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"Her words were drowned in a great shout of fear as a lighted torch fell from its bamboo socket onto the palm-roofed house."
Dennis, district officer of the Labuk district in British North Borneo, had been spending a few days "local leave" on Tingling Estate, for Walkely, the manager, and he were great friends. The night before his departure the two men had sat together in the latter's mosquito room, fitted up like a "den," and with pipes well lit had roamed in desultory manner over many fields of conversation.
For the last ten minutes or so there had been silence between them—the silence of friends in complete accord. Dennis broke it.
"Throw me a match, Walley," he said.
Walkely moved as though to comply, then stopped as his "boy" entered, carrying a tray containing whisky and soda, which he placed on a table near his master. He was about to depart when Walkely spoke.
"The Tuan is leaving tomorrow before breakfast, Amat. Tell Cookie to make some sandwiches and see the Thermos flask is filled with hot tea."
"Tuan."
"And hand these to the Tuan."Walkely pointed to the matches.
Amat obeyed and went out.
Walkely rose from his long chair, mixed the drinks and held out a glass to Dennis.
"To our next meeting," he said, and raised his glass.
Dennis followed suit.
Then, yawning, Dennis rose, and stretching his arms well above his head, looked sleepily in the direction of his bedroom.
Walkely nodded assent and held open the mosquito door.
A few minutes later the house was in darkness, save for the lights that shone through the open windows of the two bedrooms.
The rooms were on either side of a large dining room, which in turn
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