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"It was a small settlement. Some sixty houses, most of them built

on piles over the river, the rest scattered in the long grass; the
usual pathway at the back; the forest hemming in the clearing and

smothering what there might have been of air into a dead, hot
stagnation.

"All the population was on the river-bank staring silently, as
Malays will do, at the Sissie anchored in the stream. She was

almost as wonderful to them as an angel's visit. Many of the old
people had only heard vaguely of fire-ships, and not many of the

younger generation had seen one. On the back path Davidson
strolled in perfect solitude. But he became aware of a bad smell

and concluded he would go no farther.
"While he stood wiping his forehead, he heard from somewhere the

exclamation: 'My God! It's Davy!'
"Davidson's lower jaw, as he expressed it, came unhooked at the

crying of this excited voice. Davy was the name used by the
associates of his young days; he hadn't heard it for many years.

He stared about with his mouth open and saw a white woman issue
from the long grass in which a small hut stood buried nearly up to

the roof.
"Try to imagine the shock: in that wild place that you couldn't

find on a map, and more squalid than the most poverty-stricken
Malay settlement had a right to be, this European woman coming

swishing out of the long grass in a fanciful tea-gown thing, dingy
pink satin, with a long train and frayed lace trimmings; her eyes

like black coals in a pasty-white face. Davidson thought that he
was asleep, that he was delirious. From the offensive village

mudhole (it was what Davidson had sniffed just before) a couple of
filthy buffaloes uprose with loud snorts and lumbered off crashing

through the bushes, panic-struck by this apparition.
"The woman came forward, her arms extended, and laid her hands on

Davidson's shoulders, exclaiming: 'Why! You have hardly changed
at all. The same good Davy.' And she laughed a little wildly.

"This sound was to Davidson like a galvanic shock to a corpse. He
started in every muscle. 'Laughing Anne,' he said in an awe-struck

voice.
"'All that's left of her, Davy. All that's left of her.'

"Davidson looked up at the sky; but there was to be seen no balloon
from which she could have fallen on that spot. When he brought his

distracted gaze down, it rested on a child holding on with a brown
little paw to the pink satin gown. He had run out of the grass

after her. Had Davidson seen a real hobgoblin his eyes could not
have bulged more than at this small boy in a dirty white blouse and

ragged knickers. He had a round head of tight chestnut curls, very
sunburnt legs, a freckled face, and merry eyes. Admonished by his

mother to greet the gentleman, he finished off Davidson by
addressing him in French.

"'BONJOUR.'
"Davidson, overcome, looked up at the woman in silence. She sent

the child back to the hut, and when he had disappeared in the
grass, she turned to Davidson, tried to speak, but after getting

out the words, 'That's my Tony,' burst into a long fit of crying.
She had to lean on Davidson's shoulder. He, distressed in the

goodness of his heart, stood rooted to the spot where she had come
upon him.

"What a meeting - eh? Bamtz had sent her out to see what white man
it was who had landed. And she had recognised him from that time

when Davidson, who had been pearling himself in his youth, had been
associating with Harry the Pearler and others, the quietest of a

rather rowdy set.
"Before Davidson retraced his steps to go on board the steamer, he

had heard much of Laughing Anne's story, and had even had an
interview, on the path, with Bamtz himself. She ran back to the

hut to fetch him, and he came out lounging, with his hands in his
pockets, with the detached, casual manner under which he concealed

his propensity to cringe. Ya-a-as-as. He thought he would settle
here permanently - with her. This with a nod at Laughing Anne, who

stood by, a haggard, tragically anxious figure, her black hair
hanging over her shoulders.

"'No more paint and dyes for me, Davy,' she struck in, 'if only you
will do what he wants you to do. You know that I was always ready

to stand by my men - if they had only let me.'
"Davidson had no doubt of her earnestness. It was of Bamtz's good

faith that he was not at all sure. Bamtz wanted Davidson to
promise to call at Mirrah more or less regularly. He thought he

saw an opening to do business with rattans there, if only he could
depend on some craft to bring out trading goods and take away his

produce.
"'I have a few dollars to make a start on. The people are all

right.'
"He had come there, where he was not known, in a native prau, and

had managed, with his sedate manner and the exactly right kind of
yarn he knew how to tell to the natives, to ingratiate himself with

the chief man.
"'The Orang Kaya has given me that empty house there to live in as

long as I will stay,' added Bamtz.
"'Do it, Davy,' cried the woman suddenly. 'Think of that poor

kid.'
"'Seen him? 'Cute little customer,' said the reformed loafer in

such a tone of interest as to surprise Davidson into a kindly
glance.

"'I certainly can do it,' he declared. He thought of at first
making some stipulation as to Bamtz behaving decently to the woman,

but his exaggerated delicacy and also the conviction that such a
fellow's promises were worth nothing restrained him. Anne went a

little distance down the path with him talking anxiously.
"'It's for the kid. How could I have kept him with me if I had to

knock about in towns? Here he will never know that his mother was
a painted woman. And this Bamtz likes him. He's real fond of him.

I suppose I ought to thank God for that.'
"Davidson shuddered at any human creature being brought so low as

to have to thank God for the favours or affection of a Bamtz.
"'And do you think that you can make out to live here?' he asked

gently.
"'Can't I? You know I have always stuck to men through thick and

thin till they had enough of me. And now look at me! But inside I
am as I always was. I have acted on the square to them all one

after another. Only they do get tired somehow. Oh, Davy! Harry
ought not to have cast me off. It was he that led me astray.'

"Davidson mentioned to her that Harry the Pearler had been dead now
for some years. Perhaps she had heard?

"She made a sign that she had heard; and walked by the side of
Davidson in silence nearly to the bank. Then she told him that her

meeting with him had brought back the old times to her mind. She
had not cried for years. She was not a crying woman either. It

was hearing herself called Laughing Anne that had started her
sobbing like a fool. Harry was the only man she had loved. The

others -
"She shrugged her shoulders. But she prided herself on her loyalty

to the successive partners of her dismal adventures. She had never
played any tricks in her life. She was a pal worth having. But

men did get tired. They did not understand women. She supposed it
had to be.

"Davidson was attempting a veiled warning as to Bamtz, but she
interrupted him. She knew what men were. She knew what this man

was like. But he had taken wonderfully to the kid. And Davidson
desisted willingly, saying to himself that surely poor Laughing

Anne could have no illusions by this time. She wrung his hand hard
at parting.

"'It's for the kid, Davy - it's for the kid. Isn't he a bright
little chap?'

CHAPTER II
"All this happened about two years before the day when Davidson,

sitting in this very room, talked to my friend. You will see
presently how this room can get full. Every seat'll be occupied,

and as you notice, the tables are set close, so that the backs of
the chairs are almost touching. There is also a good deal of noisy

talk here about one o'clock.
"I don't suppose Davidson was talking very loudly; but very likely

he had to raise his voice across the table to my friend. And here
accident, mere accident, put in its work by providing a pair of

fine ears close behind Davidson's chair. It was ten to one
against, the owner of the same having enough change in his pockets

to get his tiffin here. But he had. Most likely had rooked
somebody of a few dollars at cards overnight. He was a bright

creature of the name of Fector, a spare, short, jumpy fellow with a
red face and muddy eyes. He described himself as a journalist as

certain kind of women give themselves out as actresses in the dock
of a police-court.

"He used to introduce himself to strangers as a man with a mission
to track out abuses and fight them whenever found. He would also

hint that he was a martyr. And it's a fact that he had been
kicked, horsewhipped, imprisoned, and hounded with ignominy out of

pretty well every place between Ceylon and Shanghai, for a
professional blackmailer.

"I suppose, in that trade, you've got to have active wits and sharp
ears. It's not likely that he overheard every word Davidson said

about his dollar collecting trip, but he heard enough to set his
wits at work.

"He let Davidson go out, and then hastened away down to the native
slums to a sort of lodging-house kept in partnership by the usual

sort of Portuguese and a very disreputable Chinaman. Macao Hotel,
it was called, but it was mostly a gambling den that one used to

warn fellows against. Perhaps you remember?
"There, the evening before, Fector had met a precious couple, a

partnership even more queer than the Portuguese and the Chinaman.
One of the two was Niclaus - you know. Why! the fellow with a

Tartar moustache and a yellow complexion, like a Mongolian, only
that his eyes were set straight and his face was not so flat. One

couldn't tell what breed he was. A nondescript beggar. From a
certain angle you would think a very bilious white man. And I

daresay he was. He owned a Malay prau and called himself The
Nakhoda, as one would say: The Captain. Aha! Now you remember.

He couldn't, apparently, speak any other European language than
English, but he flew the Dutch flag on his prau.

"The other was the Frenchman without hands. Yes. The very same we
used to know in '79 in Sydney, keeping a little tobacco shop at the

lower end of George Street. You remember the huge carcase hunched
up behind the counter, the big white face and the long black hair

brushed back off a high forehead like a bard's. He was always
trying to roll cigarettes on his knee with his stumps, telling

endless yarns of Polynesia and whining and cursing in turn about
'MON MALHEUR.' His hands had been blown away by a dynamite

cartridge while fishing in some lagoon. This accident, I believe,
had made him more wicked than before, which is saying a good deal.

"He was always talking about 'resuming his activities' some day,
whatever they were, if he could only get an intelligentcompanion.

It was evident that the little shop was no field for his
activities, and the sickly woman with her face tied up, who used to

look in sometimes through the back door, was no companion for him.
"And, true enough, he vanished from Sydney before long, after some

trouble with the Excise fellows about his stock. Goods stolen out
of a warehouse or something similar. He left the woman behind, but

he must have secured some sort of companion - he could not have
shifted for himself; but whom he went away with, and where, and

what other companions he might have picked up afterwards, it is
impossible to make the remotest guess about.

"Why exactly he came this way I can't tell. Towards the end of my
time here we began to hear talk of a maimed Frenchman who had been

seen here and there. But no one knew then that he had foregathered
with Niclaus and lived in his prau. I daresay he put Niclaus up to



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