“Half a moment,” said Sir John. “Last time a schooner came in, two piano-cases were brought ashore. I’ve looked round, and the only piano in the island is in Smith’s big concrete house, where he never lives, and that piano was there ages before. Pianos? Guns, my boy. Smith’s keeping the natives in check for all he’s worth. It’s his best policy. But if it does come to an outbreak, you’ll find the natives armed and Smith leading them. You can tell Mast that. If Smith gets into a position where he finds his hand forced, and it’s a question of the white man or the native, he’ll throw over his trade and his ambitions, wipe out the white men, and chance it. Now, haven’t I seen the next step? Pryce, I watch everything. I can’t afford to make another mistake.”
“An almighty row—a big fight—and then wiped out, as you say,” said Pryce, meditatively. “One might do worse.”
“Possibly. All the same, I’m going to spend this afternoon in frightening the life out of Parker and Simmons and Mandelbaum and Lord Charles Baringstoke. I leave it to you to make Cyril Mast ashamed of himself.”
“He’s always that,” said Pryce, as he turned away.
Mr Bassett had said that he was going to see Cyril Mast; therefore it was quite certain that he was going elsewhere. He had taken luncheon with King Smith, had eaten baked fishes with the eternal cokernut cream sauce and a conserve of guavas which was one of the King’s trade-items. He had drunk with great moderation of an excellent hock and iced water.
Three sides of a square on the beach were occupied by the King’s stores and office, with some living-rooms attached. The styles of building were various. There was concrete, dazzlingly white in the sun. There was timber. There was corrugated iron. There were shanties built in the native fashion—poles planted close together for the walls, and a leaf thatch for the roof. The King had a fine concrete house with an excellent garden in the interior, but he rarely visited it.
Luncheon had been served by native boys in one of the living-rooms. The King now smoked a Havannah and sipped coffee which he himself had grown. There was surprisingly little that was native in his appearance. He wore a white flannel shirt, white duck trousers, and white canvas shoes, all of spotless cleanliness. His tint was very light. He had none of the native’s love for personal decoration with flowers and necklaces. His eyes were not like a native’s. They had not that sleeping gentleness, and were the eyes of a master among men. No native would have worn those shoes. The natives went barefoot as a rule, torturing themselves with squeaking boots on state occasions or as a concession to the French missionaries. But the King had all the native’s inborn grace of movement, and he wore his hair rather longer than a European’s. He looked at Bassett with that slightly cynical air of a man who has gauged another man completely, will use him to the utmost, and will not trust him quite as far as he could throw him. Bassett had removed his big hat, and his indecent baldness shone with perspiration; it gave something of the appearance of the vulture to a head which otherwise suggested the ape.
“All I can say is that I did my best,” said Bassett, plaintively. “It nearly came off. Dr Soames Pryce had seemed all in your favour, and then just when it came to the voting, he went right round.”
“Ah!” said Smith. His voice was pleasing and his pronunciation was perfect. “And was that just after you had spoken?”
“It was,” said Bassett, “and that’s what makes it so surprising.” The King smiled. “We ought to have had Mast there. I said so.”