‘I say, sir, I Tuan magistrate here, and I know.’ He unlocked a coffer, iron-bound, using three separate keys; brought out a parcel wrapped in cloth and slowly unfolded it, looking at Smidt the while, his narrow eyes twinkling.
‘You say nugget, hey?’
Smidt gasped. It was a lump of gold as big as his two fists.
‘Is this—is this mine?’
The chief sat down to laugh and rolled about, spluttering Chinese interjections.
‘Is this mine? He-he-he-he! Mine? This gold, sir! Kunsi take gold—all gold here! You says, mine, sir? Ha! ha! ha!’
Smidt did not feel assured of his legal rights.
‘You took it from Ahtan?’ he asked. ‘Did you arrest him?’
The chief had another fit. Recovering, he answered, ‘Ahtan down this way,’ and stamped upon the ground.
‘In the cellar? Oh, that’s a comfort! I’ll carry him to Kuching to-morrow.’