e it long and thoughtfully, as if he had
hoped to read the answer of the horrible riddle in the very form of the
letters that went to make up that fresh insult. Abdulla's letter he read
carefully and rammed it into his pocket, also with anger, but with anger
that ended in a half-resigned, half-amused smile. He would never give in
as long as there was a chance. "It's generally the safest way to stick
to the ship as long as she will swim," was one of his favourite sayings:
"The safest and the right way. To abandon a craft because it leaks is
easy--but poor work. Poor work!" Yet he was intelligent enough to know
when he was beaten, and to accept the situation like a man, without
repining. When Almayer came on board that afternoon he handed him the
letter without comment.

Almayer read it, returned it in silence, and leaning over the taffrail
(the two men were on deck) looked down for some time at the play of the
eddies round the schooner's rudder. At last he said without looking up--

"That's a decent enough letter. Abdulla gives him up to you. I told you
they were getting sick of him. What are you going to do?"

Lingard cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, opened his mouth with
great determination, but said nothing for a while. At last he murmured--

"I'll be hanged if I know--just yet."

"I wish you would do something soon . . ."

"What's the hurry?" interrupted Lingard. "He can't get away. As it
stands he is at my mercy, as far as I can see."

"Yes," said Almayer, reflectively--"and very little mercy he deserves
too. Abdulla's meaning--as I can make it out amongst all those
compliments--is: 'Get rid for me of that white man--and we shall live in
peace and share the trade."'

"You believe that?" asked Lingard, contemptuously.

"Not altogether," answered Almayer. "No doubt we will share the trade
for a time--till he can grab the lot. Well, what are you going to do?"

He looked up as he spoke and was surprised to see Lingard's discomposed
face.

"You ain't well. Pain anywhere?" he asked, with real solicitude.

"I have been queer--you know--these last few days, but no pain." He
struck his broad chest several times, cleared his throat with a powerful
"Hem!" and repeated: "No. No pain. Good for a few years yet. But I am
bothered with all this, I can tell you!"

"You must take care of yourself," said Almayer. Then after a pause he
added: "You will see Abdulla. Won't you?"

"I don't know. Not yet. There's plen