When he reached home his children informed him that Singomengolo had made his appearance in the dessa, and had been making sundry enquiries about him. The appearance itself of the man in the dessa, was nothing very extraordinary, nor was it, under the circumstances, strange that Pak Ardjan’s name should have been mentioned by him. But somehow or other an accountable feeling of distrust came over the old man which impelled him to try and hide the opium he had about him. Now if he had been in his normal condition he would straightway have returned to the ravine and buried his treasure safely in its former hiding place, before further steps could be taken against him. But the fit of depression was on him, his nerves were again beginning to play tricks with him, his mental powers were, as usual after prolonged abstinence, growing confused—in short he was bordering on that stage in which he would need another dose of opium to pick him up. Accordingly, he set aside a couple of matas for his own use, and, having carefully wrapped the remainder in nipah-leaves, he thrust the packets for concealment behind the attapa-leaves which formed the crazy roof of his cabin.
This done, it was the old story again, and the whole family had to set to work to minister to him in his disgusting opium debauch.
But as he lay stretched there on the bench, and just as he was beginning to light his third pipe, before that, therefore, he was wholly under the influence of the poppy-juice, Singomengolo suddenly appeared on the door-step, accompanied by four or five policemen, and by the two Chinamen, who kept the opium-store. The instant he crossed the threshold, the bandoelan knew what was going on within, although Pak Ardjan had started up, and with some dexterity, had managed to hide his pipe under the filthy pillow which is inevitably present on every couch, and his children had secreted the lamp and the yet unsmoked opium.
The sickly sweetish smell, however, which pervaded the close stuffy room could not deceive anyone, least of all a bandoelan so thoroughly experienced as was the agent of the opium-farmer.
“There has been opium smoked here!” he cried in a peremptory tone, as he and his followers made their way into the cabin.
“Oh no,” stammered Pak Ardjan in dismay, “oh no, indeed there has not!” while his wife and children, like so many frightened sheep, huddled together in a corner.
“Guard the door and the windows,” cried Singo to his policemen, and then turning again upon Pak Ardjan he repeated more sternly even than before, “You have been smoking opium, I tell you!”
“Oh no, indeed I have not,” replied the unfortunate man.
“Why there is the pipe,” cried the opium hunter, as he triumphantly drew the corpus delicti from under the pillow. “Why here is the pipe, and quite hot too!”
Pak Ardjan already beside himself with fear felt completely crushed at this evident proof of his guilt.