"No census, not a cent of taxes paid, piracy, murders, my controlleurs—God knows where they are, the whole province in revolt. This is a nice kettle of fish."
Sachsen glanced sympathetically at Peter Gross. The lad he loved so well sat with bowed head and clenched hands, lines of suffering marked his face, he had grown older, oh, so much older, during those few sorry months since he had so confidently declared his policies for the regeneration of the residency in this very room. The governor was speaking again.
"You said you would find Mynheer de Jonge's murderer for me," Van Schouten rasped. "Have you done that?"
"Yes, your excellency. It was Kapitein Van Slyck who planned the deed, and Cho Seng who committed the act, pricked him with a upas thorn while he slept, as I told your excellency. Here are my proofs. A statement made by Mynheer Muller to Captain Carver and Lieutenant Banning before he died, and a statement made by Koyala to me." He gave the governor the documents. The latter scanned them briefly and laid them aside.
"How did Muller come to his death?" he demanded.
"Like a true servant of the state, fighting in defense of the fort," Peter Gross replied. "A splinter of a shell struck him in the body."
"H-m!" the governor grunted. "I thought he was one of these traitors, too."
"He expiated his crimes two weeks ago at Fort Wilhelmina, your excellency."
"And Cho Seng?" the governor demanded. "Is he still alive?"
"He fell on his own dagger." Peter Gross described the incident. "It was not the dagger thrust that killed him," he explained. "That made only a flesh wound. But the dagger point had been dipped in a cobra's venom." Softly he added: "He always feared that he would die from a snake's poison."