“But was that opium brought ashore by Ardjan and Dalima?”
“Most certainly not,” said she in a whisper, “there was nothing of the kind in the djoekoeng in which they came to land.”
“How then did the stuff get there?” asked van Nerekool.
“Dalima could tell me nothing about it,” continued the young girl. “And now,” she went on in her usual tone of voice, “now for the ‘Fleurs d’oranger!’ ”
“But,” insisted van Nerekool in a scarcely audible whisper, “what makes you fear that Ardjan will be suspected? As far as I can see there is not a shadow of a suspicion against him, unless—”
“Hush!” said Anna, “presently—”
And then, as a pleasant sequel to Beethoven’s sublime melody, the sparkling notes of the delightful waltz were heard filling both galleries with gay and pleasant music.
While the last chords were still re-echoing, the young girl answered van Nerekool’s question: “Just now,” said she, “Mr. Meidema was with my father and—” dear little Anna paused and hesitated.
“And?” said van Nerekool. “Come, Miss Anna, you must tell me all.”
“I overheard part of their conversation—”