The Narrow Corner Page 3

  “It’s only a lizard,” said Dr. Saunders.

  “It made me jump.”

  Dr. Saunders called Ah Kay, his boy, and told him to bring the whisky and some glasses.

  “I daren’t drink it,” said the skipper. “It’s poison to me. How would you like never to be able to eat a thing or drink a thing, without knowin’ you was goin’ to suffer for it?”

  “Let me see what I can do for you,” said Dr. Saunders.

  He went to his medicine chest and mixed something in a glass. He gave it to the captain and told him to swallow it.

  “Maybe that’ll help you to eat your dinner in comfort.”

  He poured out whisky for himself and Fred Blake and turned on the gramophone. The young man listened to the record and his expression grew more alert; when it was finished he put on another himself and, slightly swaying to the rhythm, stood looking at the instrument. He stole one or two glances at the doctor, but the doctor pretended not to notice him. Captain Nichols, his shifty eyes never still, carried on the conversation. It consisted chiefly of enquiries about this man and that in Fu-chou, Shanghai and Hong-Kong, and descriptions of the drunken parties he had been on in those parts. Ah Kay brought in the dinner and they sat down.

  “I enjoy my food,” said the captain. “Not fallals, mind you. I like it good and I like it simple. Not a big eater. I never been that. A cut off the joint and a couple of veges, with a bit of cheese to finish up with, and I’m satisfied. You couldn’t eat anything simpler than that, could you? And then twenty minutes after—as regular as clockwork—agony. I tell you life ain’t worth livin’ when you suffer like what I do. D’you ever know old George Vaughan? One of the best. He was on one of the Jardine boats, used to go up to Amoy, he ’ad dyspepsia so bad he ’anged himself. I shouldn’t be surprised if I didn’t, too, one of these days.”

  Ah Kay was not a bad cook, and Fred Blake did full justice to the dinner.

  “This is a treat after what we’ve had to eat on the lugger.”

  “Most of it comes out of a tin, but the boy flavours it up. The Chinese are natural born cooks.”

  “It’s the best dinner I’ve had for five weeks.”

  Dr. Saunders remembered that they had said they had come from Thursday Island. With the fine weather they admitted that could not have taken them more than a week.

  “What sort of a place is Thursday Island?” he asked.

  It was the captain who answered.

  “Hell of a place. Nothin’ but goats. The wind blows six months one way and then it blows six months the other. Gets on your nerves.”

  Captain Nichols spoke with a twinkle in his eyes as though he saw what was at the back of the doctor’s simple question and was amused at the easy way he tackled it.

  “Do you live there?” Dr. Saunders asked the young man, a guileless smile on his lips.

  “No, Brisbane,” he answered abruptly.

  “Fred’s got a bit of capital,” said Captain Nichols, “and ’e thought he’d like to ’ave a look-see on the chance ’e might find somethin’ in these parts ’e’d like to invest it in. My idea, that was. You see, I know all these islands inside out, and what I say is, there’s a rare lot of chances for a young fellow with a bit of capital. That’s what I’d do if I ’ad a bit of capital, buy a plantation in one of these islands.”

  “Do a bit of pearl fishing, too,” said Blake.

  “You can get all the labour you want. Native labour’s the only thing. Then you sit back and let other people work for you. Fine life, too. Grand thing for a young fellow.”

  The skipper’s shifty eyes, for a moment still, were fixed on Dr. Saunders’ bland face, and it was not hard to see that he was watching the effect of what he was saying. The doctor felt that they had concocted the story between them that afternoon. And when the skipper saw that Dr. Saunders did not swallow it, he grinned cheerfully. It was as if he took so much delight in lying that it would have spoilt it for him if you had accepted it as the truth.

  “That’s why we put in ’ere,” he went on. “There’s not much about these islands that old Kim Ching don’t know, and it struck me we might do business with ’im. I told the boy in the store to tell the old fellow I was ’ere.”

  “I know. He told me.”

  “You seen ’im, then? Did ’e say anythin’ about me?”

  “Yes, he said you’d better get out of here pretty damn quick.”

  “Why, what’s ’e got against me?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “We ’ad a bit of a disagreement, I know that, but that was donkey’s years ago. There’s no sense in ’oldin’ a thing up against a fellow all that while. Forgive and forget, I say.”

  Captain Nichols had the unusual trait that he could play a mean trick on a man without bearing him any ill feeling afterwards, and he could not understand that the injured party might continue to harbour malice. Dr. Saunders noticed the idiosyncrasy with amused detachment.

  “My impression is that Kim Ching has a good memory,” he said.

  They talked of one thing and another.

  “Do you know,” said the captain suddenly, “I don’t believe I’m goin’ to ’ave dyspepsia to-night. Say, what was that stuff you give me?”

  “A little preparation that I’ve found useful in chronic cases like yours.”

  “I wish you’d give me some more of it.”

  “It mightn’t do you any good next time. What you want is treatment.”

  “Do you think you could cure me?”

  The doctor saw his opportunity coming.

  “I don’t know about that. If I could watch you for a few days and try one or two things, I might be able to do something for you.”

  “I’ve got a good mind to stay on ’ere for a bit and let you see. We’re in no ’urry.”

  “What about Kim Ching?’

  “What can ’e do?”

  “Come off it,” said Fred Blake. “We don’t want to get into any trouble here. We’re sailing to-morrow.”

  “It’s all right for you to talk. You don’t suffer like what I do. Look ’ere, I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll go and see the old devil to-morrow and find out what ’e’s got against me.”

  “We’re sailing to-morrow,” repeated the other.

  “We’re sailin’ when I say we sail.”

  The two men looked at one another for an instant. The skipper smiled with his usual foxy geniality, but Fred Blake frowned with sullen anger. Dr. Saunders interrupted the quarrel that was in the air.

  “I don’t suppose you know Chinamen as well as I do, Captain, but you must know something about them. If they’ve got their knife into you they’re not going to let you off for the asking.”

  The skipper thumped his fist on the table.

  “Well, it was only a matter of a couple of ’undred quid. Old Kim’s as rich as be damned. What difference can that make to ’im? He’s an old crook, anyway.”

  “Have you never noticed that nothing hurts the feelings of a crook so much as to have another crook do the dirty on him?”

  Captain Nichols wore a moody scowl. His little greenish eyes, set too close together, seemed to converge as he shot a bitter glance into space. He looked a very ugly customer. But at the doctor’s remark he threw back his head and laughed.

  “That’s a good one. I like you, doc, you don’t mind what you say, do you? Well, it takes all sorts to make a world. Keep your eyes skinned and let the devil take the ’indmost, that’s what I say. And when you see a chance of makin’ a bit you’re a fool if you don’t take it. Of course everyone makes a mistake now and again. But you can’t always tell beforehand ’ow things are goin’ to turn out.”

  “If the doctor gives you some more of that stuff and tells you what to do, you’ll be all right,” said Blake.

  He had recovered his temper.

  “No, I won’t do that,” said Dr. Saunders. “But I’ll tell you what: I’m fed up with this God-forsaken island and I want to get out; if you’ll give m
e a passage on the lugger to Timor or Macassar or Surabaya, you shall have all the treatment you want.”

  “That’s an idea,” said Captain Nichols.

  “A damned rotten one,” cried the other.

  “Why?”

  “We can’t carry passengers.”

  “We can sign ’im on.”

  “There’s no accommodation.”

  “I guess the doctor ain’t particular.”

  “Not a bit. I’ll bring my own food and drink. I’ll get a lot of canned stuff at Kim Ching’s, and he’s got plenty of beer.”

  “Nothing doing,” said Blake.

  “Look ’ere, young feller-me-lad, who gives orders on this boat, you or me?”

  “Well, if it comes down to brass tacks, I do.”

  “Put that out of your ’ead at once, my lad. I’m skipper and what I say goes.”

  “Whose boat is it?”

  “You know very well whose boat it is.”

  Dr. Saunders watched them curiously. His bright, quick eyes missed nothing. The captain had lost all his geniality and his face was mottled with red. The youth bore a look of thunder. His fists were clenched and his head thrust forward.

  “I won’t have him on the boat and that’s that,” he cried.

  “Oh, come on,” said the doctor, “it’s not going to hurt you. It’ll only be for five or six days. Be a sport. If you won’t take me I shall have to stay here God knows how long.”

  “That’s your look out.”

  “What have you got against me?”

  “That’s my business.”

  Dr. Saunders gave him a questioning glance. Blake was not only angry, he was nervous. His handsome, sullen face was pale. It was curious that he should be so disinclined to let him come on the lugger. In these seas people made no bones about that sort of thing. Kim Ching had said they carried no cargo, but it might be the sort of cargo that did not take up much space and was easily hidden. Neither morphine nor cocaine took up a great deal of room, and there was a lot of money to be made if you could take them to the right places.

  “You’d be doing me a great favour,” he said gently.

  “I’m sorry; I don’t want to seem a rotten sport, but me and Nichols are here on business, and we can’t go out of our way to land a passenger in some place we don’t want to go to.”

  “I’ve known the doctor for twenty years,” said Nichols. “He’s all right.”

  “You never set eyes on him till this morning.”

  “I know all about ’im.” The captain grinned, showing his broken, discoloured little teeth, and Dr. Saunders reflected that he should have them out. “And if what I ’ear is true ’e ain’t got much on any of us.”

  He gave the doctor a shrewd look. It was interesting to see the hardness behind his genial smile. The doctor bore the glance without flinching. You could not have told if the shaft had gone home or if he had no notion of what the skipper was talking.

  “I don’t bother myself much with other people’s concerns,” he smiled.

  “Live and let live, I say,” said the captain, with the amiable toleration of the scamp.

  “When I say no, I mean no,” answered the young man obstinately.

  “Oh, you make me tired,” said Nichols. “There ain’t nothin’ to be scared about.”

  “Who says I’m scared?”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve got nothing to be scared about.”

  They flung the short sentences at one another quickly. Their exasperation was increasing. Dr. Saunders wondered what the secret was that lay between them. It had evidently more to do with Fred Blake than with Nichols. For once the rascal had nothing on his conscience. He reflected that Captain Nichols was not the sort of man who would make it easy for anyone whose secret he knew. He could not exactly tell why, but he had an impression that whatever it was, Captain Nichols did not know but only suspected it. The doctor, however, was very anxious to get on the lugger, and he did not mean to give up the project before he need. It amused him to exercise a certain astuteness to gain his end.

  “Look here, I don’t want to cause a quarrel between you two. If Blake doesn’t want me, let’s say no more about it.”

  “But I want you,” retorted the skipper. “It’s a chance in a million for me. If there’s a man alive as can put my digestion right, it is you, and d’you think I’m goin’ to miss an opportunity like that? Not ’alf.”

  “You think too much about your digestion,” said Blake. “That’s my belief. If you just ate what you wanted to and didn’t bother, you’d be all right.”

  “Oh, should I? I suppose you know more about me digestive apparatus than what I do. I suppose you know when a bit of dry toast sits on me stomach like a ton of lead. I suppose you’ll say it’s all fancy next.”

  “Well, if you ask me, I think fancy’s got a damned sight more to do with it than you think.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Who are you calling a son of a bitch?”

  “I’m calling you a son of a bitch.”

  “Oh, shut up,” said the doctor.

  Captain Nichols gave a loud belch.

  “Now the bastard’s brought it on again. It’s three months if it’s a day that I was able to sit down after supper and feel comfortable, and now he’s brought it on again. An upset like this is the death of me. Flies to me stomach at once. I’m a bundle of nerves. Always ’ave been. I thought I was goin’ to ’ave a pleasant evenin’ for once, and now he’s gone and ruined it. I’ve got dyspepsia somethin’ cruel.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said the doctor.

  “They all say the same thing; they all say: ‘Captain, you’re a bundle of nerves. Delicate? You’re more delicate than a child.’ ”

  Dr. Saunders was gravely sympathetic.

  “It’s as I suspected, you want watching; your stomach wants educating. If I’d been coming with you on the lugger I should have made it my business to teach your digestive juices to function in a proper manner. I don’t say I could have effected a cure in six or seven days, but I could have put you on the way.”

  “But who says you’re not comin’ on the lugger?”

  “Blake does and from what I gather he’s the boss.”

  “Oh, do you? Well, you’re mistaken. I’m skipper, and what I say goes. Get your kit packed and come on board to-morrow mornin’. I’ll sign you on as a member of the crew.”

  “You’ll do nothing of the sort,” said Blake, jumping to his feet. “I’ve got as much say as you have, and I say he’s not coming. I won’t have anyone on the lugger, and that’s that.”

  “Oh, won’t you? And what’ll you say if I run her straight up to B.N.B.? British territory, young feller-me-lad.”

  “You take care an accident doesn’t happen to you.”

  “D’you think I’m scared of you? D’you think I’ve knocked about all over the world since before you was born without knowin’ ’ow to take care of meself? Stick a knife in me back, would you? And who’s goin’ to sail the boat? You and them four black niggers? You make me laugh. Why, you don’t know one end of the boat from the other.”

  Blake clenched his hands again. The two men glared at one another, but in the captain’s eyes was a mocking sneer. He knew that when it came to a show-down he held the cards. A little sigh escaped the other.

  “Where d’you want to go?” he asked the doctor.

  “Any Dutch island where I can get a ship that’ll take me on my way.”

  “All right, come on, then. Anyway, it’ll be better than being cooped up alone with that all the time.”

  He gave the skipper a glance of impotent hatred. Captain Nichols laughed good-naturedly.

  “That’s true, it’ll be company for you, me boy. We’re getting off about ten to-morrow. That suit you?”

  “Suit me A1,” said the doctor.

  viii

  HIS guests left early and Dr. Saunders, taking his book, lay down in a long, rattan chair. He glanced at his watch. It was a
little after nine. It was his habit to smoke half a dozen pipes of an evening. He liked to begin at ten. He waited for this moment, not with malaise, but with a little tremor of anticipation which was pleasant, and he would not cut this short by advancing the hour of his indulgence.

  He called Ah Kay and told him that they were sailing in the morning on the strangers’ lugger. The boy nodded. He, too, was glad to get away. Dr. Saunders had engaged him when he was thirteen, and now he was nineteen. He was a slim, comely youth with large black eyes and a skin as smooth as a girl’s. His hair, coal black and cut very short, fitted his head like a close cap. His oval face was of the colour of old ivory. He was quick to smile, and then he showed two rows of the most exquisite teeth possible, small and white and regular. In his short Chinese trousers of white cotton and the tight jacket without a collar he had a languorous elegance that was strangely touching. He moved silently and his gestures had the deliberate grace of a cat. Dr. Saunders sometimes flattered himself with the thought that Ah Kay regarded him with affection.

  At ten, closing his book, he called:

  “Ah Kay!”

  The boy came in and Dr. Saunders watched him placidly as he took from a table the little tray on which were the oil lamp, the needle, the pipe and the round tin of opium. The boy put it down on the floor by the doctor, and himself squatting on his haunches, lit the lamp. He held the needle in the flame, and with the warm end extracted a sufficiency from the tin of opium; with deft fingers he made it into a ball and delicately cooked it over the little yellow flame. Dr. Saunders watched it sizzle and swell. The boy withdrew it from the flame, kneaded the pellet again and cooked it once more; he inserted it into the pipe and handed it to his master. The doctor took it and with the strong quick pull of the practised smoker inhaled the sweet-tasting smoke. He held it for a minute in his lungs and then slowly exhaled it. He handed the pipe back. The boy scraped it out and put it on the tray. He warmed the needle again and began to cook another pellet. The doctor smoked a second pipe and a third. The boy rose from the floor and went into the cook-house. He came back with a little pot of jasmine tea and poured it into a Chinese bowl. The fragrance for an instant overpowered the acrid odour of the drug. The doctor lay back in his long chair, his head against a cushion and looked at the ceiling. They did not speak. It was very silent in the compound, and the only sound that broke the stillness was the sharp cry of a ghekko. The doctor watched it as it stood still on the ceiling, a little yellow beast that looked like a prehistoric monster in miniature, and occasionally made a rapid dart as a fly or a moth caught its attention. Ah Kay lit himself a cigarette, and taking an odd, stringed instrument, something like a banjo, amused himself by playing softly. The thin notes straggled along the air, disconnected sounds they seemed, and if now and then you heard the beginning of a melody, it was not completed and your ear was deceived; it was a slow and plaintive music, that seemed to be as incoherent as the varied scents of flowers, and it seemed to offer you but indications, a hint here and there, the suggestion of a rhythm, with which to create in your own soul a more subtle music than ears could hear. Now and then a sharp discord, like the scratching of a pencil on a slate, assaulted the nerves with a sudden shock. It gave the soul the same delicious tremor as startles the body when in the heat you plunge into an ice-cold pool. The boy sat on the floor in an attitude of unaffected beauty and meditatively plucked the strings of his lute. Dr. Saunders wondered what vague emotions touched him. His melancholy face was impassive. He seemed to be looking into his memory for melodies heard in some long past existence.