"Rebellion? Who's going to rebel?"

"In ... two months ... Sunario."

They became thoughtful.

But the table, suddenly, unexpectedly, fell over again into Ida's lap.

"Oh my! Oh dear!" cried the little woman.

The table refused to go on.

"Tired," it tapped out.

They continued to hold their hands on it.

"Leave off," said the table.

The doctor, sn.i.g.g.e.ring, laid his short, broad hand on it, as though to compel it.

"Go to blazes!" cried the table, grating and turning. "Bounder!"

And worse words followed, aimed at the doctor, as though by a street-boy: obscene words, senseless and incoherent.

"Who's suggesting those words?" asked Eva, indignantly.

Obviously no one was suggesting them, neither the three ladies nor Van Helderen, who was always very punctilious and who was manifestly indignant at the mocking spirit's coa.r.s.eness.

"It really is a spirit," said Ida, looking very pale.

"I'm going to leave off," said Eva, nervously, lifting up her fingers. "I don't understand this nonsense. It's quite amusing, but the table's not accustomed to polite society."

"We've got a new resource for Labuw.a.n.gi!" said Eldersma. "No more picnics, no dances ... but table-turning!"

"We must practise!" said Mrs. Doorn de Bruijn.

Eva shrugged her shoulders.

"It's inexplicable," she said. "I'm bound to believe that none of us was cheating. It's not the sort of thing Van Helderen would do, to suggest such words as those."

"Madam!" said Van Helderen, defending himself.

"We must do it again," said Ida. "Look, there's a hadji leaving the grounds."

She pointed to the garden.

"A hadji?" asked Eva.

She looked towards the garden, expecting to see a Mecca pilgrim. There was nothing.

"Oh no, it's not!" said Ida. "I thought it was a hadji. It's nothing, only the moonlight."

It was late. They said good-night, laughing gaily, wondering, but finding no explanation.

"I do hope this hasn't made you ladies nervous?" said the doctor.

No, considering all things, they were not nervous. They were more amused, even though they did not understand.

It was two o'clock when they went home. The moonlight was streaming down on the town, which lay deathly still, slumbering in the velvet shadows of the gardens.

CHAPTER TEN

Next day, when Eldersma had gone to the office and Eva was moving about the house, in sarong and kabaai, on her domestic duties, she saw Frans van Helderen coming through the garden.

"May I?" he called out.

"Certainly," she called back. "Come in. But I'm on my way to the G.o.down."

And she held up her bunch of keys.

"I'm due at the resident's in half an hour, but I'm too early ... so I just looked in."

She smiled.

"But I'm busy, you know!" she said. "Come along to the G.o.down with me."

He followed her; he was wearing a black alpaca jacket, because he had to go to the resident presently.

"How's Ida?" asked Eva. "Did she sleep well after her seance of last night?"

"Only fairly well," said Frans van Helderen. "I don't think she ought to do any more. She kept waking with a start, falling on my neck and begging me to forgive her, I don't know what for."

"It didn't upset me at all," said Eva, "though I don't understand it in the least."

She opened the G.o.down, called the cook and gave the woman her orders. The cook was latta; [10] and Eva loved teasing the old thing.

"La ... la-illa-lala!" she cried.

And the cook gave a start and echoed the cry and recovered herself the next moment, begging for forgiveness.

"Throw down, cook, throw down!" cried Eva, in Malay.

And the cook, acting on the suggestion, flung down a tray of litchis and mangosteens and, at once recovering, stooped and picked up the scattered fruits from the floor, imploring to be forgiven and shaking her head and clicking her tongue.