"There is a very great flood," remarked Babalatchi, sadly.
"Yes," said Lakamba. "Did Dain go?"
"He went, Tuan. He ran down to the river like a man possessed of the Sheitan himself."
There was another long pause.
"He may get drowned," suggested Lakamba at last, with some show of interest.
"The floating logs are many," answered Babalatchi, "but he is a good swimmer," he added languidly.
"He ought to live," said Lakamba; "he knows where the treasure is."
Babalatchi assented with an ill-humoured grunt. His want of success in penetrating the white man's secret as to the locality where the gold was to be found was a sore point with the statesman of Sambir, as the only conspicuous failure in an otherwise brilliant career.
A great peace had now succeeded the turmoil of the storm. Only the little belated clouds, which hurried past overhead to catch up the main body flashing silently in the distance, sent down short showers that pattered softly with a soothing hiss over the palm-leaf roof.
Lakamba roused himself from his apathy with an appearance of having grasped the situation at last.
"Babalatchi," he called briskly, giving him a slight kick.
"Ada Tuan! I am listening."
"If the Orang Blanda come here, Babalatchi, and take Almayer to Batavia to punish him for smuggling gunpowder, what will he do, you think?"
"I do not know, Tuan."
"You are a fool," commented Lakamba, exultingly. "He will tell them where the treasure is, so as to find mercy. He will."
