But his humanity, which was not less strong and praiseworthy, had induced him to take his steamer past Samburan wharf (at an average distance of a mile) every twenty-three days--exactly.

Davidson was delicate, humane, and regular.
"Heyst called you in ?" I asked, interested.
Yes, Heyst had called him in as he was going by on his usual date.
Davidson was examining the shore through his glasses with his unwearied and punctual humanity as he steamed past Samburan.
I saw a man in white.

It could only have been Heyst.

He had fastened some sort of enormous flag to a bamboo pole, and was waving it at the end of the old wharf.
Davidson didn't like to take his steamer alongside--for fear of being indiscreet, I suppose; but he steered close inshore, stopped his engines, and lowered a boat.

He went himself in that boat, which was manned, of course, by his Malay seamen.
Heyst, when he saw the boat pulling towards him, dropped his signalling-pole; and when Davidson arrived, he was kneeling down engaged busily in unfastening the flag from it.
"Was there anything wrong ?" I inquired, Davidson having paused in his narrative and my curiosity being naturally aroused.