Jebb glanced over his shoulder at me. He was lean, rangy and very Australian. “Done anything about getting yourself a room, Steve?” he asked. “I thought of trying the Orient.” “You might get a bed there. You won’t get a room to yourself. Isn’t that right, Abdul?” “Oh yes. You can’t sleep alone in Selampang. That is what they say.” The first officer giggled deprecatingly. “It is a joke.” “And not a very funny one. They’ve got six beds now in some of those fly-blown rooms at the Orient. It’s a fair cow.” “I’ll buy my way in,” I said; “I have before. Anyway, it’s only for three days. I’m hoping to get a plane to Djakarta on Friday.” “You can try if you like, but you’ll still have to share with a stranger. Why don’t you come over to the Air House with me?” “I didn’t know they let rooms.” “They don’t. I’ve got a little apartment up top there over the radio station. You can doss in the sitting room if you like.” “It’s kind of you, but …”
