Pedro on one side
of them and Wang on the other had the air of watchful spectators. A few
stars had come out pursuing the ebbing twilight. A light draught of air
tepid enough in the thickening twilight after the scorching day, struck
a chill into Mr. Jones in his soaked clothes.
"I may infer, then, that there is a settlement of white people here?" he
murmured, shivering visibly.
Heyst roused himself.
"Oh, abandoned, abandoned. I am alone here--practically alone; but
several empty houses are still standing. No lack of accommodation. We
may just as well--here, Wang, go back to the shore and run the trolley
out here."
The last words having been spoken in Malay, he explained courteously
that he had given directions for the transport of the luggage. Wang had
melted into the night--in his soundless manner.
"My word! Rails laid down and all," exclaimed Ricardo softly, in a tone
of admiration. "Well, I never!"
"We were working a coal-mine here," said the late manager of the
Tropical Belt Coal Company. "These are only the ghosts of things that
have been."
Mr Jones's teeth were suddenly started chattering by another faint puff
of wind, a mere sigh from the west, where Venus cast her rays on the
dark edge of the horizon, like a bright lamp hung above the grave of the
sun.
"We might be moving on," proposed Heyst.
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