The telephone call from Manila came through late on Thursday afternoon.
As soon as he heard his brother's voice, Siow Mong knew that something was wrong; but Tack Chee was an ingenious breaker of bad news, and it was two minutes before Siow Mong fully realised what had happened. Then he lost his temper, and for a further minute there was a loud and demeaning exchange of generalities in which words relating to the excretory organs and functions of the body were freely used. Finally, however, Siow Mong began to recover his self-possession and to think again.
"It is the American who is responsible," he declared. "If the money is gone, he must pay."
"Impossible," Tack Chee replied. "Yam Heng signed the receipt as my authorised agent. We can only hope that he has not yet lost it all. You must go to Singapore immediately."
"Both of us must go."
"My expenses in this business have already been heavy enough.
Twenty-one hundred dollars
American plus entertainment, and now overseas telephone calls."
"Those are trifles, brother." Siow Mong was becoming angry again. "When I stand to lose twenty-five thousand dollars Malay, plus five hundred dollars Hong Kong, plus shipping and other handling charges, I am surprised that you commit the indelicacy of speaking about them."
"There is nothing indelicate about two thousand dollars American. The whole transaction was your idea."
"You had no criticisms of it. If you had properly instructed this Nilsen . . ." He broke off. "There is no sense in our bickering. It is a waste of time. Obviously, we shall get nothing unless Yam Heng can be persuaded to co-operate. You know what that means. This time it may be necessary to bring in the police, and threaten charges of embezzlement. You are the legal principal in this, and the receipt will be required as evidence. You must be there."
"The police? He would know we were bluffing."
"I am not bluffing," Siow Mong said. "This time he has gone too far. Charges of misappropriation of funds brought against him by that union would have been damaging to our names. We should have lost face. Charges brought against him by us would give rise to no such indignity, except for Yam Heng."
"They might cause pain to our mother."
"She has endured worse," Siow Mong said unfeelingly. "If I leave immediately for Kota Bharu, I can get a plane to Singapore tonight. I will meet you at the Cathay Hotel tomorrow morning."
Yam Heng had had a bitterly frustrating week on the pickle market, and was querulous when the brothers eventually confronted him. He had, he explained indignantly, merely borrowed the money for a few days. Was not part of it due to him anyway, for all his work on their behalf ? Why was he hounded in this way? Yes, he had incurred certain losses; but these would at any mom-ment be more than offset by substantial gains. In three days' time, he would be able to give them a hundred thousand dollars if they needed money so badly.
Mention of the police, however, changed the character of the debate. There was abuse, and much harsh, contemptuous laughter and snapping of fingers. It was only when he realised that his brothers were not simply ready to press charges against him, but beginning to feel vindictive enough to relish the prospect of doing so, that Yam Heng agreed sulkily to an accounting.
Of the sixty-two thousand five hundred dollars there remained seventeen thousand, three hundred; and threats of violence as well as police prosecution were necessary to persuade Yam Heng to part with that. His brothers left him, glutinous with self-pity, and returned to the Cathay Hotel.
Minor expenses disregarded, they were fourteen thousand Straits dollars out of pocket on the deal. They were also tired. They had little difficulty in agreeing how they should divide the salvaged remains. Tack Chee took the equivalent of eight hundred American dollars to set off against his outlay of twenty-one hundred. Siow Mong, as the heavier loser, took the balance of fifteen thousand Straits dollars.
He arrived back in Kuala Pangkalan late on Friday night. When he went to his office the following morning he found a message. Mr. Krishnan had telephoned and would like to see Mr. Tan. In the hope that Mr. Tan would find it convenient to do so, he would call in on Saturday afternoon at four p.m.
II
Mr. Tan, sitting gloomily at his desk, watched the Indian cross the yard from number one godown, and thought that he detected a certain impudent jauntiness in the fellow's walk.
In spite of its obvious absurdity, he could not quite rid himself of the fear that the Indian had somehow learned of the Singapore disaster, and had come there merely to gloat over and humiliate him. If that should indeed be the case, he told himself darkly, the fellow would regret his temerity.
As matters now stood, he, Siow Mong, was prepared to be generous. The Indian would be solemnly warned of the dangers of so much sudden wealth, and of the impossibility of his being able to account satisfactorily to the police for its aquisition. It would then be relatively simple to persuade him to return the cheque. In exchange, he would be given a deed of annuity guaranteeing him a yearly income of two thousand five hundred dollars for ten years. Mr. Tan was reasonably sure that he could buy such an annuity for around fifteen thousand dollars.
Should the fellow be in any way disagreeable, however, Mr. Tan had an alternative scheme ready. He would stop payment of the cheque and invite the young blackguard to sue him in open court. There, if his challenge were accepted, he would tell the judge that the Indian had undertaken to buy for him, through a relative, a certain valuable tract of tin-bearing land, and that the post-dated cheque had been written, at the Indian's request, to impress the relative and to use as a deposit if the purchase went through. When he had discovered that the Indian's land-owning relative was non-existent, he had stopped the cheque. Perfectly simple. If the Indian chose to tell the truth, he would either be disbelieved and lose his case, or believed and prosecuted for selling arms. Mr. Tan did not think that he would be fool enough to risk either of those alternatives.
When he was announced, Mr. Tan assumed the mask of courtesy and ordered tea.
Girija flashed a smile as they shook hands. "I am sure that if Mr. Wright had been aware that I was to have the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Tan, he would have wished me to convey his personal regards." He had a box file under his arm. He placed it on the floor beside him as he sat down.
"Mr. and Mrs. Wright are well and happy, I hope."
"Oh yes, thank you. I trust that your own fine family are equally blessed."
The tea came and was consumed to further light conversation. Then Girija picked up the box file and rested it on his knees. Mr. Tan accepted this as an intimation that business might begin.
"I was hoping to have the pleasure of seeing you again in the near future, Mr. Krishnan," he said. "In fact, when I returned from Singapore yesterday, it was already in my mind to telephone you."
"Perhaps there was the same thought in both our minds, Mr. Tan."
Mr. Tan stiffened involuntarily.
"I refer," Girija continued, "to the thought, sad for me, that, under present arrangements, our very satisfactory association will shortly end."
Mr. Tan relaxed. He had noted the words 'under present arrangements' and decided to wait for the Indian to explain them.
"I am assuming," Girija added politely, "that the association also proved satisfactory from your point of view."
"Oh yes. Very satisfactory," Mr. Tan replied manfully.
"And Mr. Lee's?"
"Sufficiently so, I believe."
"I am glad of that," said Girija, "because it gives me the courage to submit a further problem to you, in the hope of receiving further good advice."
Mr. Tan was silent.
Girija flashed another smile. "I am so sorry to have to tell you that the friend I spoke of to you before has since died."
Mr. Tan permitted himself a faint twitch of the lips. "You have my sympathy."
"Thank you. However, as you know, my friend had money. That now passes to me. Unfortunately, he left no will. My difficulty at the moment is to find a substitute for that will."
Mr. Tan hid his satisfaction perfectly.
"I can appreciate the difficulty," he said. "In fact, if you will allow me to say so, I had anticipated it. I even had a possible solution to suggest to you if you were interested."
"I am indeed most interested."
Mr. Tan proceeded, somewhat elliptically, to explain his annuity proposal. As he began to enlarge upon its virtues, however, he was disconcerted to see, for the first time, a smile of pure amusement spread over the Indian's face. He felt himself getting angry, and stopped in the middle of a sentence.
The smile vanished instantly and Girija leaned forward.
"Mr. Tan, I beg your pardon. Perhaps I should have explained first. For the project that I have in mind, twenty-five thousand dollars will be the minimum capital required if we are to operate at a profit."
Mr. Tan never discovered whether the Indian had used the words 'we' and 'profit' at that moment intentionally; just as he was never quite clear how it had come about that, twenty minutes later, the contents of the box file had been scattered over his desk, and he had been listening bemused to a dissertation on the economics of public transport operation in rural areas. It had been quite difficult to break in and regain the initiative; and even then he did not keep it long.
"Why don't you begin with one bus? Why must you have two?"
"People must learn quickly that the buses are reliable or they will keep to their bicycles. The service must become indispensable, Mr. Tan. With only one bus it cannot be guaranteed."
"But if you were to buy one new one, you would have the reliability you want."
"We cannot afford an experienced mechanic full time to begin with. Therefore we cannot carry out maintenance at night, as the big operators do. What I propose is that we buy two of these reconditioned buses. I know this firm at Acton in London. They have long experience of the work. The chassis are old, but very good. The engines are new. The bodies have been adapted for Far East work. Look, here is a picture."
Mr. Tan waved the picture aside. "Yes, yes. It is all very interesting. But why have you brought this project to me?"
Girija returned to his seat on the other side of the desk before he replied, slowly and methodically: "Firstly, Mr. Tan, because a bus service such as I have described would be a logical extension of the Anglo-Malay Transport Company's business. Secondly, because of the trade journals I subscribe to, Mr. Wright knows of my interest in such matters. He knows of my respect for you. He would not think it too strange that a new bus company which you owned should employ me as manager. Thirdly, because if a new company called Kuala Pangkalan Transport Limited were formed, with a nominal capital of fifty thousand dollars, and if, in consideration of my signing a service agreement as managing director of that company, I were allotted fifty per cent of the ordinary shares free, I could return your cheque to you without presenting it for payment. Fourthly, because a company with your reputation behind it would have no difficulty in securing a
franchise
to operate the service. Fifthly, because I think you know that I can be trusted and would serve our interests well."
Mr. Tan thought carefully. What the Indian had said about the need for a bus service was undoubtedly true. As a business venture it was probably sound. The capital of a new company would not have to be fully paid up. Fifteen thousand would buy the two reconditioned buses. On the other hand, if the project were a success, a fifty per cent interest in it was eventually going to be worth a lot more than twenty-five thousand dollars. He would certainly be wise to keep the ordinary shares in his own hands. A counter-offer of non-voting preference shares might be the answer. Ingeniously worked out, it could, he was sure, be made to seem advantageous. Meanwhile, he would employ delaying tactics, wear the Indian down by keeping him waiting, and then, if necessary, dictate the terms. He fingered the papers from the box file as if they were of small importance, and then pushed them aside.
"Very well," he said; "I will look through these estimates and proposals, and perhaps make some other inquiries. Later, possibly, we could meet again and continue the discussion."
Girija nodded. "Of course, Mr. Tan. On the terms I have mentioned, the whole matter can be very easily settled—" he paused and flashed his most annoying smile—"any day before your cheque falls due for payment next week."
II
The day after Greg and Dorothy arrived back in Wilmington, Kuala Pangkalan Transport Limited took delivery of its first vehicle at Singapore.
W. W. Beiden,
the maker's Far Eastern representative, was on hand to promote an atmosphere of goodwill. The new owners' Managing Director, G. Krishnan, was there to sign the necessary documents on behalf of his company.
A ten-ton crane picked the bus off the deck of the ship and placed it on the dockside.
Privately, Mr.
Beiden
thought that the thing looked like a cattle truck; but, as most of its passengers would presumably be coolies, that probably did not matter. The important thing was that the Indian seemed to be pleased. With all this German competition in the low price field, you had to be on your toes. When the second reconditioned unit had been delivered, he would start plugging their own new economy job. Meanwhile, he had a luncheon date at the Yacht Club. As soon as he could gracefully do so, he left.