Tiger, Tiger. Philip Caveney

an instant, the proprietor, a tubby bespectacled little Chinese man called Hong, had bustled over to greet him.

      ‘Hello sir! You look for something special?’ He indicated the watches. ‘Good watches, sir. Best in Trengganu. Best in Malaya!’

      Harry smiled. The man was evidently very proud of his shop.

      ‘Well, let me see now …’ Harry knew that it was best to make the transaction slow. A man who bought on impulse was likely to end up with a bad deal. ‘I am looking for a watch. A good watch, you understand. A gift for a very good friend.’

      ‘Ah! You want special watch! I show!’ He indicated some beautiful Japanese chronometers. ‘These best in world,’ he announced. ‘Fine made, got two-year guarantee …’ He was already removing them from the glass case, but Harry shook his head.

      ‘These are, indeed, very good watches. But not what I’m looking for.’

      ‘No?’ The man looked quite amazed by this revelation. ‘Ah! You want good Swiss watch?’

      ‘How about an English watch?’ ventured Harry.

      Hong grimaced. ‘The English not make good watch,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘Go wrong all time. I not sell English watch. But Swiss very good! See here, twenty-one jewel, shock-proof, water-proof, anti-magnetic …’

      ‘Hmm.’ Harry rubbed his chin, scanned the ranks of glittering merchandise. ‘It’s still not right. I want something simple, easy to understand. It’s for a young boy, you see …’

      ‘Ah! Young boy! I got good watch for young boy. This one! Shock-proof, dust-proof, water-proof, anti-magnetic, one-year guarantee …’

      ‘No. It’s still not quite … ah, now that looks the sort of thing!’ He pointed to a simple silver pocket-watch on a leather fob. ‘Let me see that one,’ he said.

      ‘This watch, sir?’ Hong could scarcely believe his eyes. ‘You want this one? But this one not show date! This one not carry guarantee, not dust-proof, water-proof …’

      ‘Yes, well, I’d like to see it anyway.’

      ‘OK, sir.’ Hong bobbed down behind the counter, extracted the watch, and, as Harry had expected, reemerged with a whole new point of view. ‘Here you are, sir. This very fine watch, very rare. Swiss mechanism. Twenty-one jewel, shock-proof, water-proof, two-year guarantee …’

      Harry suppressed a smile.

      ‘I thought you just said it didn’t have any of those things.’

      Hong spread his hands and smiled sheepishly. ‘But sir, that was when I didn’t want you to buy this watch.’

      In spite of himself, Harry had to laugh. It was an outlandish explanation, but it held good for all the merchants in this town. He picked up the watch and examined it critically. It looked robust enough, a simple silver pocket-watch that showed the time clearly and looked like it could take some rough handling. ‘Alright,’ murmured Harry. ‘How much?’

      Hong gazed at him for a moment with an inscrutable smile on his face.

      ‘This watch, sir. I sell you for … twenty-five dollars.’

      ‘Twenty-five!’ Harry registered disgust and made as if to walk off. ‘Hong, it’s time I started going to some of the other shops,’ he said.

      ‘Just a minute, just a minute!’ Hong smiled again, broader than before. ‘You good man … I good man. I make you special price. Twenty dollars.’

      ‘Twenty? That’s still robbery. I’ll give you … six dollars for it.’

      Now it was Hong’s turn to be outraged.

      ‘Six? You want watch for six? If I sell for that much, I go out of business. Six … you give me fifteen dollars, I can not go less.’

      ‘Eight dollars!’

      ‘Twelve!’

      ‘Well … alright, ten dollars, my last offer.’

      ‘Ten dollars! Madness! Twelve my lowest price!’

      ‘You said that about fifteen. I’ll give you ten.’

      Hong shook his head adamantly.

      ‘Sorry, sir. Twelve. Cannot go lower.’

      ‘Then I don’t want the watch.’ Again, he made as if to walk away.

      ‘Alright, alright, alright!’ Hong was tearing at his hair. ‘I give you for ten.’

      ‘Eight?’ ventured Harry with a grin, but Hong’s look of horror told him that this was clearly not playing the game. ‘Alright, only joking.’ He counted out the notes and put the watch into his pocket.

      ‘Now sir, you want anything else? Binocular? Got very nice, very cheap. Radio, pick up all English station? Record player, new from Japan? Good. Identity bracelet? Cassette recorder …?’

      Harry retreated from the onslaught with a brief wave and set out again into the crowds. News of his kindness to the deformed cripple had evidently got around, for suddenly there seemed to be an awful lot of beggars in evidence – lame men, people missing limbs, women with tiny howling babies. Harry slipped smartly around the corner and strode quickly away in the other direction. When he was in Kuala Trengganu, he usually sought one little luxury that was not readily available at home. He went to a small barber shop where he had a haircut and a beautifully close shave that was administered with a horrifying looking cutthroat razor. As he sat back in his chair, he brought out the silver watch and examined it carefully.

      ‘Nice watch,’ observed the barber. ‘How much you pay?’

      ‘Ten dollars.’

      ‘I can get watch like that for six dollar.’

      Harry nodded.

      ‘This shave is costing me one dollar,’ he said. ‘If I were a Malay, I could get it for twenty-five cents.’

      And the barber threw back his head and laughed merrily, his dark eyes twinkling. Harry laughed along with him. No further explanation was necessary.

      The afternoon sun was still fierce. Bob Beresford felt the heat of it on his neck as he brought the Land Rover to an abrupt, squealing halt on the stretch of road that ran alongside Kampong Panjang. He clambered out of the vehicle, collected his rifle from the back seat, and slinging the weapon carelessly over his shoulder he headed into the village. The kampong was a jumble of rattan and corrugated iron dwellings, all of them supported three or four feet above the ground on a series of stout posts, a practical necessity in a land that swarmed with venomous snakes, scorpions, and centipedes. The village seemed to have been constructed with no particular sense of order, one building encroaching close upon the next, with just a well-trampled muddy walkway in between. As Bob approached, he was quickly spotted by groups of children who flocked around him excitedly, pointing to his gun, and jabbering in Malay. As soon as they divined that he had some purpose in coming here, they fell in behind him like a platoon of miniature troops. Bob could barely speak their language and could only gaze at them enquiringly and repeat over and over, ‘Penghulu?’ Somebody had told him that this was the Malay word for the village headman. Perhaps his pronunciation was bad, because it took some considerable time to make his wishes known. At last, with wild exclamations, the laughing children took the lead and drew him deeper and deeper into the village. Finally, they deposited him outside a dwelling that looked no grander than the others and the children began to shout and yell, until a little, wizened monkey of a man, dressed in a red sarong, emerged from the interior of the house and clambered down the stairs. He growled something at the children and their noise subsided abruptly. Then the penghulu smiled apologetically at Bob and lowered his head in a polite bow.

      ‘Good day, Tuan. Can I be a help?’ His English was surprisingly fluent. The children began to giggle. The penghulu gave a shout and stepped menacingly towards them, at