“They will take good care,” added the other lady, “not to show their noses here.”
“I daresay,” carelessly remarked Laurentia, “that they find plenty to do getting ready for the wedding.”
“Is not the murderer,” asked Henriette, “the father of baboe Dalima who accused Lim Ho of—?”
“My dear Henriette,” hastily interposed Mrs. van Gulpendam, “that is the merest tattle—in our gossiping Santjoemeh you ought not to believe one tenth part of what you hear.”
“But,” continued she rather hurriedly as if anxious to change the subject, “but, Mr. Thomasz, what kind of gollokh is that yonder on the table—that looks as if it were blood-stained too—did the murderer use that thing also?”
“Oh no, madam,” replied the assistant-clerk, “that is nothing but chicken’s blood.”
“Chicken’s blood?” inquired Henriette with a laugh.
“Yes, dear madam, we call that the gollokh soempah.”
“Indeed, and what may that mean?”
“We might translate it by the ‘oath-knife,’ ” replied Thomasz; “it is, in fact, with that instrument that the Chinese take an oath.”