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impatient and plagued Dr. Hira with questions about the radio and the condition of the operator. The news initially brought back to the hospital had been bad. Shortly after I’d arrived Underwood had gone up on the mountain somewhere. He had taken a Chinese girl and a case of gin with him and he couldn’t be found.
    About ten days after I had awakened from my coma I stood by the window, wearing a rather ridiculous hospital dressing gown which was too short for me, talking to Hira, who had come in to give me the latest lack of news about Underwood. In the harbour there was a lot of confusion and noise. Since dawn groups of half-starved Malays had been moving along the jetty, packing their possessions into one of the fishing dhows. Apparently my appearance on Rowe Island had started something. They had realized that the mining company would not be back for a long while and they had decided to try to make it to Java, in spite of their having been warned of atrocities committed on their countrymen by the Japanese. I felt sorry for those Malays. The boat would probably sink before they got more than a few miles out. Miserably I looked back into the room at Hira.
    “The government should be helping these people—flying in supplies or something. I wish that damned operator would turn up.”
    “I think the government has a lot of problems at the moment.” Hira was sitting on my bed fiddling with his stethoscope. He spoke almost with satisfaction. “I don’t know when we’ll see Underwood. He often goes to earth like this. He’s probably hiding out in one of the mines.”
    “I could have a try at working the radio myself,” I said. “It would be better than this. I’m well enough to go out now. If you could find me a suit, perhaps...”
    “I think we can discover something in your size. But Underwood has locked his office up. Always does. He likes to be indispensable. It keeps his credit good at the hotel.”
    “Which hotel?”
    “Olmeijer’s. The Royal Airpark Hotel on the edge of the airpark. It used to be the biggest. Now it’s the only one. Olmeijer carries on running it from sentiment, I think.”
    “I’ll take a stroll out there, anyway.” I was curious to have a look at the island.
    “Why not?” said Hira. “Get to know the place. After all, you could be here for some time.” He seemed amused.
    * * *
    A s I dressed in my borrowed suit, Hira took my place by the window. From the harbour came a babble of voices as the Malays readied the ship for the sea. He shook his head. “They’ll drown themselves for certain.”
    “Won’t anybody stop them?” I pulled on my jacket. The linen suit was a surprisingly good fit, as was the white shirt Hira had lent me. “Isn’t there some sort of governor here? You mentioned someone...”
    “Brigadier L.G.A. Nesbit is the Official Representative and has been since 1920.” Hira shrugged. “He’s eighty-seven and has been senile for at least ten years. I think that’s why he decided to stay when the big exodus was on. His staff now consists of a valet as old as himself and a Bengali secretary who spends his whole time making endless inventories and who hasn’t, apparently, left his office since the war began. There is, of course, young Lieutenant Begg, who commands our local military. I don’t think Begg will be sorry to see a few of his troubles going.”
    “The Malays are a problem, eh?” I tried on one of the panama hats lying on the bed. It was a good fit, too.
    Hira gestured wearily. “There are a thousand Malays and Chinese here at least. The Malays are in the main Moslems and the Chinese are chiefly Buddhists or Christians. They are, when they have nothing better to do, highly critical of the other’s way of life. And they have nothing better to do—their work went when the mine closed and now they’re living off the land and sea as best they can.”
    “Poor bastards,” I said.
    Hira gave a peculiar smile. “I wonder if you’ll say that when