“I tell thee,” said Selak, “that I have seen it. On the evening of the day when the man Sam died and was buried, I was sitting outside the house. It was dark, and the Tuan Korwal thought I had returned to the ship. I crept near and listened. They were speaking of what should be done with the dead man's share of the gold. Then I looked through the cave side of the house, and—dost remember that white basin of thine, Miguel?”
The Manila man nodded.
“The white woman, at a sign from her husband, went into the inner room and brought it out and placed it on the table. It was full to the brim with gold! and there was more in a bag!”
His listeners drew nearer to him, their dark eyes gleaming with avarice.
“Then the Tuan said, 'None of Sam's gold will I or my wife touch. Let it be divided among you three. It is but fair.'
“They talked again, and then Mallet said to the Tuan, 'Captain, it shall be as you wish. But let it all go together till the time comes for thee to give us our share.'
“I watched the white woman take the basin and the bag, put them into a box, and place the box in a hole in the ground in her sleeping-room. Then I came away, for my heart was on fire with the wrong that hath been done to us.”
He rose to his feet and peered round the corner of the galley. Mary and the two seamen were eating very leisurely.
“Three of them are here now and will sleep aboard to-night. God hath given them into our hands!”
“And what of the other two?—they are strong men,” asked a wizen, monkey-faced Malay, nicknamed Nakoda (the captain).