CHAPTER IX.
"Can I believe what you tell me? It is like a tale for men that listen
only half awake by the camp fire, and it seems to have run off a woman's
tongue."
"Who is there here for me to deceive, O Rajah?" answered Babalatchi.
"Without you I am nothing. All I have told you I believe to be true. I
have been safe for many years in the hollow of your hand. This is no
time to harbour suspicions. The danger is very great. We should advise
and act at once, before the sun sets."
"Right. Right," muttered Lakamba, pensively.
They had been sitting for the last hour together in the audience chamber
of the Rajah's house, for Babalatchi, as soon as he had witnessed the
landing of the Dutch officers, had crossed the river to report to his
master the events of the morning, and to confer with him upon the line of
conduct to pursue in the face of altered circumstances. They were both
puzzled and frightened by the unexpected turn the events had taken. The
Rajah, sitting crosslegged on his chair, looked fixedly at the floor;
Babalatchi was squatting close by in an attitude of deep dejection.
"And where did you say he is hiding now?" asked Lakamba, breaking at last
the silence full of gloomy forebodings in which they both had been lost
for a long while.
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