It may incidentally be stated that there are no less than an average of three hundred to four hundred desertions every year in the Dutch East Indies.
A few weeks later Frederick, who had meanwhile been promoted to the rank of pay sergeant, was walking quietly along one evening after dark in the outskirts of Padang, when suddenly he was startled by a strange noise proceeding from behind a clump of bushes. A second later he heard a voice calling gently, “Wolff! Wolff!” Frederick started violently, for there was no one in the colony who knew him by the name under which he had been sentenced for murder at Paris, excepting Charles Renier. Before he had time to recover from his disagreeable surprise the face of his former fellow-convict showed itself peering through the branches of a “summak” bush.
“Come nearer. I don't want to be seen, and I must speak to you.”
“What is it?” said Frederick, angrily, as he approached. “You know I can't be seen talking to you. A price has been set on your head, and were it to be known that I had held any communication with you without delivering you up to the authorities I would be court-martialed. What is it you want? Money again?”
“No, not from you at any rate.”
“Well, then, what is it? Explain quickly! I have no time to lose!”
“All I want is your assistance in a little business transaction of my own invention.”
“A pretty kind of transaction that must be.”
“I assure you it is. I am very proud of it. It is the finest coup imaginable, and you know that you have always put me off with the assurance that if ever anything really good turned up I might rely upon you to take a hand in it.”
“Well, speak, man! What is it? Don't keep me here the whole night!” exclaimed Frederick, who began to feel interested.