Van Slyck turned on his associate with an oath. "Ah Sing be damned. We'll divide as I say, or—"
The pause was more significant than words. Muller's ruddy face paled. Van Slyck tapped a forefinger significantly on the arm of his chair.
"Just remember, if the worst comes to the worst, there's this one difference between you and me, mynheer. I'm not afraid to die, and you—are!" He smiled.
Muller's breath came thickly, and he stared fascinatedly into the evilly handsome face of the captain, whose eyes were fixed on his with a basilisk glare. Several seconds passed; then Van Slyck said:
"See that you remember these things, mynheer, when our next accounting comes."
The silence that followed was broken by the rhythmic pad-pad of wicker sandals on a bamboo floor. Cho Seng came on the veranda, bearing a tray laden with two glasses of finest crystal and a decanter of colorless liquid, both of which he placed on a small porch table. Drops of dew formed thickly on the chilled surface of the decanter and rolled off while the Chinaman mixed the juices of fruits and crushed leaves with the potent liquor. The unknown discoverer of the priceless recipe he used receives more blessings in the Indies daily than all the saints on the calendar. When Cho Seng had finished, he withdrew. Muller swallowed the contents of his glass in a single gulp. Van Slyck sipped leisurely. Gradually the tension lessened. After a while, between sips, the captain remarked:
"I hear you have a chance to pick up some prize money."
Muller looked up with interest. "So, kapitein!" he exclaimed with forced jocularity. "Have you found a place where guilders grow on trees?"
"Almost as good as that," Van Slyck replied, playing his fish.
Finesse and indirection were not Muller's forte. "Well, tell us about it, kapitein," he demanded bluntly.