The Red Thread by Dawn Farnham Read Free Book Online Page B

enjoyed policing more than anything he had done before. He told her he had been investigating the mauling of two unfortunate Chinamen by a tiger not more than a mile from the settlement; and he talked of two other Chinamen found on the same road with their throats cut. There had been a murder at sea, the captain of a brig which had sailed two days before. Two sailors had attacked the captain while he was asleep and thrown his body overboard. The second mate was also missing. The trial would be held in the next few days.
    â€˜Robert, this place really is rather wild, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Kitt, my love, you don’t know the half of it.’
    As they chatted, a handsome middle-aged Indian turned the corner of the verandah and began to approach.
    â€˜ Stop jemadar ,’ said Robert in Malay. ‘I think my sister is not dressed to receive company.’ The man immediately turned his back and began to retreat.
    â€˜The police office is around the corner and is generally stuffed full of men from morning to night. Poor Kitt, you will have to put on a dress when you come to the sitooterie!’
    This set them off in a fit of laughter again. When it subsided, finally, Charlotte rose and went indoors, and Robert called to Azan, the Malay boy who was their servant, to bring them lime juice drinks.
    After she had dressed, he showed her the police office, a large room on the river side of the bungalow next to the sitting room. Seven men were sitting in it and rose and bowed when she entered. Most were young Malays and Indians. Robert introduced Charlotte to the group generally, and particularly to Jemadar Kapoor, whose wife she had met today. He was one of Robert’s best policemen and spoke excellent English.
    Back outside, on the verandah, Robert said, ‘You see it’s quite separate from the rest of the house. We go in at the steps and front door, and so we are quite private. Sometimes one or more men may be sleeping in the office, but this should not alarm you. Actually it is safer that way. All my men are either Indian or Malay, and there are two English sergeants whom you’ll meet later. There are no Chinese, for we fear they are all more or less involved with the secret societies here.’
    He told Charlotte briefly of the Chinese kongsi , a sort of fraternal brotherhood that looked after the needs of the Chinese coolies. This was laudable and necessary, he said, but he suspected that they were also somewhere behind the increasing number of robberies taking place in the town, in Kampong Glam and out where the dhobi washermen lived, by the freshwater stream. Only a week ago, the dhobi village had been attacked and hundreds of clothes stolen. He and some men had followed a trail of washing into the jungle, but it soon petered out, and no one had been arrested. Policing here was a matter of good relations with the community, members of which, in turn, gave him and his men information.
    The image of Robert following a trail of underclothes through the jungle was amusing, but Charlotte hid her smile, for she saw how serious he was.
    â€˜Everything is based on trust. Heavy-handedness will not work. My men use a soft approach, and I believe we have gained the respect and cooperation of most of the law-abiding community of all the different races. If things get very bad, of course, I can call on the military, but that would really be a last resort.’
    Charlotte was glad to hear Robert talk so enthusiastically about his job. His eyes grew bright and his face animated. He clearly loved this work and the men he worked with.
    They re-entered the bungalow at the door next to the office. Charlotte’s room was directly in front, behind the sitting room. On the left, a long hall led to back steps and a covered outdoor passage to the kitchens and servants’ rooms. Here lived Aman and Azan, the two Malay servants, and Mo, their Cantonese cook. They had a separate washing and closet area and a small