For some seconds all present sat dumb with amazement and horror. Then van Nerekool sprang to his feet, he snatched the telegram from Murowski’s hand, and held it up to the light of the lamp. He rubbed his eyes as if he could not trust his senses:
“Aye!” he exclaimed at length—“true, too true!”
“Is Mr. van Nerekool related to those poor people?” asked the captain’s wife, who was struck by the ghastly pallor of the young judge’s face.
“Pardon me, madam,” said Grenits, “we happened to leave Santjoemeh at the same time as the family van Gulpendam. The mere thought of so terrible a murder perpetrated on friends, whom we but lately left in the full glow of health and spirits, fills us with horror.”
The lady nodded assent. “It is indeed terrible!” she murmured.
“My friends,” said van Nerekool, turning to Murowski and Grenits, “I fear our expedition will have to be deferred for a few hours. Under these terrible circumstances I feel it my duty to go at once and see Mrs. Steenvlak. How far is it from here to Karang Anjer, captain?”
“About six pals, Mr. van Nerekool,” replied the soldier.
“Is it as much as that? Could you manage to get me a horse?”
“My own horse is at your disposal,” said the captain. “What do you intend to do?”
“I must at once ride off to Karang Anjer. It is now about seven o’clock. Before eight I can be there. To-morrow morning before daybreak I shall be off again, and at six I hope to be back here to resume our journey to Karang Bollong. You need not fear, captain, I shall see that your horse is well cared for.”