money to Malays at forty per cent. During the Japanese occupation he had accepted a disused godown in discharge of a debt. After the war he had tried to sell it. Unable to find a buyer, he had eventually decided to make it pay for itself. The Anglo-Malay Transport Company had grown from that decision.
Mr. Tan was in the late forties now, with greying hair and rimless glasses. He wore well-cut tussore suits, and was never seen without a dark tie even in the hottest weather. He had an air of well-bred dignity that was much admired in the Chinese business community of Kuala Pangkalan.
His office was so placed that he could, without moving from his desk, see the trucks in the unloading bay of number one godown and the wooden quay at which the junks discharged and took on cargo. By turning his head he could also see, through a glass panel let into the wall beside the door, his four Chinese assistants. Mr. Tan did not believe in elaborate organisation. Working sixty-five hours a week, the four assistants were well able to take care of most of the routine paper work of the business. The accounts he preferred to look after himself.
Two of the trucks were unloading bales of latex which had come down that afternoon from one of the Cheang Thye Phu Syndicate estates, and he could see the Indian clerk from the estate office checking off the weights with the godown foreman.
Mr. Tan did not like that. Mr. Wright, the estate manager, had always, and rightly, trusted the company before. Why had he suddenly felt it necessary to send his clerk to check the weighing?
The clerk and the godown foreman had evidently agreed the figures now, for, as Mr. Tan watched, the clerk smiled and turned away. Mr. Tan had made a note to ask the foreman what reason, if any, had been given for this uncomplimentary change of procedure, when he saw that the clerk was walking across the yard towards his office.
Mr. Tan looked down at the papers on his desk. It would be undignified to be seen peering out. A moment or two later one of his assistants came in to say that Mr. Krishnan desired the pleasure of a few moments' conversation with him.
Mr. Tan disapproved of Indians. He had often found them to be disagreeably acute in business matters. He also disapproved of estate clerks, who, if they were not given occasional presents, could delay the payment of accounts and cause other inconveniences.
This one he remembered only from having seen him with Mr. Wright, the estate manager. He was lean and very dark, with bright, intelligent eyes and a predatory mouth that smiled too much. It would be interesting to discover how accurately he would estimate his nuisance value.
He greeted Girija with grave courtesy and asked him to sit down.
"It is not often," he went on in English, "that we have the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Krishnan."
Girija smiled. "Thank you. Mr. Wright sends all compliments and best favours."
Mr. Tan congratulated himself on choosing English for the conversation. His own, he knew, was excellent. The clerk's was little better than the illiterate commercial patois that the British called 'Babu'. It placed him at a disadvantage, small but possibly useful.
"And are Mr. and Mrs. Wright well?"
"Both very well. We hope ditto for Mrs. Tan, self and family."
"Thank you, yes."
Tea was brought in from the outer office and served in minute cups. Tentative moves might now be made towards a discussion of the real object of the visit.
"This must be a busy time for you at the estate," observed Mr. Tan.
What this banality was in effect asking was why Mr. Wright had thought it necessary to waste his clerk's time by sending him in to Kuala Pangkalan to supervise a normal warehousing operation.
Girija smiled and answered in Malay. "With the rubber market so firm, we are always busy now."
Mr. Tan nodded. He was wondering if by some faint flicker of expression he had revealed his amusement at the clerk's English. The Malay was fluent. Courteously, he answered