Suddenly at Singapore Read Online Free PDF Page B

isn’t it?”
    “Yes, you could say that.”
    She went out and shut the door very gently. I looked back at the view, and into the square of my window was moving slowly a new ship for that morning, a freighter, about three thousand five hundred tons at a guess, flying what we used to call the fried egg flag. She had the rakish bow of modern Japanese building, a squat funnel and a glistening white superstructure.
    In a lower desk drawer were binoculars; I read the name Misuni Maru . I turned back the Straits Times to the shipping intelligence and there it was: Misuni Maru , fr. Trieste, arr. S’pore 22, Lv 23 for Hong Kong, Manila, Kobe & Nagoya. The Misuni Maru was going to make one unscheduled stop, with a cargo for us.
    The buzzer went on the desk box.
    “Mr. Harris? Inspector Kang is here to see you.”
    I had the binoculars away by the time he came in. The inspector stood just inside the door for a moment, unwrinkled, calm and with the kind of politeness he could afford.
    “Mr. Harris, I try to avoid calling on business men at this time of day. But sometimes it is unavoidable.”
    “I’m not really very busy, Inspector. I can’t pretend it’s easy to get into a rhythm of work again.”
    “Of course not. What a wonderful view.”
    I stood and he came to stand beside me. The view meant we didn’t have to look at each other.
    “My brother chose these offices, Inspector. He had the sentimental notion that it was good to be able to look out and see our own ships sometimes.”
    “But not this morning?”
    “No, not this morning. We haven’t anything in harbour.”
    “All your fleet scattered over the Indies, Mr. Harris?”
    “You might put it like that. But to talk about our fleet makes it sound like the P. & O. It’s just a collection of junks.”
    “Powered junks. And you have two steamers, oil burning.”
    I looked at him and smiled. His face was very smooth, an early morning freshness about the man.
    “I see you’ve been checking up on us. Yes, two steamers. One three hundred and fifty tons, the other five hundred.”
    “With radio communication?”
    “The steamers have, the junks don’t.”
    “Really. May I smoke, Mr. Harris?”
    “But do. Have one of these.”
    “Thank you, I prefer mine. A coarse Chinese blend. Very cheap. We’ve all taken reductions in salary, you know. To help the new régime. The gesture is voluntary.”
    He laughed. We had started off this contact on a new tone, as though our last meeting in my house was put neatly to one side. We stood together at the window with a kind of applied amiability, as if a few days had put everything into perspective for both of us. I suspected, however, that Kang had been very busy during the interval. The industry of the Chinese, in anything they do, makes Western complacence the saddest kind of folly. The Chinese expect to rule the world in a century or two and if they don’t manage that it won’t be for want of trying very hard indeed.
    The inspector’s cigarette was not aromatic. I chose a cigar from a box on my desk and trimmed it carefully. He watched me while I got it going.
    “How are you getting on with your hunt for the murderer?” I asked.
    “Very slowly,” he said, as though he didn’t mind that. “I’m still at the stage of looking for motive. The difficulties press down on me. I must congratulate you, Mr. Harris.”
    “Why?”
    “I mean about the way you conduct your business. You and your late brother. So little appears on the surface. As a Chinese I am bound to approve even when it is a nuisance to me.”
    “I’ll be delighted to tell you anything you want to know.”
    Kang smiled.
    “The last time you referred me to your head clerk.”
    “I apologise for that. I was under considerable stress.”
    “Certainly. It’s good to find you co-operative now. And there are some points on which I am troubled. I find, for instance, that as a company you operate twenty-three junks.”
    “That’s right.”
    “In the last