The man gaped at Max, then followed the line of the thumb to the American hut. 'Me?' he asked incredulously, looking back at Max.
'Yeah, you.' Max said impatiently.
'What for?'
'How the hell do I know?'
The man frowned at Max, hardening. He thought a moment, then turned to Suliman, the Malay. 'Nanti-lah,' he said.
'Bik, tuan,' said Suliman, preparing to wait. Then he added in Malay,
'Watch thyself, tuan. And go with God.'
'Fear not, my friend — but I thank thee for thy thought,' the man said, smiling. He got up and followed Max into the hut.
'You wanted me?' he asked, walking up to the King.
'Hi,' the King said, smiling. He saw that the man's eyes were guarded.
That pleased him, for guarded eyes were rare. 'Take a seat.' He nodded at Max, who left. Without being asked, the other men who were near moved out of earshot so the King could talk in private.
'Go on, take a seat,' the King said genially.
'Thanks.'
'Like a cigarette?'
The man's eyes widened as he saw the Kooa offered to him. He hesitated, then took it. His astonishment grew as the King snapped the Ronson, but he tried to hide it and drew deeply on the cigarette. 'That's good. Very good,' he said luxuriously. 'Thanks.'
'What's your name?'
'Marlowe. Peter Marlowe.' Then he added ironically, 'And yours?'
The King laughed. Good, he thought, the guy's got a sense of humor, and he's no ass kisser. He docketed the information, then said, 'You're English?'
'Yes.'
The King had never noticed Peter Marlowe before, but that was not unusual when ten thousand faces looked so much alike. He studied Peter Marlowe silently and the cool blue eyes studied him back.
'Kooas are about the best cigarette around,' the King said at last.
''Course they don't compare with Camels. American cigarette. Best in the world. You ever had them?'
'Yes,' Peter Marlowe said, 'but actually, they tasted a little dry to me. My brand's Gold Flake.' Then he added politely, 'It's a matter of taste, I suppose.' Again a silence fell and he waited for the King to come to the point. As he waited, he thought that he liked the King, in spite of his reputation, and he liked him for the humor that glinted behind his eyes.
'You speak Malay very well,' the King said, nodding at the Malay, who waited patiently.
'Oh, not too badly, I suppose.'
The King stifled a curse at the inevitable English underplay. 'You learn it here?' he asked patiently.
'No. In Java.' Peter Marlowe hesitated and looked around. 'You've quite a place here.'
'Like to be comfortable. How's that chair feel?'
'Fine.' A flicker of surprise showed.
'Cost me eighty bucks,' the King said proudly. 'Year ago.'
Peter Marlowe glanced at the King sharply to see if it was meant as a joke, to tell him the price, just like that, but he saw only happiness and evident pride. Extraordinary, he thought, to say such a thing to a stranger.
'It's very comfortable,' he said, covering his embarrassment.
'I'm going to fix chow. You like to join me?'
'I've just had lunch,' Peter Marlowe said carefully.
'You could probably use some more. Like an egg?'
Now Peter Marlowe could no longer conceal his amazement, and his eyes widened. The King smiled and felt that it had been worthwhile to invite him to eat to get a reaction like that. He knelt down beside his black box and carefully unlocked it.
Peter Marlowe stared down at the contents, stunned. Half a dozen eggs, sacks of coffee beans. Glass jars of gula malacca, the delicious toffee-sugar of the Orient. Bananas. At least a pound of Java tobacco. Ten or eleven packs of Kooas. A glass jar full of rice. Another with katchang idju beans. Oil. Many delicacies in banana leaves. He had not seen treasure in such quantity for years.
The King took out the oil and two eggs and relocked the box. When he glanced back at Peter Marlowe, he saw that the eyes were once more guarded, the face composed.
'How you like your egg? Fried?'
'Well, it seems a little unfair to accept.' It was difficult for Peter Marlowe to speak. 'I mean, you don't go offering eggs, just like that.'
The King smiled. It was a good smile and warmed Peter Marlowe. 'Think nothing of it. Put it down to 'hands across the sea' lend-lease.'
