Then suddenly he had an inspiration, and addressed the man in Dutch. Immediately the native’s eyes lit up.
“Ja, mynheer, I speak Dutch.”
Mike had guessed that he came from Malaya, where Dutch and Portuguese are spoken by the better class natives.
“I am from Borneo, and I seek a man who is called Truji, an Englishman. No, mynheer, I wish to see his house, for he is a great man in my country. When I have seen his house I will go back to Borneo.”
Mike was watching him as he talked. It was a particularly good-looking face, except for the long and ugly scar that ran from his forehead to the point of his jaw.
A new servant for Gregory Penne, thought the detective, and gave him directions. Standing by the policeman’s side, he watched the queer figure with its bundles till it disappeared.
“Queer language, that, sir,” said the officer. “It was Dutch to me.”
“And to me,” chuckled Mike, and continued his way to the hotel.
CHAPTER XVII
MR. FOSS MAKES A SUGGESTION
Immersed in her beloved script, Adele Leamington sat on her bed, a box of marron glacé by her side, her knees tucked up, and a prodigious frown on her forehead. Try as hard as she would, she found it impossible to concentrate upon the intricate directions with which Foss invariably tortured the pages of his scenarios. Ordinarily she could have mastered this handicap, but, for some reason or other, individual thoughts which belonged wholly to her and had no association with her art came flowing forth in such volume that the lines were meaningless and the page, for all the instruction it gave to her, might as well have been blank.