“Oh, pray don’t say so, Kandjeng toean. Really this is the very best time for a little quiet chat. Body and mind are now both at rest, and this is the very moment for a little business.”
“Oh so,” said van Gulpendam, with a laugh, “the babah has come on business, has he?”
“That is why,” said the Chinaman lowering his voice, “I was so anxious that no one should see me slipping into the garden of the Residence.”
Van Gulpendam pricked his ears.
“You are very mysterious, babah,” said he, “have you come to bother me again about that confounded opium?”
“Yes, Kandjeng toean, and for something else besides.”
“Very well, babah, let us hear what you have to say.” He had it on the tip of his tongue to call out, “Very well, babah, haul away,” and, had he at the moment known how to get it out in Malay, out it would have come. But he had time to reflect that the Chinaman would not, in any case, have appreciated the force of the nautical phrase.
Babah Lim Yang Bing, then, in his oily fashion proceeded to give his version of the seizure of opium near the djaga monjet in the Moeara Tjatjing, and made some attempt to explain to the Resident that what had been seized there was in reality no opium at all.
“Oh, indeed,” laughed van Gulpendam, “that is your tack is it? It was not opium—what was it then?”
“Oh, Kandjeng toean,” smiled the other, “it was nothing but scrapings of opium pipes mixed with the thickened juice of certain plants.”