Before setting out on their journey, they had telegraphed to Murowski, and they found that medical officer quite ready to accompany them. His colleague was still staying at Gombong and our Pole therefore found but little difficulty in getting his leave of absence prolonged for four or five days.
The travellers, however, did not arrive at Gombong until pretty late in the day. They were tired out with their long ride and felt that they must put off further operations to the morrow. Of that compulsory delay they made the best use they could by calling upon the commandant of the place to pay their respects to him.
“If you three are going on the campaign!” exclaimed the kind-hearted soldier, “I advise the butterflies and the beetles to keep a pretty sharp look-out. There will be slaughter on the hills to-morrow. I hope you have a good supply of corks and pins for the poor prisoners. However, I wish you success.”
But while they sat chatting with the commandant and with his wife and enjoying a cool glass of beer in the verandah, a servant brought in a telegram. It was addressed to Murowski. He took it from the man.
“Will you allow me?” said he, looking towards the lady of the house.
“Of course, of course,” said she, “no ceremony required for telegrams. Open it at once; perhaps it is about some patient. I only hope it will not interfere with your expedition.”
Murowski tore open the envelope and glanced at the signature.
“It is from van Rheijn,” said he to his friends— “Great God!” he continued, “what have we here?”
“What is the matter? What is it?” exclaimed all in a breath.
“Tell van Nerekool,” he read, “that Resident van Gulpendam and his wife have been murdered by a band of ketjoes. Further particulars by letter!”