XXXIII

Mr. Parsell did not make an early start. He found their Malays and the situation of the camp too attractive. The awe of the Malays for this eager and energetic little man, who mystified them with his ease among their secrets, was manifest; no doubt they thought he was mad, and the favoured of God. He knew things which were hidden even from Tuan Norrie, and wizards should be carefully reconciled. Norrie watched the play about the hut of his men with amused concern.

“Colet, he knows more about those fellows than they know themselves. He has scared them. He isn’t aware of it, but he could order them to heel like dogs. I wish I could.”

“You’ve heard of the old boy before, Norrie?”

“But naturally. Who hasn’t? I knew his work before I could play dominoes. And we meet him here at last. That’s how the surprises are sorted for us.”

“What about this journey of his? Can it be done?”

“Yes. Almost anything can be done, by the right people. What do you think?”

“That he won’t go far.”

“No, he won’t. Not if I can stop it. We can’t afford to lose men like Parsell.”

“You won’t stop that man.”

“Then he will die. You or I might manage that traverse, with any luck, but Parsell⁠—it would be as reasonable to expect a kitten with a brick to come home after being dropped in the river. He’d never be heard of again.”

“You won’t stop him.”

“You don’t think he can be frightened into going back with us?”

“Frightened? I say Norrie, did you see his eyes? When they are fixed on what he thinks may be the truth he wouldn’t see Apollyon in his path.”

“Eh?” Norrie became alert, and turned to his friend, frowning, as if a new thought troubled him. He shook his head sadly. “Colet, you think so? But of course you do. There are such fools in the world. I rather fancy you’re another, and that’s how you know.”

Colet lit his pipe. Norrie, devising with resourcefulness fancies in the macabre which pictured that region as the portal to every horror of the soul, wondered whether a selection would be useful when arguing with Parsell, to warn him off. Colet smiled, but did not answer. At the end of the recital he explained that, as far as he could see, the only way to head off a man like Parsell was to give him an injection. That man would not go forward only if he could not move. Then, indifferently, he asked some questions of Gunong Berching and the country beyond; but Norrie ignored them.

“It’s no good talking about it. You know what this land is like. It has nothing to do with the case. It’s like talking of walking the waves. The man can’t do it. He simply can’t.”

Mr. Parsell came towards them quickly and nervously, his head thrust forward.

“You see,” said Norrie; “he doesn’t know even enough to regulate his speed in this climate. He oughtn’t to have been allowed out.”

“How interesting your men are, gentlemen. Most useful to me.” Mr. Parsell chuckled with a little vanity. “They will be wondering how I knew what part of the country they came from, and I’d never seen them before. Simple, simple. They tell you themselves, but don’t know it. Perhaps you have guessed it already, but they dislike this locality. What they had to say about it was a little mine to me. You’ll excuse me, but I think you will lose them soon. You ought to know that.”

“I know it, Mr. Parsell. We’re turning back here. We’re returning to the coast. You will find our company helpful, if you would care to travel with us.”

“My dear sir. My dear sir. I go on, of course. My work is far from finished.”

There was a brief silence, and then Colet turned to him, with deference.

“I don’t think you understand, sir, what lies ahead. There are very few natives above this point. The main range of the peninsula will have to be crossed, and that has not been done from here. On the other side of it you will be in the unknown till you get to the middle reaches of the Perak river. What we fear is, sir, that you will die.”

“Young man, it is very good of you. But I have considered that.”

“Sorry, sir, but you speak as if that did not matter.”

Mr. Parsell made a gesture, glanced round as though for a more interesting subject, and walked away to the hut.

“Well, Norrie, this ethnologist’s strong point isn’t humour, is it?”

“Of course it isn’t. It never is with these fanatics. In the Middle Ages he’d have been a holy martyr, but now he is only a scientist, offering his life for a ha’porth of facts.”

“What are we to do?”

“What is there to do? Damn the man. Why did he turn up? Isn’t life complicated enough? We can’t go doddering across Malaya behind an inspired crackpot following the Holy Grail, can we? Got something else to do. I wish he hadn’t come. There’s quite enough worries in life, without wondering what one ought to do.”