It was afternoon. Havelaar came out of his room, and found his Tine in the front veranda, waiting with the tea. Mrs. Slotering came out of her house, and looked as if she were coming across to the Havelaars; but all at once she turned to the gate, and made violent signs to a man to go back, who had just that moment entered. She stood still until she was assured that he had gone back and was outside, after which she came along the grass-plot to Havelaar’s house.
“I am going for once and for all to find out the meaning of this!” said Havelaar, and after welcoming her, he asked in a jocular manner, so that she might not think that he begrudged her a little authority over grounds that formerly were hers:
“Well, Mrs. Slotering, I wish you would tell me why you are so determined to turn back the people who come into the grounds! Suppose now that man who came in a moment past had some chickens for sale, or something else that might be of use in the kitchen!”
There appeared on the face of Mrs. Slotering a pained expression which did not escape Havelaar’s attention.
“Oh,” she said, “there are so many bad people!”
“Certainly, that’s the case everywhere. But if one makes it so difficult for people to enter, the good ones will keep away too. Come now, Mrs. Slotering, do tell me quite frankly why you keep such a strict supervision over the grounds!”
Havelaar looked at her, and vainly tried to read the answer in her moist eyes. He pressed a little harder for an explanation . . . the widow burst into tears, and said that her husband had been poisoned at the house of the District-Chief at Parang-Koodyang.
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