“None whatever, my dear sir. If the patient once gets well over the fever, there will be none.”
“But surely,” insisted van Gulpendam, “there will be scars and the skin will be discoloured.”
“Certainly not—nothing of the kind,” replied the other.
“So that,” continued the Resident, “after the cure there will be no visible proofs of the treatment he has received?”
“There will be none. But, Resident, why all these questions? Perhaps you take some special interest in the man?”
“Not I,” said van Gulpendam, carelessly, but yet with some confusion. “Why should I? I know nothing about the case, I have heard nothing about it; but I have heard so much of the terrible effects of the Hoekoem Kamadoog that I often have wished to learn something more about it.”
Other guests were arriving, and so the conversation dropped. After the usual greetings the card-tables were occupied, while Anna was busying herself at the tea-table. Play had, however, scarcely begun before the chief inspector of police was announced. He paid his respects to the lady of the house, interchanged a few words with some of his acquaintance, and then turning to the Resident he said: “I beg your pardon, sir, for thus disturbing you; but the message I received, left me no choice but to intrude myself upon you at once.”
“Quite right, quite right, Mr. Meidema,” said the host, as he rose from his seat and turning to his partners he said: “Gentlemen, you must oblige me by playing a three-handed game for a few minutes, I have urgent business with Mr. Meidema.”
The two officials entered a side-chamber which opened upon the gallery, and after having carefully shut the door, Mr. van Gulpendam, without preface whatever, said to the inspector:
“Mr. Meidema, you have made a considerable capture of opium to-day, I hear.”