When Resident van Gulpendam was informed of this escape, he was simply furious.
One of the sentries stated that, after the fall of the palm-tree, he had heard a sound as of something splashing in the water; but the darkness made it impossible for him to distinguish what it was, and he thought it must be some dog who was trying to get away from so dangerous a neighbourhood. The Resident at once ordered the man to be tried by court-martial, and had him punished with fourteen days’ close imprisonment.
The most careful search was made to discover the fugitives. All the detectives, all the spies, all the creatures of the opium police, were turned out, and used their utmost skill; but all to no purpose. For months the entire district of Banjoe Pahit, especially the dessa Kaligaweh, was carefully watched; the wife and children of Pak Ardjan were not lost sight of for a moment; but without result. At length the police were driven to the conclusion that the criminals could not have returned to Kaligaweh and that they must, in fact, have left the residence of Santjoemeh altogether. Presently men ceased to talk about the matter, and soon the whole business was clean forgotten; when—a couple of months later—an event took place which, while it recalled the occurrence to men’s minds, gave them at the same time ample food for reflection.
On a certain evening Singomengolo had come to Lim Yang Bing and had told him that he thought he had found a trace of the fugitives; but, as he feared some of the information he had gained might leak out, he refused to give any further explanation. He requested, however, that he might, for that evening, have the assistance of two of Lim Yang Bing’s men; and he picked out two Chinese bandoelans to accompany him on his voyage of discovery. The opium farmer tried all he knew to get at Singomengolo’s secret. He questioned and cross-questioned him; but he could get nothing out of him. The bandoelan persisted in saying that he could hope for success only by keeping strictly secret the clue he had obtained. He further said that he was not at all certain that the information he had gained was genuine; and that he might very possibly be on a wrong scent altogether. The only thing he allowed to slip out was that the field of his operations lay not far from Kaligaweh. As soon as he had obtained the help he required, Singomengolo started off with his two police-spies; but he did not return. When on the following morning, the opium farmer heard that his trusty servant had not yet come home, he began to grow anxious. He was so used to see his bandoelan at a stated hour in the morning, to receive from him a report of all that had occurred during the twenty-four hours, and to give him his further orders, that the man’s want of punctuality on this occasion gave him no little alarm. On that morning especially, he had been impatiently awaiting Singo’s usual visit, as he was extremely curious to know what success had followed the night’s expedition. He waited and waited with still growing impatience until noon. Then, the suspense becoming intolerable, he called for his carriage, and drove straight off to the Residence.
“What is the matter now, babah?” cried van Gulpendam, greatly surprised at the manner of his visitor, who seemed to have lost all the calmness and composure which are so very characteristic of his nation.
“Kandjeng toean,” hurriedly said Lim Yang Bing, “I come to invoke your aid!”
Thereupon he told the Resident what little he knew of Singomengolo’s expedition, and could not hide the anxiety which the bandoelan’s prolonged absence caused him.
For a few moments the Resident sat reflecting on what he had heard. He had received, from one of the landowners at Banjoe Pahit, secret information which was of a very disquieting nature. A hint had been conveyed to him from that source, that very probably Banjoe Pahit would be threatened by a visit from certain bands of robbers. The hint was, however, so very vague and had apparently so little to support it, that he had not paid much attention to it. The new controller, whom he had appointed in the place of Verstork, and to whom he had imparted the information he had received, assured him that the district was profoundly quiet, that the population was as orderly and contented as it could possibly be; and that not a single alarming symptom could be discovered. True it was that the land-tax came in somewhat slowly; but, on the other hand, other sources of revenue were decidedly improving, and, judging from the flourishing state of the opium den at Kaligaweh, the bidding at the approaching sale of the monopoly would run unusually high. This report was eminently satisfactory to the Resident, and though he knew perfectly well that the foundation upon which the controller had built his pleasant expectations, was an extremely crazy one; for in such matters it was not an easy thing to deceive the keenly practised eye of van Gulpendam, yet he was quite ready to accept it as sufficient, because he reckoned upon the report as a convenient screen under which to hide himself should matters turn out not quite so satisfactory as his subordinate would make them appear. He had, therefore, written to the landowner a most polite letter in which he thanked him for his information; but in which he at the same time told him that he had reason to think his fears were unfounded, adding that for the future, it might perhaps be advisable not to spread such alarming reports. Strange that, as Lim Yang Bing was telling his tale, these vague rumours of possible disturbance had come up spontaneously to the mind of the Resident, yet so it was. Very probably van Gulpendam could not have explained the fact to himself.
Why should the rather late return of Singomengolo—for, as yet, there was no ground for giving his absence any other name—why should that have any connection with those faint rumours of robber bands which had not shown the slightest symptom of having any substantial foundation? No, no, that was out of the question. Van Gulpendam accordingly tried to calm the Chinaman’s fears.