, but incombustible and tough to pen-
etrate.
Borkman swerved to the right.
“No, no! This way!” cried Scarlett, and held
his course, plunging and tearing. Straightway
his chase grew confused, his hearing puzzled, de-
ceived by twofold sounds of crashing: which
was the Chinaman's flight, and which the
guide's pursuit ? He panted on, blind and dizzy
with the heat. His temples throbbed as if to
burst.
Suddenly he ripped and fell through into a
clearing, just in time to see Borkman dive into
the opposite side, well to the right.
[70]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
“He may have struck it,” thought Scarlett,
as he ran through the open. The thief could
have cut across to any point of the compass;
all trails were now equal.
Nevertheless he pounded across, doggedly;
pierced again into the smothering: jungle;
wrestled through a wall of thorn bushes; trip-
ped, fell, rose again, and stumbled forth into
another clearing, with face and hands bloody.
The futility of the chase flashed upon him so
clear and sudden that he stopped, swore, me-
chanically listened. The Chinaman might be
hidden, chuckling, in some thicket far behind;
or far to their left, be speeding down a free
jungle path. The parched crackle of palm
fronds continued, sharp as the rattle of car-
riage wheels. His thorn cuts smarted with salt
sweat. Once — if it was not the dizzy thump-
ing in his ears — a strange, gabbling cry
sounded, away to the right. He tramped wear-
SO
year-
[71]


THE SIAMESE CAT
ily in that direction; shouted, listened, shouted
again, but with no answering sight or sound.
“Foolishness!” he muttered, angry and cha-
grined. “Wouldn't run in this heat for twenty
coolies with twenty cats.”
Yet when he had scouted fruitlessly for
Borkman, and through the bewildering same-
ness of jungle and ruins had toiled back to the
archway by the great Buddha, it was with a
downcast face that he reported failure.
“Lost him,” he said, gloomily. “Stupid.”
“What a shame!” said Laura. “You've run
till you're half dead. Good-bye, Chao Phya!
It's all my fault for bringing him. You poor
man — but there's blood on you!”
“Thorns,” he explained. “Perhaps the
guide has caught him.”
Aunt Julia roused, with a weary stir.
“I hope not,” she said grimly, and again col-
lapsed.
[72]


THE SIAMESE CAT
“I say!” he cried, in a curious tone of sur-
prise. “I am flayed a bit, eh ?”
“You must have run through Mr. Scarlett's
thorns,” said the girl.
“Of course!” he boomed. “That was it.
*Jumped into a bramble-bush!'Well, rather!”
He returned to the tiffin-baskets as though
nothing had happened.'
“Did you - I hope you didn't hurt that
poor thief,” Laura continued, stroking the
ruffled cat.
“Er — no,” said Borkman over his shoulder,
as he stooped. “Er — by Jove, the ice has
gone futt — clean melted. I dropped it in the
sun. Why, that chap got away clear, Miss. He
could run, if you like. Saw game was up-
dropped the cat - off like a shot. This heat,
too, poor devil -- my word, he ran!
The excitement over, he became once more
a subdued professional guide and handy man,
SU
man
[74]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
SO
gravely serving their tiffin of limp sandwiches
and tepid soda. And when Aunt Julia had re-
vived, he led her out, incongruous under a
wide umbrella, to confront the Dreamer in the
Ruins. The hum of explanation came drowsily
to Owen and the girl.
Their pretext — of hunting for small Bud-
dhas among the rubbish — led them slowly out
of ear-shot. Prodding into likely or impossible
corners, happy to be together, they encoun-
tered awkward, expectant silences, which nei-
ther knew how to break. From above crumbled
walls, and parching screens of jungle, the bronze
face of the Dreamer smiled with downcast
eyes, as though they too appeared in the illu-
sion of Forms, along with so many past phan-
toms — war and worship, growth and decay,
other lives and loves —so many eager shad-
ows flitting imperious and futile across this
solitude.
[75]


THE SIAMESE CAT
“Aren't we wandering rather far?” asked
Laura. It was not the subject uppermost in
her mind.
“We're not lost,” replied Scarlett. “This is
the way we chased the coolie.” It was not at
all his uppermost thought.
They dug listlessly, in silence.
“Mr. Scarlett,” began the girl resolutely.
“I've thought over what you said aboard ship.”
“So have I,” said Owen, in great relief.
“And been thoroughly ashamed. You're very
good — I didn't hope to see you again after
that — and — and —”.
“It was rather a cheeky thing to do, wasn't
it ?” Her tone was cool, her blue eyes shone
with uncompromising candour.
“No two opinions about that,” he admitted
ruefully. “Just brazen cheek.”
To his surprise, she laughed clear and joy-
ful.
[76]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
“That's what I like. You don't make ex-
cuses and — and that, but just own up nice
and squarely."
“So it's all right ?” said Owen. They faced
each other, radiantly. Flies hummed in the
tense, quivering stillness. “Then I'll do it
again — for another reason —”.
His tone was dangerous. Laura started on,
quickly; they turned the little promontory of a
ruin; and what he wished and feared to say
was forgotten.
It was here that the flies were humming.
Close under the wall, half covered by vines
burnt hard as wire, a man sprawled prone —
the Chinaman, dead, with a clotted knife-
wound in the back.
Owen whipped in before the girl.
“You can't do anything here,” he command-
ed. “Let me. Wait round the corner there."
With a queer catch in her breath, she obeyed.
wa
[77]


THE SIAMESE CAT
Owen stood staring. He had seen violent death
before, but this —
Just above the knife-thrust, on the broad,
sallow back, showed in blue tattooing the
Dual Powers, the convoluted Symbol of Crea-
tion. This, then, was the coolie whom Bork-
man had menaced outside the pawnbroker's
shop.
Gently, in a nausea of repugnance, he turned
the body over. As it rolled limply on its back,
something scratched his hand. The queue bris-
tled with long, sharp pins. Oil shone on the
naked chest. Scarlett whistled thoughtfully:
“Came prepared, didn't he ? Regular burglar's
make-up.” The Mongol face, more inscrutable
even than in life, gaped at the blazing sky,
idiotic and daunting. He had been run almost
through the body, pierced as if by a lance.
The stout belt-purse had been half wrenched
away.
[78]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
“May as well be thorough,” thought Owen;
and kneeling, he opened it. A poor handful of
silver coins, salungs bent in some gambling-
house, clinked within; and among them lay a
pasteboard ticket, - third-class, Bangkok to
Ayuthia, stamped with that day's date, punch-
ed and forgotten by the guard. He had followed
them to these ruins: to steal a cat, and meet his
death. Why?
Why indeed ? The thief sprawled among
the vines, tawny as the lifeless ground, agape,
mysterious, inaccessible.
There was nothing more to do. Retreating
slowly from the rebuke of that presence, Owen
turned the corner of the wall.
“Come,” he said. They moved off among
the ancient mounds, the air before them danc-
ing in blurs of heat. The girl shivered slightly,
paused as for breath:
“Was it-$” she whispered. “Did he do it?”
[79]


THE SIAMESE CAT
"No,” said Owen, as though she had named
the guide aloud.“No, I hope — I think
not. The wound — you see, he couldn't carry
such a weapon, — a spear or a long dagger.
Couldn't conceal it. No —”
"Oh, he wouldn't anyway!” she cried. “But
- what shall we do ?”
“Say nothing to him,” he replied slowly.
“Report - gendarmerie headquarters. What
else ?”
In silence, they gained the temple and the
archway. Among the baskets Chao Phya and
the coolie bearer dozed together; Aunt Julia
and the guide were returning at a distance.
“Remember — don't show that anything's
up,” whispered Owen.
It was a silent company that jogged back to
the living Ayuthia. Aunt Julia's one comment
expressed the general desire: “Let us go back
to civilization as soon as possible.” So Bork-
[80]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
man cantered on ahead to see that their launch
should have steam up. At the outskirts of the
village he cantered back again, calling:
“To your left, please! We'll ride straight to
the landing. I have boys to take the ponies
home.” He swung before them towards the
river.
“Very thoughtful, isn't he ?” sighed Aunt
Julia. “But we should thank that kind young
officer.”
“I'll go,” said Owen. He had already reined
about.
In the verandah of barracks the young
Dane looked up from inspecting Mannlicher
carbines. Handsome and impassive, he saluted,
bowed gravely to the message of thanks.
“But there's another matter," continued
Owen. “Out there in the ruins we found a man
killed, the dead body —”.
“Ah, yes,” interrupted the Dane slowly.
[81]


THE SIAMESE CAT
“That coolie — We shall find the place, thanks
to your — ah — most accurate description. It
is nothing to retain you more long, no ? Some
quarrels of thiefs. However, allow me your
address, as a favour; it may be well.”
“So you knew already!” cried Scarlett.
“Naturally.” The young officer smiled.
“Your -- ah - courier reported just since.
He found the body, and willed to refrain alarm-
ing the ladies; is it not? I go investigate
shortly.”
Scarlett rode down to the river with his chin
on his breast. As their launch slipped down
stream, in the level light that flamed through
the silhouette bars and tatters of palm-groves,
he remained silent and thoughtful. Crowded
among cushions at the bow, they had no room
for secrets.
The great tide turned in flood, making the
launch labour slowly; the cool darkness of the
[82]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
murs
East fell at a blow; and the easy slumber of the
East at last overcame the tired women. Yet
now and then they woke, with weary murmurs
of delight, at some picture fleeting past: a tug
whipping up-river an endless string of rice-
boats, each with a ruddy fire that lighted
up the brown legs of a squatting circle, and
each leaving a pungent wake of cookery and
sour betel; the bellying whiteness of a lateen
sail, swan-like, unreal, seen and lost in a mo-
ment of ghostly moonshine; splashes of lamp-
light wriggling deep in the river pools below
some floating bazaar or open house-boat,
where, as if kneeling on the water, black
profiles of Chinamen threatened each other,
chattering at Chai-mooey, the coolies' game
of forfeits. All these passed swiftly in a dream,
measured by the monotonous, happy chant
of the steersman, and heavy with the per-
fume of acacias.
[83]


THE SIAMESE CAT
When the other two slept soundly, Owen
leaned toward Borkman.
“What was all this?” he whispered. His
glance, in the lantern-light, was hard and
severe. “What did you tell them at gendar-
merie headquarters ?”.
“The facts, of course," said the guide read-
ily. "Strange business, wasn't it? Saw directly
by Miss Holborow's face that you'd found
him. Well, that's the way I found him, too —
dead — and the cat perched on the wall. Lied
to them, obviously. Silly to frighten women
about it, eh ? What ? Much in the dark as you.
My dear chap, I'd give anything to know _"
The young man leaned back again. Perhaps,
then, his thoughts had wronged Borkman; but
if they had, what was all this tangle? What
stratagems, what violence, could centre in the
absurd figure of a cat ? He must puzzle out the
problem. But athwart his first efforts came the
[ 84 ]


THE LURKER IN THE RUINS
thought of Laura, the flutter of her breathing
beside him, to confuse and erase his reasoning.
“This much is good,” he thought. “If there
is danger to her, I'm to be in it.”
( 85 )





CHAPTER FOUR
BLINDMAN'S-BUFF


CHAPTER FOUR
AU
BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
Mr. Sanders, a florid little man, accurately
dressed for summer evenings in England,
hopped down from the Holborows' carriage
and came trotting back through the hotel gar-
den.
“I say,” he chirped, “Mr. Scarlett! Won't
you come dine with us to-morrow night ? Ah,
good! Very glad. Surawongse Road. Right!
Good-night again.”
And so their expedition ended. Midnight
had passed, but Owen had no desire to sleep.
Calling for ice, soda, and cigars, he stretched
out in his verandah chair, and stared blankly
down into the moonlit compound. Banana
leaves drooped in pennants of hoary silver;
the tin roof of a go-down shone like snow; a
[ 89 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
.
coolie, sleeping in the dust, scowled upward,
with the shadowed sockets of a death's-head,
into the pale radiance. Now and then a ped-
lar's bell clanked faintly; a gust of laughter
told where sea-captains drank late under the
almond trees; or breaking the charm of still-
ness, a lizard cried: “To-kay! to-kay!” in a
voice dogmatic and hiccoughing.
“I can't believe him,” thought Scarlett.
“He seemed plausible there in the boat, but
-" Instinct declared the man a liar; reason
tried to marshal the facts both for and against
him:
“First of all, Borkman suggested buying
the cat. That proves nothing, either way.
Second, he knew the thief before — bumped
him in the bazaar -- and was not glad to see
him. Third, grabbing the coolie by the queue,
as he ran, would rip his hand exactly as it was
ripped. But then all those thorn bushes - I
[90]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
savee anything. No can do, my friend. Finish!
Put your beasts back. We'll try the collar
man.” He entered the stone-flagged alley,
to find that every other door revealed a
goldsmith's shop. "Lim Chong, Chin
Leong — what was it? Sounded familiar,
too. But they're all alike. Here it is — Sin
Cheong."
In the dusk, on clean matting, stood glass
cases full of shining wares. Behind a lamp-lit
counter, a jolly fat merchant sat clicking his
abacus. He looked up, nodded, grinned. “Tsu
s'n,” he remarked affably; then called aloud
for his assistant. Through the rattling strings
of the curtain, slid a sleek young Chinaman in
pale green silk pyjamas. His face was glossy,
keen, guileless, like that of an intellectual
babe.
“Ho Kong,” explained the merchant, “He
speakee Ingalis, my no can do."
[ 93 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
“Good-moh ? ning-seh,” chanted Ho Kong,
“I hop you ? ah velly well. You wantchee
buy nice golo-smit culio, I can ? show you,
seh.”
The slant, thick-lidded eyes watched every
movement, as Scarlett peered along the cases.
In one corner lay a silver bracelet, which, but
for having no bells, was the mate to Borkman's
gift.
“How much is this ? S’pose you put bells
on, how much ?" Owen looked squarely into
the clerk's eyes. They met his with a strange
gleam, but not a curve changed in the sallow,
infant face.
“Fiftee tical, he velly nice.”
“This chap does savee,” thought Owen.
“Fifty — say that means twenty: the cat was
forty. Do men kill each other over sixty ticals ?”
Aloud he said "Too much. What price this
silver casket ?"
[94]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
He bought a few things, handled many more,
called for a list of prices. Ho Kong the clerk,
rattling the abacus, jotted down figures on a
sheet of paper, which he folded trimly, and
delivered with a bow. Then, clapping on a
rakish Panama hat, he escorted Owen to his
carriage, and as it rolled away, bowed again
in best European fashion.
“I startled him about that bracelet,”
thought Owen. “The writing on this price-list
looks familiar, too. Where could I have seen
it? Hmm! So he comes into the affair, too; but
what affair ?”
The drowsy afternoon lagged by, the sun
dropped behind the teak-mills, the brown
smoke of twilight swiftly turned to darkness.
At last it was time to dress for dinner. Re-
turning to his room, he switched on the swing-
ing bulb just in time to see, on the back-ver-
andah rail, a pair of green-sleeved arms re-
[95]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
Honour, become kill your Honour's girl, very sorry. I
write this to obliged for you nextime.
Yours truly, and complete servant,
CHRISTIAN FRIEND.
N. D. Now, suppose you go, tell another mans look-see
watch room, no good. Undersigned will kill Your Honour
I think all same.
“My Christian friend,” chuckled Owen
grimly. “They teach them well at the missions
- So unless I give you a private interview with
the cat, you will regretfully kill me and —”
he laughed — “Your Honour's girl.' By
George, I wish she were! Whatever he wants,
this chap is making a rather silly bluff.”
He dressed hurriedly, and after a short drive,
reached Mr. Sanders's house. Not before coffee
in the verandah – when the ladies were talk-
ing of Home, and the men betting whether the
French would give up Chantabun — did he
get free speech of Laura. Lamps on a long
table divided them from most of the company.
[97]


THE SIAMESE CAT
Her first words out-valued all she had ever
said.
“I've waited the whole day to talk to you,”
she said guardedly; “Do you know, I'm getting
- rather afraid.”
“Afraid of what ?” he asked.
Leaning forward, she answered the question
with another.
“Did you hear what Mr. Sanders told at
table, about our burglar, – that his Sikh
watchman chased some one out of the com-
pound last night ? Well, I could have told them
more. What do you think ? Last night I could-
n't get to sleep, after all that happened in the
ruins. So perhaps about three o'clock I thought
of wandering out into my verandah to watch
the moonlight and find a breeze. I stepped out
through the door quickly, and almost ran into
a man -- a Chinaman. He was creeping in,
bent over — didn't even stop to see what I was,
[98]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
just bounced away and down the verandah
stairs."
“Plump, was he ?” asked Scarlett. “Wear
any sort of hat?"
"No," she reflected. “Little — thin – bare-
headed. He ran lame but very fast. At the front
of the stairs there, another popped up, and both
men ran off together. Then a third jumped out
from that shrubbery. That was the only one the
Sikh saw, for just then his turban came bob-
bing round the corner. He didn't catch any
one."
“Haven't you spoken of all this ?” whis-
pered Owen.
“Not a word. Because — because I wanted
your advice first, somehow. You see, that
wasn't all. Just before the Sikh appeared, an-
other man, a European, stepped out of that
shadow by the wall.” Laura pointed to a far
corner, densely blurred with flamboyer branch-
cor
[99]


THE SIAMESE CAT
es and tall crotons. “He was big, very tall even
crouching; he ran forward a few steps, dodged
back until the Sikh passed, and then stood out
an instant watching. I can't be sure: but the
moonlight was like day, and he stood there so
broad, with his feet braced apart — you know
— yes, like our courier Borkman. He held a
sort of staff in one hand, and the end flashed
bluish, like steel — a sword-blade or a spear-
head. But you don't look surprised.”
“I'm not,” said Scarlett dryly. “Where did
the cat stay last night ?”
“In my room,” replied Laura. “Then you
think, too _"
“Had you always kept him ?” he inter-
rupted.
“Why, no,” she answered. “Last night was
the first time. The guide had always taken care
of him. But last night when we landed, Mr.
Sanders said, ‘Bring him along to show the
[100]


BLINDMAN’S-BUFF
children to-morrow.' I remember the courier
objected, and Mr. Sanders snubbed him for
being impudent."
“Miss Holborow,” said Owen, gravely, “It
sounds foolish, but I think it's dangerous for
you to keep that beast. The burglars came
here because he came. Whether Borkman sent
them, or whether he stood on guard against
them, I can't tell yet. The entire affair is blind-
man’s-buff. But one thing I begin to see:
wherever Chao Phya goes, there'll be trouble.”
“I won't give him up now,” she declared,
with the pout of a spoiled child. “But we can't
fill Mr. Sanders's house full of Chinese burg-
lars, can we ? Please tell me what to do ?”
“Promise me one thing," he answered.
“When you engage passage back to Singapore,
tell me; and let me take the same steamer.
Our friend the King of Spades is not the safest
of guides. Does your agreement let you dis-
[101]


THE SIAMESE CAT
charge him here ? No: well, that might not be
wise, anyway. You promise ? Thank you —
Then, let me take Chao Phya home to-night,
and keep him. No, there's no danger, in a hotel
full of people. So that's settled; and now, tell
Mr. Sanders privately, without fail, just enough
to show that you were frightened last night.
So that he'll have a boy or two sleep in your
verandah and the Sikh on close watch.
Good!”
Mr. Sanders peeped waggishly round the
lamp.
“Aha!” he exclaimed, “I thought it was
very quiet this side! Mr. Scarlett, you've for-
gotten to drink your stengah, and we're on the
second. This is bad!”
Scarlett had man's natural contempt for cats;
but as he lifted Chao Phya to the carriage
cushions, he felt not ungrateful to this solemn,
· green-eyed puzzle.
[102]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
From the verandah Aunt Julia called down
in astonishment -
“Are you taking him ?”
“Yes," he laughed back. “Miss Holborow
lends him. A friend of mine is anxious to see
him. In fact, several men — Good-night.”
Just how anxious, he was soon to learn. The
moon still lurked behind the eastern palm-
groves, the road was a gully of ragged shadows.
Once or twice, as they rolled along it, he seemed
to hear footsteps pattering swiftly.
“Hi, gharri-wallah!” he called. The bearded
Mohammedan pulled up. “Who runs behind ?
We had no sais.”
The driver listened.
“Master, I think Ee-Sander Sahib send
one man.”
But the sound had stopped. The carriage
was slowly getting under way again, when
some one dived in head first — a half-naked
[103]


THE SIAMESE CAT
Chinaman, thin and feverishly spry, clutched
once in desperation just as Scarlett swept the
cat under his left arm. With his right he struck
out heavily. The man toppled into the road,
but rebounding like a ball, cleared the ditch,
skimmed a hedge, and was lost. The Moham-
medan lashed the ponies. They had galloped
a hundred yards before Scarlett discovered that
Chao Phya was scratching venomously.
“By George, that chap ran lame!” he
thought. “Laura's burglar: they keep a good
watch. Now my troubles begin — but that one
was harmless enough!”
Under the lights of his verandah, however,
he decided otherwise. A ragged triangle of
leather, wads of curled hair, flapped at his
shoulder. An upward stab had disembow-
elled the back cushion. His fist had been none
too ready.
“So Christian Friend was not bluffing,”
[104]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
he told himself, when at last stretched on his
bed. “Chao Phya, if you could only talk!”
The cat, sitting beside Owen's feet, blinked
sagely at the night-lamp with goblin eyes of
changing fire. He yawned hungrily, jingled
his silver bells, then in slow revolution trod
out a lair and curled down to sleep. Owen lay
wakeful; or dozing wearily, started at every
flutter of bats without, every stir of geckoes
on his chamber wall. But the pink mists of
dawn glimmered at last through the doors:
nothing had happened.
And although — mindful of Ho Kong's
letter - he stationed boys to watch for prowl-
ers, and kept his room all afternoon, the hours
dragged by tame and empty.
“Beast!” he grumbled next day at tiffin.
“This makes five meals in my room, all on
your account. If I owned you, Chao my boy,
Pd stop their nonsense — wring your neck,
[105]


THE SIAMESE CAT
“I'll try to look out for them, sir. You see —”.
“I don't blame you,” chirruped the older
man. “Never leave a defenceless aunt! Lucky
chap ... Youth, youth!”
“And Mr. Sanders,” interrupted Owen
stiffly, “Let me thank you for the mangoes.
They're capital. ..."
“Mangoes ?” The little gentleman frowned.
“What mangoes ?”
“Why, the basket you sent me this noon,
sir."
“No fear!” cried Sanders, jovially. “Not
I. I've not seen a decent mango this season.
Mangoes ? You're in luck, but don't thank
me.... Why, I've been pining for them
this fortnight,” he lamented. “You'd have
been the first, my dear chap; but I couldn't
have spared you a mango now, if I had one."
A sudden idea made Scarlett a poor lis-
tener to the rest of the little man's chat. On
[108]


BLINDMAN'S-BUFF
reaching the hotel again, his first act was
to stuff two or three mangoes into his pockets
A friendly chemist in the dispensary stared
at his request, disappeared smiling into a tiny
laboratory, and returned with a puzzled face,
very serious.
“May I ask where you got these ?” he said.
“Anonymous friend. ... Hmm! Quite
right to be suspicious ... Hydrocyanic
acid, squirted full, permeated.” He showed,
in a strip of the mango skin, a pinhole punc-
ture. “Regular subcutaneous, you see. Prussic
enough to kill an elephant, sir.”
“Good. Thank you,” said Scarlett, laugh-
ing. “I don't die to-day. Some Christian friend
will be disappointed.”
But once outside, he stopped smiling, and
acknowledged the chill that had touched his
spirit: death, the unreal and remote, had
struck short by a fang's breadth. “It was at
[109]


THE SIAMESE CAT
Some one laughed behind him.
“Found it, have you ?”.
The guide, his heavy frame filling the door-
way, smiled in mockery.
(112)





CHAPTER FIVE
ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
Scarlett, the naked sword in his hand,
maintained an uncompromising stare. Hostile
silence filled the little cabin.
“Well?” drawled the guide, at last. He
combed his beard with steady fingers. “Well,
what of it?"
“I think,” said Owen coldly, “any further
talk should come from you.”
“Very good. It will,” replied Borkman,
with a robust air of generosity. “No reason
why it should, you know. I'm not accountable
to you. Only don't look so damned righteous
and judgmatical.” He closed the door, and
cramped his great bulk down on the lounge
below the porthole. “Come, come,” he
laughed, “look natural, my boy. Unbend, un-
[115]


THE SIAMESE CAT
bend! Take your mask off, every one else is un-
masked, eh?”
“Cut out the humour,” replied Scarlett,
sheathing the sword grimly. “And spare me
your friendliness. Straight facts or nothing."
“As you please.” The guide lighted a Bur-
mah cheroot, and sighed forth a blue cloud of
smoke. “Be a prig if you like. I see you're in a
frightful wax because I killed that swine of a
coolie. But he'd have done for me if I hadn't.
'Dilly, Dilly, come and be killed'— that does-
n't appeal to me. So I hit first, and — my
vorpal blade went snicker-snack.' As you
must have seen. Got the beast right enough.
Finish! A good job, too. If we judge a man
by his friends' characters, you ought to know
that coolie was no angel. It's dry talking: just
ring for drinks, won't you ?”
Scarlett made no movement.
“Can't stoop to it eh ?” jeered Borkman.
2
.
[116]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
man
“Murderers not good enough? Now look here,
Mr. Virtue, I'll do some preaching on my own.
I stuck that pig because I had to. You'd have
done the same. It was kill or be killed. Young
man —” he pegged out his emphasis with a
heavy index finger; his face and tone were can-
did -"young man, towards you I've had no
feelings but the most friendly. Yet you pull a
frozen face on me, and treat me like a stage
villain. Actually, I believe you think I've plot-
ted against you with that Chinese gang. No
fear! Why, they've kept me sleepless for four
nights. Your mafoo told me the little lame
Chinaman cut at you in your carriage driving
home from dinner. Well, he'd have stayed and
finished you if he hadn't known that I was
running down the road after him. And last
night, when those three went gunning for you
in your bedroom: if I'd been on their side
instead of yours, shouldn't I have told them
run
[117]


THE SIAMESE CAT
see
that you'd changed quarters to the other
wing ? That was a sensible move, and gave me
genuine pleasure. Genuine, by Jove! You see
I've watched you closely, and as a friend.”
The deep-set eyes met Owen’s without shift
or tremour. Something in their light, as in the
man's voice, told that he could not be alto-
gether lying.
“But why," objected Scarlett, “why have
you dragged these ladies into danger ?"
“Accidental, dear chap!” cried the other
eagerly. “Pure accident. I'm as sorry as
you.”
“Can't know when you are telling the truth,”
growled Scarlett. “So what's the use of ask-
ing you questions ?”.
“Now is that a pretty speech ?" complained
the courier. “You've never tried me. Put
some questions. Come on.”
“Well, then, what the devil is all this fuss ?
SON
[118]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
This seemed to be the case. In fact, for two
days Owen found the voyage dull. On that first
night, the growing gale sent the ladies to their
cabin; and as the “Muang-Fang” staggered
out from the shelter of distant Cambodia, the
grey waste of the South China Sea rolled full
sweep in howling onslaughts. By day, Owen
watched their slow fight southward through
whirling rain and smoking wave-crests; by
night, he see-sawed, half-awake, on a charpoy
lashed beneath dripping canvas. Here he woke
in a dismal dawn, to find that the courier was
mistaken.
A figure in a long yellow oilskin coat flapped
by, shouting:
“Get out, ye suar! Below with you! Can't
speak your lingo, can't I?” A glistening rubber
boot kicked out mightily. Something soft
thumped the lower deck. “Perhaps you'll
şavee that!” shouted the man in oilskin. He
was
[121]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
vanished, left it smooth, cool, intellectual.
Pillowed on a snaky tangle of queue, Ho
Kong stared upward in blank innocence.
From the bunk, the cat glowered at them
both.
“Chop-chop!” growled Scarlett. “You
speakee!” He pressed the sword-point harder,
twirled it slightly.
“Yai-eee!” squealed the thief. “Yai-eee!
Pleasse ik-scusse me! I b’long Chlistian boy!
Bling kim off! I talkee You Honour all velly
good!”
Scarlett maintained his pressure. The cap-
tive writhed.
“I-I come walkee here,” he moaned,
"wantchee catch him cat. You Honour pleasse
ik-scusse me. I hop you ? — ah velly well.
Cat he b’long my fa-tha. You savee fa-tha ?
You Honour fliend — big man, Bolkoman,
he steal cat. My fa-tha he talkee my—'Go
[125]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG ”
noise. It was decorously unknown to neigh-
bours.
“Then my master took down from the cor-
ner the God of Longevity. From the bot-
tom of the image they cut out a cube of the
soapstone, and thrust in the ruby, and sealed
it with a thin shell of soapstone.
“But three other thieves had followed the
dead Luk-chin, and now they watched Bolko-
man, and my master, and the shop.”
“Wait,” interrupted Scarlett.“Was one tall,
with the Two Whales tattooed on his back,
so - ?”
“Your wisdom includes him," nodded the
clerk gravely. “Yes, and two others, Ah Pin
the Flat Nose, and Tau-p'éi the Pockmarked,
who is litile and lame. But your first man has
gone — where ?"
Scarlett nodded in turn. “Borkman killed
him with this sword.”
IL
nc
[129]


ABOARD THE “ MUANG-FANG ”
hot tea, I pried it out from the image, and
next day conveyed it out of the shop in
_” Ho Kong's eye suddenly turned lack-
lustre, his voice indifferent — “in a cunning
manner.”
“Oho!” cried Scarlett eagerly. There flashed
before him the memory of the wind-blown
papers in the river garden, that afternoon
Laura had — “Oho! You wrote that! 'It is in
the middle one. They will follow you.' Then
the ruby is in the middle bell —” he laughed
aloud — “on the cat!”
“You know all things!” assented Ho Kong
gloomily. His slant eyes held a curious gleam.
“Yes, I wrote in Chlistian letters, – The
middle one."
A glance at Chao Phya’s collar showed the
silver cockle-shells intact.
“Go on,” laughed Scarlett. “By George!
Go on.”
[ 131 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
SE
aura
The ingenuity at once amused and angered
him. Safely smuggled out of the goldsmith's
shop; stowed in a place too incredible for
search, yet always in sight, always easily
watched: this stone, which already had killed
two men, had weighted Laura with unknown
responsibility and danger. A thief and mur-
derer had made her his pretext of respectability,
his stalking-horse and receiver. “He will pay
for it,” said Scarlett. “Go on.”
“Then I asked for my money!” cried the
clerk hoarsely. “He laughed, this big man!
He said, “Why should I pay you ? Go ask your
master. You are a fool!'
“I saw this was true. First I thought, 'I will
go kill myself on his door-step.' But he does
not fear the evil spirits: he would only laugh.
Then I thought ‘He shall not have the ruby.'
So I told the Pockmarked and the other two.
The tall coolie, you say, he killed. But we
[132]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
three followed the stone everywhere. Four
times we tried to kill you, wishing the stone,
and thinking you Bolkoman's friend. Pleasse
ik-scusse me. That is all. Now if you kill, push
quickly.”
In the silence, they could feel the slower
throb of the engines, could hear the slush of
water, the heavy dragging of hose, the patter
of the Malays scrubbing deck.
“No,” said Scarlett, at last. “Listen, Ho
Kong. The stone belongs to a dead man, who
stole it. It is no man's jewel. This liar, he has
given it in the middle bell, to - to My Hon-
our's girl. Good: she shall keep it. Write on
this card your name and house. It is no trick.
Fear nothing. Write.”
The clerk, crouching, scrawled painfully
against a bulkhead.
“Good,” said Scarlett. “You have set me
above this breaker of bargains. Now I shall
SI
SCT
[133]


THE SIAMESE CAT
make him the fool. He shall not see the stone
again; and if it is as you have said, I shall send
your thousand ticals to the Hongkong bank
in Bangkok. You deserve only the bastinado;
but this, perhaps, will square my con-
science towards the dead man.” He opened
the door. “Now go, and never again
come before me, for next time I also should
kill.”
Silent, placid, the clerk slipped through
the door and flitted aft. Owen turned to the
cat.
“Chao Phya, if what that fellow said is true
_” He stooped to examine the middle bell.
This fat shell of fluted silver might contain a
treasure. But the fastening held strongly, the
collar was locked on. “Borkman has the key,”
thought Owen. He could not bend or break the
bell off, and the narrow slit showed only some-
thing that joggled and tinkled, and that might
[134]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
be pebble, or ruby, or child's marble. “I must
get a silversmith to file it off.”
He screwed home the shutter, locked his door,
and on going to breakfast hired a Malay to stand
guard. The ship lay anchored in Singapore
harbour; on their port hand rose the city. The
flat stretch of Collyer Quai, the low billows
of arsenical verdure, slept cool and silent; but
sunrise tipped the pale Memorial tower, and
the signal masts on the hill.
Beside the breakfast table, already being
laid on deck, Mrs. Holborow and Laura stood
facing their guide, — all three, from heel to hel-
met, rigid with anger.
“That will do! That is quite sufficient!"
snapped Aunt Julia, her voice trembling like
a plucked bow-string. “Mr. Scarlett, will you
please — Good-morning - will you please see
us to our hotel presently, or at least to the
Johnston Pier? And kindly inform this — this
[135]


THE SIAMESE CAT
man that he is not to address me again. His
wages we shall leave at the hotel office.”
“Damn the wages !” roared the guide.
“Look here, do you think —”
Scarlett's face was suddenly within an inch
of his own. Both men were dangerously pale.
“You heard your orders,” said the younger.
“Or shall I repeat them, Mr. Jeweller ?”
The deep-set eyes contracted evilly, met
Scarlett's in a mutual menace. Without mov-
ing them, the courier spoke:
“Very well, Miss Holborow. Now I under-
stand. Let your young man keep him for you.
He'll be sorry.”
Owen's arms tightened, drew slowly up from
his sides. Borkman wheeled, and marched
away aft.
“Oh, the — wretch!” cried both women to-
gether. Laura's cheeks flamed. Her aunt first
broke the awkward silence.
[136]


ABOARD THE “MUANG-FANG”
“That cat has been our bane,” she declared
with energy. Then answering Owen's look,
“Laura said that you should have charge of
him, and this — this fellow became, became —
Oh, he dared speak so to us! Laura, this ridicu-
lous beast of yours —".
Her lips narrowed into a line of precision.
“It shall trouble us no more,” she
asserted. “Hereafter, I shall look to it my-
self.”
"But Mrs. Holborow —” began Scarlett.
“Not a word, please!" Aunt Julia bowsed
her chin taut home. “Let us drop this subject
here. The cat, if we keep it, is in my charge.”
(,137)





CHAPTER SIX
THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS





THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
fully; and when leaving the courier’s pay with
the Eurasian clerk, ordered that whoever
might call for it should not be told the where-
abouts of the Holborows.
Next day, coming back to his room, he found
Borkman seated in his best long-chair, smok-
ing calmly, though with an aspect black and
lowering
“I like your cheek,” began Owen; but the
other leapt upright and opened fire:
“Don't give a hang what you like. I've come
here to ask you just one question. Where's the
cat, or where's my property ?”
“In my keeping,” replied Scarlett promptly.
“Stowed safely where you won't see either
of them.”
“Knew you'd say that,” sneered the courier.
“Now listen. If you know as much as you
appear to, you'll know enough to give up that
— that thing. Leave it for me at the Chartered
ome
[143]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
ters waddled round the corner of the veran-
dah.
“Won't take you on to-day, my boy!”
laughed Borkman ostentatiously. “Some other
time we'll fight it out, eh? Chin-chin!”
He swaggered off, waving gay farewells be-
fore the staring audience of Batavian crop-
heads.
This episode made Owen far more cheerful.
The kick, though he knew it had only fur-
ther enraged an enemy, left him aglow with
satisfaction. It was pleasant, also, to know
that Borkman considered him still the guar-
dian of Chao Phya.
He deferred his note of explanation to Laura:
“no need yet,” he decided, “of stirring them
up.” The courier's threat he disregarded; and
the next day, with the appointed noon, passed
in tranquil succession of black, splashing show-
ers and aching glare.
ira:
[145]


THE SIAMESE CAT
On the second morning, however, as he lay
smoking in the main verandah, a Chinese boy
brought news at which his heart leapt. A lady
wished to see him: and wild hope told him it
might be Laura.
On reaching the carriage archway, he found
a strange face smiling at him from the gharri
window. A pretty and alluring face,- even to
his disappointed vision: Italian in the darkness
of the cheeks, Parisian both in the quickness of
the black eyes and in the pointed, piquant con-
tour, it was lively and mischievous as a
kitten's.
"Is zees Mr. Scarlett ?" she asked, with a
smile at once dangerous and engaging. As she
leaned forward, the stranger showed trim,
youthful shoulders, and one sleeve of her
shapely white jacket, ringed with the black
band of perfunctory mourning.
“My friend Mrs. Hol-bo-row,” laughed the
[146]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
stranger merrily. “She has sent me to ask a so
fonny question! It is zees: 'Haf you ze cat ?? Is
not zat droll ! ‘Haf you ze cat ?'”
“Has she lost him already ?” cried Owen in
consternation. Next instant he could have bitten
off his tongue. Suppose this joyful young wom-
an had come from Borkman ? Her next words,
however, reassured him.
“No, no!” Her laugh was a mere delight.
“Zat is a miss-take. You must pardon me. My
home is not long in Singapore, but many years
in Mauritius. I spik ze English tongue so ver'
badly. But see. I vould not haf said — Haf you
ze cat ?' I vould say “Vill you ze cat ?' Zat
is it."
She handed him an open envelope.
“Here is Mrs. Hol-bo-row's letter. But I
must ask you first, it sounded a so fonny ques-
tion!”
Owen drew out the letter:
[147]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
The carriage called for him promptly, in
such a drenching equatorial downpour as made
him keep the shutters closed. Between the slats
he could catch glimpses only of pink roads
flooded, pools lashed with upward-leaping
drops, and now and then the stout sallow calves
of a rickshaw coolie splashing past on the jog-
trot. He was nearing the outskirts of the city,
in the general direction, as he guessed, of
the impounding reservoir, when the carriage
swerved between gate-posts, followed the long
curve of a drive thick-set with dripping shrub-
bery, and stopped beneath the white arches of
a verandah. Substantial but damp-stained,
Flamboyer Villa — to judge from a hurried
glance — stood in a dense little wilderness of
tropical greenery. A white-bearded durwan,
Biblical in robes and turban, salaamed gravely
at the foot of the stairs.
Owen mounted gaily, hoping to see Laura at
[149]


THE SIAMESE CAT
columns of the verandah, a few slim, vermilion
shafts of sealing-wax palm, and, on the trees
that gave their name to the villa, broad bur-
geonings of arterial red.
He waited a long time. The sepulchral air of
the room, the dead silence marked by the tiny
scratchings of lizards on the plaster, disquieted
him strangely. “Aunt Julia takes her time,"
he thought. The more his eye-sight cleared in
the dusk, the less inviting loomed his sur-
roundings. The few draperies lighted by the
dim glow, took on a tawdry look; the knick-
knacks were common Japanese bazaar stuff; and
the scragged plants stood in Chinese pots of the
cheapest ware. From the table he caught up a
paper to flap as a fan. The frontispiece looked
familiar; the heading ... it was a Graphic
nearly two years old.
Misgivings seized him: something was wrong
with this house. His watch showed that he had
wors old.
( 152 )


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
. . . troublesome, I'll jolly soon stop his
mouth..And another thing, Justine,
... do the respectable better than you
did ... I saw you ... can't stop
making eyes at the men ... No! rot
... I tell you it must be in here. ..."
The grumble died away; furniture grated
lightly along the floor just over Scarlett's head;
then cautious footsteps departed.
The voices had sounded so clear that Owen
looked up involuntarily; and now for the first
time he saw that the discoloured whiteness over-
head was no plaster, but a ceiling-cloth stretched
taut over the beams.
“Hello!” he muttered, “if only . . . It's
a bare chance.” Whipping down from the
table, he seized the tallest chair in the room —
a solid piece of Chinese carving, cheaply inlaid
— and lifted it to the table. Then climbing upon
this, and gripping a loose end of punkah-rope
[ 155]


THE SIAMESE CAT
that dangled from a hook, he slashed away with
his big clasp-knife two good square yards of
cloth. The cross-beams showed, over two feet
apart. Enveloped in trailing strips of mouldy
cloth, he stabbed upward at the floor-boards;
then grunted in disappointment, for the knife-
blade stopped short in seasoned wood, hard as
iron.
“Take all night for it, then,” he thought,
and jabbed again and again, doggedly.
Suddenly the blade ran up, as through cheese,
the hilt jarred softly home, and left his hand
powdered with dry dust. “White ants!” he
whispered, rejoicing. A few slashes carved
out a long meandering slit from beam to beam.
The rest held firm, but here was a lucky start.
Peering up through the hole, he could discern
only obscure light, beneath some smooth, dark
surface which he could not explain. He paused
for breath, tangled his left wrist thoroughly in
[ 156]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
a
the punkah-rope, and began to whittle along
the slit. Stubborn shavings, one by one, fell past
him to the floor. Sweat coursed down him, from
forehead to ankles.
Night came on, but still he worked steadily,
fingering the invisible edges. At last he could
feel that of one wide board there remained
only a strip at either side. These he was about
to risk the noise of breaking, when the crunch
of carriage wheels sounded in the driveway,
brisk feet mounted the stairs, and to his dismay,
voices murmured overhead, as if at the door of
the room. A bright shaft of lamplight slanted
down through the gap, and then, to the creak
of footsteps that seemed to trample the very
edges of the hole, became unaccountably ob-
scured.
“It's all up,” he thought, and hung by the
wrist, waiting in despair. The sounds again
retreated,— the neat tread of a single pair of
[157]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
brain him, and found himself a-sprawl beneath
a table on which a lamp still dangerously tot-
tered.
Bolt upright in a chair, as if Medusa were to
make a formal call, Aunt Julia glared at him
with a Gorgon face of u
on face of unbelief and wrath. She
was the first to break their frozen stupefaction.
“Please explain, Mr. Scarlett. Why, after
writing that incomprehensible letter, why have
you kept me waiting while you lurked under a
table ?”
“I-I came up through the floor, you
know,” he stammered, prostrate and guilty.
“Then your conduct is even more incred-
ible.” The little matron bristled. “If you are
given to practical jokes ... "
“Ssh!” warned Scarlett, regaining at once
his feet and his presence of mind. “Please whis-
еу
per!”
“I shall do nothing of the sort,” she declared,
[ 159 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
sens
in clear tones and penetrating. “Whisper in-
deed! Unless you have taken leave of your
senses, you will explain everything at once.”
“Please, please,” whispered Owen implor-
ingly, “not so loud. It isn't safe. What did I
write to you ?”
“This, of course," replied Aunt Julia. With
an air of patient contempt, she drew from her
pocket a letter. He darted with it to the lamp.
A good imitation of his own handwriting, it
begged Mrs. Holborow to meet him that eve-
ning at Flamboyer Villa, to discuss privately
“a matter of the gravest importance.” He
skimmed it, frowning. “Every reason to be-
lieve ... serious danger to you and Miss
Holborow ... cannot explain in writ-
ing... absurd as it may seem, abso-
lutely imperative that you bring the Siamese
cat ... shall send my gharri for you
promptly ... under no circumstances
[160]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
mention this to any one ... not respon-
sible for consequences... ” The signa-
ture, “Owen Scarlett,” was a capital forgery.
“Where is he?” asked the young man.
“Who, please ?” inquired Mrs. Holborow,
with the same cold, weary patience.
“The cat,” he explained. The word stung
her into animation.
“That!” she exclaimed. “Really, that, Mr.
Scarlett, was a length to which I could not go.
No cat, or other dumb animal, could be neces-
sary for any discussion whatsoever. It was folly
enough to come here at all.”
“You left him behind ?” cried Scarlett in-
cautiously. “Good! Good!” With joy, he pic-
tured Borkman raging; but on the heels of that
thought followed another which startled him.
Borkman would not give up so easily - and
Chao Phya was now with Laura.
“We must get out of here.” He spoke with
[161]


THE SIAMESE CAT :
curt conviction. “I never wrote this letter. The
man you discharged has concocted it. He
brought me here first, by forging this note from
you.”
With a growing ilush at her outraged identity,
Aunt Julia scanned the invitation to tiffin.
“No, indeed,” he assured her. “Of course
you never wrote it. It fooled me, however. They
locked me into the room below, to keep the coast
clear for deceiving you. I broke jail — there!”
He pointed to the pool of darkness under the
table. “Borkman is a dangerous man, and his
next move he'll make against your niece. The
carriage drove off immediately after you came
— without Chao Phya. We'd best make for
home at once -- if we can get out.”
“By all means,” replied Aunt Julia. Though
her flush gave way to pallor, she rose quiet and
ready, a prim little mistress of her feelings.
Their captors had counted on bewilderment,
[162]


THE SIAMESE CAT
not the grace, of Atalanta. They raced to-
gether through the blurred shadows of tropic
starlight. As the ghostly form of the gate-post
shot behind, a hard patter of bare feet followed
them, gaining.
The highway, overarched, ran to their left as
black as a tunnel. To their right, far off, the
orange radiance of a street lamp lighted a dim
fringe of theatric green. He seized his com-
panion, swung her over the ditch, and pinning
her against the outer face of the compound
wall, whispered fiercely: “Quiet! Let them
pass us!”
Three shapes, breathing hard, swept by to-
wards the light.
“Now, then!” he whispered; and facing
about, led the way into the darkness opposite.
They stole ahead, stopped, listened, hurried
on again, caught suddenly, to the right, another
distant gleam, and plunged towards it, down a
[164]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
an underswing outrageously swift and violent,
struck twice and thrice, seemed to wrench his
fist away, turned. The slant eyes of Ho Kong
blinked at the nearing lights. Then the blade of
his knife gleamed as he dived into black leafage.
The kneeling figure lurched to its feet, rose;
and in a drunken stagger Borkman reeled past,
his white tunic badged with blood.
“Giles! Giles !” screamed a woman's voice at.
the gate.
Scarlett, transfixed, stared into the darkness,
turned to speak, and found the rickshaw coolie
trotting on as though nothing had occurred.
He overtook Aunt Julia at the carriage steps,
in time to hear Laura call from the stair-head
_“Why, there she is! Where have you been
all this time, Auntie ?”
“Here, quick!” he panted. “Take Chao
Phya! Quick! I must go see what happened."
“What was it ? What was it ?” begged Aunt
[167]


THE SIAMESE CAT
wa
Julia, hugging the cat with a frantic tension.
His dragon squirming seemed to recall her to
herself.
“I shall not alarm Laura,” she whispered.
“Come soon and tell me — everything." He
was rushing away, when she recalled him.
“Oh, please! Please, without fail, get passage
for us on the earliest steamer possible — yes,
Colombo -- to-morrow, any day, the sooner
the better. I've had quite enough of this —”.
Owen was off, running, to the gate. No one
was there; the carriage had gone; well down the
road echoed a rumble and a clatter. He recap-
tured his rickshaw and gave chase; but though
the coolie bounded along at a flying stride, the
ponies drew steadily away, and after many cor-
ners, disappeared.
ON
Next morning he learned that a German
mail steamer would sail for Colombo that after-
[168]


THE LADY FROM MAURITIUS
noon. By furious despatch, he managed to get
himself, the Holborows, and all their belongings
safely on board. Beside him at the rail stood
Laura, dressed — as when they first met before
the tank of the devil-fish — in blue and white.
Her colouring, in the level glow of sunset, was
radiant; and her eyes danced with provocation.
“Why,” she asked wickedly, “did you dash
away so last night ? And why is Aunty so mys-
terious ever since ? Where had you two been
disporting yourselves ?”
“It's a long story,” he laughed, “and a
strange one. I'd have told you to-day, but didn't
see either of you except in this rush, and before
people. Maskee! we have the whole voyage for
telling it.” He could not have helped the rejoic-
ing in his tone. “A good long voyage. But it all
begins with the cat. By the way, where is he? I'll
show you something he has — a present for
you."
[ 169 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
nie
Through the orderly bustle of departure,
Aunt Julia approached along the deck.
“Where's Chao Phya ?” called her niece.
“Mr. Scarlett's going to — ”
In Aunt Julia's voice, as in her look, vexa-
tion strove with guilt.
“I have settled it,” she announced. “These
impudent officers forbade me to keep him with
us. That was the last straw. I gave him to the
cabin-boy to take ashore.”
[170]


CHAPTER SEVEN
THE CAT'S HOLIDAY





CHAPTER SEVEN
was
THE CAT'S HOLIDAY
Chao Phya was revelling in his liberty. Drop-
ped on the quay by a cabin-boy who had no
time to find buyers or drive bargains, he had
fled zigzag through a labyrinth of hurried and
hostile shins. Wherever coolies were not too
busy, rapacious arms had swooped at him, but
these he readily dodged. At the dock-gate a
small, red-queued Straits boy fell on him clever-
ly, and held hard; but kicking with science,
scratching the chubby arms, he fought loose,
wormed between the little baba's trousered legs
hopped over his fat white soles, and raced down
the wide street. A coal-black Tamil dropped his
shovel with a clang, and gave chase; but flesh-
less Dravidian legs could not wobble fast
enough. Presenting to all pursuers a tail up-
suers
[ 173 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
or two. All the smells were insipid or unprom-
ising. Angry voices filled the shop, without. No,
the place was not comfortable. Chao Phya be-
gan leaping for the tiny window cut through the
split bamboo of the rear wall. It was very high:
he fell back, leapt again, clawed his way up-
ward, fell back, persevered in leaping and
scratching....
Had maledictions any force, Chao Phya
never would have lived to do this; for Scarlett,
racing in pursuit, had panted them so long as
he could spare the breath. Trusting in the in-
variable delay of steamers, he had — to the
amazement of Laura and her aunt — sprung
down the gangway and across the docks. Fresh
hope had changed to fresh rage, as he saw that
crouching, fawn-and-seal-brown imp thread
uncaptured among the chattering natives, wrig-
gle from under the Khek urchin, outstrip the
Tamil, and at last — so nearly taken unawares
(176)


THE SIAMESE CAT
be a cat ? See, there was nothing in this shop -
“Five dollars,” cried Owen. “Come! Hurry!”
The Pinwallah of Calcutta reconsidered the
possibilities. Perhaps his neighbor Nabook had
seen the cat, — perhaps stolen one, for Nabook
was a bad man. He would go see. Ten dollars,
however, would hardly make Nabook restore
any possible cat —
But just then, while Owen fumed, he heard
a thin, silvery jingle within. “Oh, zoolum!”
cried the shopkeeper: what violence and
stronghand! for Owen had shoved him aside,
plunged through the smoke, and torn open the
door of the inner chamber.
Brown hindquarters and a ruffled tail strug-
gled over the edge of the little window, and van-
ished.
For the first time, Scarlett paused to reason.
To give up, — if Ho Kong had told the truth
- was to renounce all sight of a fabulous trea-
[178]


THE SIAMESE CAT
of stretched concertinas holding glow-worm
fire. Evening gossips, squat on their haunches
along the curb, broke into ripples of laughter,
as the red-faced young European panted by,
hot and scowling, at the heels of a worthless cat.
The laughter rose to a cackle when Owen, gain-
ing, stooped and snatched, to miss by a hand's-
breadth, while Chao Phya again hoisted tail
and loped away in terror.
The chase spread merriment thus for a fur-
long or two, the cat loitering and spurting with
diabolic humour. Even British blue-jackets,
racing their rickshaws against each other, cheer-
ing, and flogging the coolies with their canvas
hats, found time to grin, wave passing encour-
agement, or shout satirical advice: "Stern
chase, guvnor!" ... “Ooray!" ...
“Salt on 'er tail!" ... "Stole away!"
... “Well run, puss !" ...
Chao Phya led by some thirty yards. But
Vas
[180]


THE CAT'S HOLIDAY
suddenly, before a white-washed building, a
burly little man in sailor's clothes jumped be-
fore him, blocked him with a ready foot, and
scooped him up handily. At the same instant
Owen slipped and fell headlong; struggling to
his feet, dazed and muddy, he saw the man
turn into the doorway.
Though the verandah lights had shone
brightly down, the stairs within were dark.
Chao Phya's new captor tramped overhead.
As Scarlett stumbled upward, a faint light
shone somewhere on the floor above, and a
roaring bass filled the house:
... meeserable sinners when I'm soberr,
But I'm awfu', awfu' happy when I'm fou!
An' I'm fou, the noo,
Absolutely fou,
But I adorre the country I was borrn in!
Me name is Jock...
The bang of a door shut off both light and song.
[181]


THE SIAMESE CAT
1
P
Scarlett limped along the corridors, sighted
the bright slit of a threshold. His knock was
lost in a smothered uproar of applause. He
opened the door, and went in.
Among blue, filmy layers of cigar-smoke, the
strong glow of unshaded lamps lighted the
faces of a ruddy, laughing company: men
lounging in unbuttoned tunics, or bare-armed
in their cinglets, filled both room and verandah.
All watched a jovial giant who stood swaying
on a battered billiard-table, rolling his griz-
zled head with the gusto, real or feigned, of
drink. The singer, responding to his encore,
bellowed:
I've jist com' frae a weddin' 'ra funeral,
'R a chriss'enin''m a somethin'-o'-th’-kind. ...
At a corner table, apart, Owen spied the
burly little man of the doorway. He held be-
neath a lamp the rebellious body of Chao Phya,
and seemed to study the silver collar. Skirting
[182]


THE CAT'S HOLIDAY
WO
the chairs, unheeded by singer or audience,
Owen accosted the man in an undertone:
“That's my cat, you know. I was chasing
him when you caught him, below there.”
The other looked up. The lines of his broad,
sunburned face were sullen, the cold grey eyes
stared insolence.
“Ho, is 'e ? Wot a bloomin' shame!” he
growled. “ 'Cause 'e ’appens to be mine."
“That won't go,” cried Owen testily. “You
never saw him before. Give him here. I'm will-
ing to pay you for catching him, of course.”
“Are you now?” scoffed the stranger.
“That’s ’andsome of you, too. Pay me for
catchin' of my own cat — my old shipmate
that ʼas gone with me all these voyages!"
The song had stopped abruptly. The giant
on the billiard-table, sober and aggrieved, was
reasoning down at them in plaintive tones:
“ That's all I say! I don't wish to force my-
[183]


THE SIAMESE CAT
self on the present company, and am far from
wishing to continue against the wishes o’ any
members that may be wishing me to stop. But
when a man is asked to sing, and I may say
urged to sing, and is only willing to oblige by
singing, then – ”
“I'm sorry to interrupt you,” said Owen,
amicably. “I didn't mean to make a disturb-
ance,- and apologize for intruding."
Flushed, dripping with sweat, and smeared
full-length with mud as from a street-fight, he
focused the attention of the roomful. “This
animal here is a pet that escaped from ship-
board. I've chased him all the way from the
German Mail dock - probably lost my steam-
er. And now this man claims him, and refuses
to give him up."
“Stow your nonsense, there, Bob,”
commanded the singer. He consulted a
fat silver watch. “You may have time to
( 184 )


THE SIAMESE CAT
I was in Bangkok once, an' they ’ad ...
Don't have no such sharp noses, I tell you
. .. There's a Blue Funnel man 'ad a
monkey that ... 'E's a bloomin' Manx,
wot run away afore they could chop off his
tail... spit an’ image of ’im. Old Spie-
sen o’the “Chow Fa” has one, name of Peter
... I can bloomin' well prove it ...”
Ransacking his pockets, Scarlett felt only a
handful of Straits silver and his useless letter
of credit . .. Chao Phya's possessor noted
the movement, and his surly eyes brightened.
“I'm willin' to sell,” he admitted. “But this
cat — w’y, this old chum an' me, we wouldn't
part under five pound - no, nor under fifty
dollars!”
Scarlett could contain himself no longer.
“You'll part with him for nothing,” he said
angrily. “Will you give him up without trouble,
or do you want to fight for him ?"
[ 186]


THE SIAMESE CAT
men
but old-fashioned. Don't mix it up ...
use plenty o' footwork . .look sharp
and cross-counter.... Mind you, use
your right on him....”
A bell rang sharply. The spectators lined the
edge of the verandah, swung up to the tables,
flattened themselves in corners. With a parting
slap, the second muttered in Scarlett's ear.
“Kill the bloomin' lime-juicer!” And
the two men stepped out into the centre,
where a swaying Chinese lantern twirled
on the floor a spidery shadow of thin
spokes.
Pre-eminent on the billiard-table, the engi-
neer announced judicially:
“This argument, gentlemen, will tairmin-
ate in seven rounds. It will effect a deceesion
as to whether this cat is a Jap or a Siamee cat,
and which of these two human bein's is the
better man."
[190]


THE SIAMESE CAT
SU
of vesper gongs from some neighbouring joss-
house.
In the first minute, at the first onset, the
whole affair seemed over. Reckless, and with
the fatal folly of bad temper, Owen had rushed
in, driven straight at that taunting smile the
full force of his left, and met a staggering coun-
ter-shock that jarred his head backward as if
on a bad hinge. His vision swam hazily; and in
a ringing confusion the sailor's onslaught swept
him back with a whirl of battering, half-
guarded blows, — drove him to a corner,
penned him, forced him to clinch. Hugging the
smooth, hard-wrenched body, he heard a cool
chuckle of triumph; then — as with straining
muscles they pushed asunder, cautiously — a
vicious jab, just above the belt, sent him sick
and hopeless to the floor.
It slanted like a deck while he laboured diz-
zily to hands and knees. Above the tumult, the
SI
[192]


· THE CAT'S HOLIDAY
nasal cry of his friend from Salem rang indig-
nant — “Foul, a foul!” He heard a slow voice
counting: “Five, sax, seven. ..."
“No!” he gasped. “No foul! No, no! A fair
blow.”
He regained his feet somehow, dodged un-
steadily but swiftly from the attack, slipped
away, skirted the room full circle. A lucky in-
stinct made him duck below a ferocious swing;
and the whiff and wind of it, passing over his
crown, seemed miraculously to clear the air
He bobbed up a fighting man again, cool,
amused, anxious to win, and to keep a painful
smile on cracked and puffing lips.
The downfall had done him good. Presently,
in the exchange of feinting and checked blows,
his fist landed true on the jaw. “ 'Andy work,
mate,” grunted his opponent, cheerfully. And
spurred by that contempt, but without hurry,
he landed three times more on body and head.
[193]


THE SIAMESE CAT
was
e
He had begun to enjoy himself, and the sailor
to puff somewhat, when the bell rang and the
loud talk broke out.
Relaxed in a chair, he submitted his face to
the mopping of the second, who chatted stead-
ily: “You're all right... but didn't I
tell you not to mix it ... plain straight
counter that got you first ...child's
play ... I thought 'twas all off. ...
That was a shore way o’ doin' things,
wasn't it? ...” Flapping his towel
punkah-wise, he fanned vigorously. “Don't
you try that no more, now. ... Put
your right hand to him ... mind what
I tell you ... lick him yet....
Hear that? He said that he didn't expect no
second round!”
On the billiard cloth Chao Phya sat
blinking. He gave a cavernous, pink
yawn, then started nervously as the Scotch-
[194]


THE SIAMESE CAT
cross-counter. The sailor staggered back with
cbin uplifted, swayed, for an interminable
space, as though undecided which way to fall,
then gently collapsed like a limp bolster.
After dumbfounded silence, a roar drowned
the engineer's counting; but above the hubbub
shrilled the voice of Scarlett's second, who,
with an idiot face of glee, pirouetted in a skirt
of towels, chanting:
Yankee doodle doodle doodle
Doodle doodle doodle · · ·
The figure on the floor had not moved. Two
men were kneeling beside it. One looked up
suddenly, and said:
“He's killed him.”
Long afterwards Owen recalled the fellow's
face, the matter-of-fact tone, the stillness and
scared looks in the room, the scolding singsong
of coolies chattering in the road below. Nor did
he soon forget the equal shock of relief when an
men
[196]


THE CAT'S HOLIDAY
uncertain voice broke the silence, mumbling:
“'E jolted me proper, didn't 'e ?”
The sailor stirred, rolled over, and with a
heave of white shoulders, sat up, grinning,
dazed and sheepish.
“I give ye best man,” he announced to the
general world. Catching Owen's eye, he nod-
ded, feebly but amiably. “If I'd kept off the
drink this week past, p'raps ye wouldn't be,
guvnor. 'E's your cat."
Scarlett would have snatched the prize and
run; but a late comer from the docks had seen
the ship leave half an hour before. Laura was
gone; his new acquaintances thronged about
him, with artless compliments; so yielding to
pressure, he adjourned with them to a disreput-
able small hotel, where they had a capital din-
ner of French cookery in a tiny closed garden,
with good liquor, songs, and curious tales from
many ports. They broke up at three in the
i
[197]





CHAPTER EIGHT
AMENDS
Colombo was long to figure in Scarlett's
mind as a Delphic city hidden behind number-
less sunsets, towards which his ship crawled
with sluggish keel, bringing the weightiest ques-
tion in the Orient. Should he ever see Laura ?
This uncertainty, assuming the various guises
of confidence, despair, resignation, prolonged
and embittered his westward course; till at last
the oracle gave answer, in a G. O. H. envelope,
inscribed with the same handwriting that had
saved his life two thousand miles away.
Colombo was a joyful place; and the Clock
Tower Light winked a knowing farewell.
Nothing else had mattered. Heaving aside the
oily stillness of the Arabian Sea, the ship throb-
bed northward. Slowly, one by one, the friendly
[201]


THE SIAMESE CAT
world unrolled familiar sights to beguile him
into patience: the clinkered mounts of Aden;
the scorching, breathless floor of the Red Sea;
the steady host of ships that passed, close
aboard, dipping their ensigns — greedy ships
of empire, sullenly racing for the treasures
of the East; and then the solemn desert moun-
tains of Asia and Africa narrowing in on either
hand, sharp, crinkled peaks — changeless back-
ground of the Exodus — in dusty yellow, ashen
grey, and ashen pink, with ghostly clouds of
sandstorm lifting, swirling, falling about their
bases.
In the mean time, Laura's letter had grown
worn with folding and unfolding.
“We are very glad” — she had written —
"to find your cable message waiting for us here
at Colombo. I wish we were to stay here till you
yourself follow it; but my aunt consents only to
make a flying visit to Kandy, and then will
Wor
[202]


THE SIAMESE CAT
WA
So you must come along and tell us, and give us
an opportunity to thank you for the kind
things you have done...."
All went happily, he reflected, as the ship slid
out of the Bitter Lakes, past Serapium, and on
between the desolate banks of the canal. For
two days yet, no ship would leave Port Said for
Marseilles. He was sure to find her. Chao Phya,
in snug quarters below, was sleeping out the
voyage. The Burmese ruby, to be sure, was
gone. Only the shank of the bell, nipped off as
by strong pincers, remained to prove that their
past adventures were not a dream. Whether Ho
Kong had won, whether Borkman had kept
it and survived, or dying had given it to his
friend Justine, they would never know. What
odds ? thought Scarlett: one jewel the less, –
not worth a grain of this tawny dust where, on
the rim of Egypt, he should meet Laura.
It was high, dry noon by the desert sun when
[ 204]


AMENDS
- among the crowded hulls of the world,
Greek, Welsh, Italian, Russian, Khedivial,
jostling in a black smudge of smoke and coal-
dust - his steamer crept to her moorings in
the canal mouth. And as fast as his Arab could
row to the quay, Scarlett made for the shipping-
offices. All remaining doubts he soon resolved;
for there, booked among the next week's sail-
ings, he found the names of Aunt Julia and her
niece. He despatched a dragoman for his trunks,
brought Chao Phya ashore, mewing, in a bas-
ket, and settled down at the least dingy hotel in
Port Said, to wait with content.
As he gave in his name, the manager sur-
prised him by saying:
“Your friend has expected you. He has in-
quired several times.”
“What friend ?” asked Owen. The manager
could not remember, — was not sure that the
gentleman had given his name: but he was a tall
[205]


THE SIAMESE CAT
man, clean-shaven, of military appearance,
though very pale, — in fact, plainly an invalid.
He had spoken, said the manager, as though
he lived in Alexandria.
No one in the roll-call of memory answered
to the description; no one in all Egypt, save
Laura and her aunt, knew that Scarlett was
to pass even through that part of the world;
and he was puzzled not a little. When the days
lagged by, however, and brought no news of
the stranger, Owen gave up the matter as a
mistake.
The interval of waiting passed pleasantly.
Now that Chao Phya, stripped to his intrinsic
worth, could be immured or left with servants
like any common cat, he had ceased to be a
clog and burden. At this lively coal-bin by the
great ditch, where night and day, to the click
of backgammon men and the thin strains of
café violins, the chattering races of all conti-
[ 206 ]


AMENDS
nents smoked and drank in a clutter of pistachio
shells, he hailed more than one familiar white-
clad figure that passed, lonely and bored, with
rolling gait, through the feathery shade of the
acacias. More than one of these old friends —
skippers of China ships, bound outward or
homeward — sat late with him, rejoicing to
exchange the latest gossip from the little, far-
scattered community of the East. At tiffins
aboard ship, noisy and grimed with coaling, or
at bad dinners in cramped rooms ashore, they
talked of men, women, and ships, of things
past, of wars, bargains, jokes, and tragedies
half a world away. And then, with a laugh and
a “Chin-chin!” these transient friends were
gone, never, by all chance, to be seen again.
Such encounters carried his thoughts back
to many a scene beyond the Straits; but on the
night before Laura should arrive, something
else was to carry them, and with a start of as-
[207]


THE SIAMESE CAT
tonishment, back to those bewildered days in
Bangkok.
He had entered his bedroom and turned on
the light; and there along the wall stood his
trunks and bags, yawning open, their contents
tumbled in disorder. The former attempt of
Ho Kong recurred to him so vividly that he un-
bolted the shutters of the French window, and
stepped out quickly, as though half expecting
to see again the plump goldsmith's clerk. But
this time the long, dark verandah was empty.
As midnight was now past, the intruder
could have had choice of the four hours since
dinner. For his pains he had got little enough:
he had left all of Scarlett's few valuables, but
taken his revolver and cartridges, and strang-
est of all — had cut in two every cake of soap
in the room, had poured into the basin a pint
of excellent brandy, had flayed half the leather
from the flask itself, and torn to shreds every
[208]


THE SIAMESE CAT
square-shouldered, with a hard, imperious face,
clean of feature, and pale as with a mortal sick-
ness. The thin lips drooping cynically at the
corners, the deep parenthetic gravings in either
cheek, not only gave the face a cruel look, but
bespoke a man tugged of fortune. Both the
broad forehead and the heavy-shadowed eyes,
alert and thoughtful, were curiously familiar.
The stranger smiled.
“Don't know me, do you, Mr. Scarlett ?”
he said, with the voice of Borkman. “Good-
morning.”
The surprise brought also a presentiment
of disaster. Owen stared, incapable of speech.
“One's beard does make a difference, doesn't
it ?” said the other, affably. “But I see you
know my voice. No way of shaving that off, is
there ? Unfortunate, because the further west
of Suez we go, the more persons know me
whom I'm noť anxious to meet again. However,
Z
TO
W
III
[ 210 ]


THE SIAMESE CAT
Borkman shrugged his great shoulders, but
stopped with a twitch as of pain.
“That hurt my side,” he grumbled. “The
thing's barely healing -So you've never seen it,
eh ? Naturally, that's the first light in which
you'd wish to view the affair. Please consider.
I've another argument to bring forward later,
if necessary.”
“I haven't it,” repeated Owen. “You've
taken your journey for nothing. I've thought
either you had it or the goldsmith's clerk.”
“Think again,” said Borkman, satirically.
“When you saw Ho Kong cutting me up there
in the carriage-way, I'd just come from bribing
the cat out of the servants' quarters. There
wasn't light enough or time enough for me to
unlock the collar or cut it off. As for the gold-
smith coolie, he hopped out of those bushes and
knifed me like winking. The beastly cat jumped
straight out of my arms into yours. Well ?”
[ 212 ]


AMENDS
“I didn't know that,” said Owen. “That
makes it more of a puzzle than ever.” He re-
counted briefly his dealings in Singapore. “So
you see you're here for nothing."
“Interesting story and well told,” admitted
Borkman, smiling. “Only I don't believe a
word of it. Now it's time you saw things in that
other light I spoke of. Here's what may per-
suade you.” He withdrew his hand from the
table, and disclosed a black, polished object —
the missing revolver. “I should regret using
this, both for your sake and my own. But my
affairs are at such low ebb, nothing can make
them much worse. And the thing itself is a good
tidy fortune. I'll give you one minute to tell
where you've stowed it. Then if you are still
stubborn, I'll begin firing promptly, and the
odds are I'll pot you first shot. You'd best not
move in the mean time.”
He unhooked his watch, laid it on the table,
[213]


THE SIAMESE CAT
wen
and studied it for an instant, like a lecturer pre-
paring to speak by the dial.
“Minute begins now," he announced. The
ticking sounded at once loud and distant.
“You don't dare to, in this hotel.” Owen
managed to speak calmly.
“Don't I ?" retorted Borkman. “Wait and
see. I'll put the revolver beside you, leave this
good-bye chit for the girl — you know how well
I do your handwriting: wish there were time to
read you my bit of composition — then go out
by the verandah, bolt the shutters in the same
way that I unbolted them. No one else on your
floor. Clear case, eh ? Felo de se ?" Grinning,
he bent towards the watch. “Half-time. Any-
thing to say ?”
“I give you my word of honour,” said Owen,
slowly, “that I've never seen the stone, that I
haven't it now, and that I don't know where it
is.” .
[214]


AMENDS
The pale face, strange and yet well-known,
regarded him unchanging, from beneath the
light. The tiny voice of Time continued, brisk
as a cricket. A sense of monstrous unfairness
oppressed him, that on the eve of rejoining
Laura this could happen, and for something
that he had neither sought nor possessed.
“Past three-quarters," said Borkman. He
raised the eloquent cold muzzle. “Feel like say-
ing anything ?”
“What's the use ?” rejoined Scarlett, angrily.
“I gave you my word of honour.”
A few seconds of silence followed; then Bork-
man lowered his hand.
“Wish I had a drink,” he grumbled.
“Haven't had one since the doctor cut me off.
Might as well, though. As you say, what is the
use ? Damn it, youngster!” he tossed the pistol
on the table, nodding vigorously, with an air of
disgust—“do you know, I believe you. Wish I
[215]


THE SIAMESE CAT
didn't. Wish I had a drink. No, it wasn't cour-
age on your part, ... or lying it out
... just the truth. I felt that ...
because I'd put you in a blue funk.”
“You'd not!” cried Owen, disdainfully.
“Then why, to be precise, are you trying to
rip down the curtain ?”
For the first time, Owen was aware that his
hand, raised and full of torn mosquito-gauze,
was trembling violently.
“Don't attempt lying," advised the big man,
with a contemptuous chuckle. “You can't. Rum
things, these words of honour.” He snapped
the chain back on his watch, stood musing,
then added with a note of wonder: “My word,
I've seen them make a man act against his own
interest - mind you, his own interest. Funny
things. ..."
He pondered again, shaking his cropped
head.
[216]


AMENDS
“So Giles Borkman is on his blooming little
beam-ends,” he continued. “That stone...
the only perfect pigeon-blood I've ever seen;
even badly cut, it was a fortune. Well, makee
finish! The pockmarked coolie has it, I dare
say, or the other Chinaman. Yes: that's where
it's gone. They followed us down to the Straits,
just as Ho Kong did; and if I could bribe the
servants that evening, why so could they —
and before I arrived."
He looked very white and old as he stood
there, a tired giant, stroking by force of habit
his bare chin.
“Not all beer and skittles, is it ?” he inquired
eying Scarlett as though out of a reverie. “I
mean my sort of pidgin, you know. Now it's
back to the East again. There's a Bibby to sail
this morning, early. God knows what next
... perhaps I'll makee finish myself, eh ?
Had some queer thoughts lately, lying on my
[217]


AMENDS
re-
it. Suddenly, opening it again, he thrust in his
head, and fixed the young man with a long
scrutiny.
“I don't see what it is about you,” he de-
clared, as if in deep perplexity. “Why didn't
I pull trigger then? Hmph! And do you re-
call kicking me once ? What do you think?
Turned Christian, or am I fey? You're beyond
me. ..And yet talk of your open
books. ..."
He withdrew his head, shut the door, and de-
parted. After a space, however, he returned
and looked in once more, grinning sourly:
“That must be the reason why you can never
read any one else. That Holborow girl — nice
little thing: may interest you to know, she's
head over heels in love with a young idiot.”
This time he was gone forever, leaving Scar-
lett bolt upright, with his mind in a whirl.
And yet this final message, which at the dawn
[219]


THE SIAMESE CAT
was worth all the dangers he had passed, be-
came by daylight the palest mockery and
dream; for that afternoon, as he walked with
Laura, it did not in the least encourage or
avail him. Their ship was to sail next morning;
Aunt Julia was despatching a multitude of let-
ters; they had shared half the bright day. He
had unfolded the full history of Chao Phya
and the lost ruby of Burmah; the cat himself
now trotted with them along the Quai Fran-
cois Joseph, as they gave him, with fluctuating
success, his first lesson in following to heel;
nothing remained for Owen but to tell his own
story: yet the sun was drawing down behind
Lake Menzaleh, and still their talk idled in
generalities. Never, of any one in his life be-
fore, had he been so afraid.
They loitered out on the long breakwater,
and passed beside the pedestal on which the
bronze de Lesseps, stiff and commonplace,
[ 220 ]


AMENDS
waves clumsy permission to sailor nations who
hold the gorgeous East in fee. Four times, be-
tween this statue and the end of the break-
water, Owen began; and four times Laura,
constrained and wary, slipped away like the
poet's filly in the fields.
“How large a ruby could they put inside the
bell ?” she asked, irrelevantly.
“Who cares ?” said Owen. “But I'll show
al
you.”
An old Arab perched on the edge, fishing, -a
little heap of bait beside him, and his provender
of unripe dates forming a vermilion puddle in
the sunlight. He lent his knife, courteously,
with a wrinkled smile.
Owen caught up Chao Phya, and pried at
one of the remaining hells.
“Do be careful!” commanded Laura.
“You'll cut him. You wouldn't care, would
you ? Men don't like cats.”
comma
aura,
[ 221 ]


AMENDS
I
a.
than the dates, brighter than the blood it had
cost.
“Oh!” cried Laura, her eyes wide and
frightened. She had stepped back as if from a
cockatrice. “Look, Owen! What...."
He stooped, caught it up, and held his closed
hand over the water that plashed below.
“Unless you hear me out now," he threat-
ened, “I'll throw it in.”
THE END