As he turned towards the house where he lived--"my old house" he called it--his ear detected the splash of paddles away in the darkness of the river.

He stood still in the path, attentive and surprised at anybody being on the river at this late hour during such a heavy freshet.

Now he could hear the paddles distinctly, and even a rapidly exchanged word in low tones, the heavy breathing of men fighting with the current, and hugging the bank on which he stood.

Quite close, too, but it was too dark to distinguish anything under the overhanging bushes.
"Arabs, no doubt," muttered Almayer to himself, peering into the solid blackness.

"What are they up to now?
Some of Abdulla's business; curse him!" The boat was very close now.
"Oh, ya! Man!" hailed Almayer.
The sound of voices ceased, but the paddles worked as furiously as before.