V
Returning from his cursory inspection of the opium vat, King entered a silent house. He had turned one room into a makeshift office; for it had become his practice to divide his time between fields and desk. He liked to point out that the principal difference between his job and Tsuda’s was that the former called for head work.
King did rather a good deal of figuring and scribbling. Until recently the report had gone along in fine style. It was full of notes and queries and memos of many sorts, and bristled with little tentative schemes, sometimes inclined toward extravagance, for bringing water into the fields during the dry spells. He was also working on percentages of dross, which might be cut down to the benefit of the more special product. A little of the output was prepared after an elaborate Bengal receipt for special trade. Utterbourne disposed of the major part to Indian agents; the rest disappeared along coasts from which fishing smacks came plying with devious credentials. These were transactions that would not bear any very merciless investigation, perhaps, though they were frequently more remunerative than the regular trade.
King, in role of overseer and general manager, had really gone at it all rather intelligently, to begin with. The island was a test, and he intended to make good. However, the business was lagging of late.
Stella, coming in, found her husband sitting at his work table, his head fallen down on to his arms. Yet he was not asleep, for his eyes were wide open, staring into space with an almost frantic look.
It seemed to her—came rushing upon her in a romantic wave—that this was a climax. She ran up to him with a little desperate cry, held his face in her hands—a real flash of passion; she felt suddenly the stronger of the two—almost as though he were coming to depend upon her now.... And she resolutely fought down a vague impulse of shrinking which his altering presence sometimes aroused.
“What is it?” she asked.
He brought himself round with an effort that beaded his forehead with a few drops of cold sweat. His look darkened—it was as though he divined what was in her mind.
“Nothing,” he muttered thickly. “What do you want to interrupt me for? I’ve told you I can’t be bothered when I’m in here, damn it!”
“But Ferd....” She felt the climax slipping.