"Yes," said Mr Braine, moodily. "But—"

"For Heaven's sake, do not raise difficulties, man," cried the doctor. "We can do nothing to-night, but rest and gain strength for any trouble which may come to-morrow.—My dear," he continued to his wife, "you will stay with Mrs Barnes to-night; she and Amy will be glad, I am sure, of your company."

"Indeed yes," cried the doctor's wife, gratefully.

"I can do no good, Barnes, so I will go on with Murray here, and bring back Frank. You will send to me if there is the slightest need. There, good-night, all. This has been a scare, but it may have had its crisis, and a few days hence, I hope we shall all be laughing at our fright."

He shook hands, and moved towards the door.

"Now, Greig, Murray," he said.

But Murray was standing grasping Mrs Barnes's hand, "Tell her," he whispered, "that some means shall be devised to save her from such another insult as this."

Mrs Barnes pressed his hand; and then hastily shaking hands with Mrs Braine and the doctor, he hurried out into the garden and joined the others, after which the Greigs went to their own place.

"Those boys will think we are never coming," Murray said, speaking more cheerily now.

"Well, we will soon relieve their anxiety," replied Mr Braine. "Come, that's better. We must not treat this as a panic, and exaggerate the difficulty of our position."

"I do not," said Murray, quietly. "It needs no exaggeration. Look!" he whispered; "we are followed, are we not?"

"I can hardly see for the darkness. Possibly. His men are always on the watch. No European monarch was ever better served by his secret police."

"But tell me," said Murray; "are you going back quietly to your place as soon as you have fetched Frank?"

"Not directly, perhaps, but very soon. We had better separate, and seem to be treating all this calmly, for our acts are certain to be reported to the rajah."

"And what about our words at the house?"

"What? the possibility of them having been heard, and the information conveyed to the rajah?"

"Yes."

"I cannot say. Let us both sleep on it. To-morrow I may have some plan."

"And the boys. Are they to know?"

"As little as possible. Here we are. How quiet and peaceful the place seems! Asleep, I suppose. Tired of waiting."

There was a dim light in the house devoted to Murray and his nephew; and as they reached the steps, the naturalist felt a pang of annoyance at not seeing Hamet start up and challenge them, for, as a rule, he was always in the veranda on the watch.

"It has been a long and weary day," said Murray, with the depression from which he suffered affecting his voice. "Will you go on first?"

"No; you are the master; lead on."

Murray stopped short.

"Look here," he said. "Let the boys sleep. Stop here with me. I will soon make some coffee, and we will sit and smoke and talk."

"No, no," said Mr Braine, hastily.

"But it is hard indeed if we cannot hit out some plan before morning. There, go up quietly. You will stay?"

"No," said Mr Braine, firmly. "You forget what was said when we came away. I must be at my own place in case Barnes wants me."

"Yes, of course," said Murray, quickly. "Then I will come back with you. One minute. Let me see if the boys are sleeping all right, and say a few words to Hamet."

He sprang up the steps lightly, and entered the house, but no Hamet was there to challenge him, neither were the boys in the outer room stretched on the mats, as he expected to find them—asleep.

Murray looked round quickly, and at a glance saw that the guns had been brought in and hung on their slings, the two baskets containing the specimens shot, and the others were hung upon the pegs arranged for the purpose, and the lamp was burning dimly on the rough table.

He caught up the light, and shading it with his hand, stepped lightly over the mats, and looked into the inner room, drew a long deep breath, and stepped back to stand thinking a few moments before he set down the lamp.

He stepped to the doorway.

"Come up," he said.

Braine obeyed.

"Sleeping soundly?"

"Take the light. Look," said Murray, in a low voice.

Mr Braine glanced at him, surprised by his strange manner, and then he caught up the light, and went and looked in the room in his turn.

"Gone!" he said, in a low excited voice. "What is the meaning of this?"

Murray shook his head.

"There was no mistake about the directions? I told Frank to go home with your boy to bear him company, and to wait until I came. Oh, I see. The foolish fellow! He must have misunderstood me, and taken Ned home with him. They are waiting for us there."

"And Hamet? My follower?"

"Gone with them."

"He would not have known."

"Then the boys have been here. Frank was fagged out, and said he would not wait for me any longer, and he has gone home. Your boy and Hamet have accompanied him to see him safely there."

"You are speaking without conviction, Braine," said Murray, sternly. "You say this to comfort me, and you are thinking differently. What does this mean? What desperate game is this man playing? I swear that if harm has come to that poor boy, though I die for it, I'll shoot this rajah like a dog—like the cowardly cur he is."

"Hush! don't be hasty. You know that your threat may have been heard, and will perhaps be reported to the rajah."

"Let them report it."

"Be sensible, man," whispered Mr Braine. "I feel all this as keenly as you do, and I cling to the hope that we may find the boys at my place. Come with me."

Murray made no answer, but went to one of the cases he had brought up the river in the boat, and took from it his revolver and some cartridges, charged the weapon, and then thrusting it into his breast, he turned to the Resident.

"I am ready now," he said, in a low harsh voice. "Come on."

The bamboos creaked, and the house shook with the heavy steps of the two men, as they went down, and conscious all the time that they were watched, and fully expecting to have their way barred at any moment, they retraced their steps, to halt for a minute and listen, as they came opposite the entrance to the doctor's garden. But all was silent there, and the lamps were burning just inside the door.

"Come on," whispered Mr Braine, with his voice trembling with the intense strain from which he suffered.

The distance was very short, not many yards on in the direction of the rajah's place, and here they crossed a carefully-tended garden toward the veranda, about whose creepers the fireflies were gleaming.

But there a low fierce voice challenged them from the darkness, and Murray's hand flew to his breast.

"I, Yussuf," said Mr Braine, quietly; and then, in Malay, he asked if the boys had come, and received his answer.

"Not here, and they have not been," he whispered to Murray.

"No. There is some other meaning to it," said Murray, sternly. "The rajah has had them seized. To-morrow I was to have been sent out of the way, but this is a fresh plan. Is it in consequence of what was overheard at Doctor Barnes's?"

"It is impossible to say," replied Mr Braine. "I am beginning to feel bewildered. But we must be calm. No great harm can have befallen them. It is part of some plan to force Barnes to consent to this hateful marriage."

"Then we must take time by the forelock, and go."

"It is impossible, I tell you."

"There is no such thing in a case like this, man," cried Murray, angrily. "Have you not thought of what I feel?"

"Sir," retorted Mr Braine, bitterly, "have you not thought of what I feel?"

"Forgive me," said Murray, humbly. "I am half mad with rage and excitement. But, for pity's sake, propose something upon which I can act. If I could be doing something, I could bear it better."

"I can propose nothing," said Mr Braine, sadly. "We are so surrounded by difficulties, so hedged in by danger, that we cannot stir. You must remember that any premature action on our part might hasten the catastrophe we want to avert."

"But he would not dare—"

"Murray!" replied Mr Braine, with energy, as they stood there in the intense darkness, the speaker conscious that several of the rajah's spearmen were close at hand, "he would dare anything in his blind belief that he is too powerful for the English government to attack him."

"Then he must be taught."

"And I," continued Mr Braine, as if not hearing the interruption, "have been for years doing what seems now to recoil on my unhappy head, strengthening his belief in himself by training his people for him, and turning savages into decent, well-drilled soldiers, who have made him the dread of the country for hundreds of miles round."

"Come on and tell Doctor Barnes," said Murray at last, and they hurried back, almost brushing against two sentries standing among the trees, men who followed them silently, and then paused as they entered the gates, where they were joined by three more, looking shadowy and strange by the fireflies' light.

As they reached the foot of the steps, the doctor stepped forward, and then said that he would descend.

"She is asleep at last," he whispered. "Thank you for coming. You need not be so anxious now. Go back, and I promise you both that I will send Driscol on if there is the slightest need of your help. There is not likely to be anything but a quiet insistence on his part, and this must be met firmly."

"There is likely to be something more than quiet insistence, Doctor Barnes," said Murray, sternly. "We have come to bring bad news. Those two lads have been spirited away."

"What!" cried the doctor, excitedly. "No, no; surely not. They were favourites with the rajah. Some accident or some prank. They are only boys; perhaps my man Driscol has—No, no, no. He is here in the house. But think again; had they any idea of trying some kind of night fishing, or shooting? Yes, of course. I heard Frank tell my child that he was going to sit up and watch with a Malay—of course—in the jungle, to try and trap or shoot a specimen or two of the argus pheasant for you, Mr Murray.—That is it, depend upon it, Braine."

"No," said the Resident, despondently. "He would not have gone to-night after such a weary day, and he would not have gone without telling me his plans. He told me everything, even to his trifling fishing trips on the river. There is something more—an accident, or he has been carried off."

"What! by the crocodiles?" said Murray, suddenly.

"No, no; I don't fear that. Come, man, we must be up and at work now."

"What are you going to do?" asked Murray, eagerly, for he was quivering with the intense desire he felt to be in action.

"I am going to the Tumongong. He has always been my friend."

"The man who was watching and listening to-night!"

"It could not have been the chief. He is too much of a gentleman at heart. Your servant was mistaken. Come on, Murray. We will come and tell you when we have been. He must know what has been done."

"He will not betray his master's secrets," said Murray, bitterly. "It is more than his life is worth."

"I shall not ask him to do that," said Mr Braine, slowly; "but I think he will set our hearts at rest as to the safety of our boys. Will you come?"

"Yes," said Murray, thoughtfully, "I will come. No: I cannot think of anything else having happened to them. It must be the rajah's doing. Come on then, and let us know their fate."



CHAPTER SIXTEEN.

PRISONERS.

Everything looked dark as the Resident and Murray reached the Tumongong's handsome residence—handsome, though merely erected of bamboo and palm—but as they approached the steps, sounds were heard within, and very shortly after being summoned, the rajah's officer appeared fully dressed.

"Can I speak to you without being overheard?" said Mr Braine in English.

The Malay replied in his own tongue that he was prepared to hear anything the Resident had to say.

"But will what I say be overheard, I asked you?" cried Mr Braine, impatiently, still speaking in English, so that Murray might hear his words, knowing as he did that the Malay perfectly understood everything.

"I am quite ready to hear you," replied the Tumongong.

"And will what I say be carried to the rajah? Look here, Tumongong. I have always been on good terms with you since I came here, though I do consider you acted unfairly by me in not warning me in Malacca as to what my position would be."

"I am the servant of his highness," replied the officer, "and I have my duty to do toward him. When I have done that, I am your friend."

"Then tell me this: those two boys, my son and his young companion— where are they?"

Dark as it was, Murray saw the Malay start, but he was perfectly calm the next moment.

"I do not know," he said.

"Is this the truth?"

"I do not know where they are," replied the Malay.

"Have they been seized by the rajah's orders?"

"I do not know. The rajah, our master, is king, and does what seems good to him."

Mr Braine made an impatient gesture, but masking his anger, he said appealingly:

"Tumongong, you have always been my friend, and the friend of my boy. I am in agony about his fate. He and his young friend have disappeared since we left the rajah's to-night. Tell me where he is."

"I do not know."

"Is he safe?"

"I do not know."

"You do know, and you will not speak," cried Mr Braine passionately. "The rajah has had them seized."

"The rajah is my master, and does what is good in his own eyes. If he has done this thing, it is wise and good. I do not know."

"Then I will go to the rajah himself, and he shall tell me.—Ah!"

Murray had been standing listening impatiently to this conversation, a portion of which was translated to him, but he had now suddenly grasped his companion's arm, and drawn his attention to the open place or veranda at the top of the steps, and upon Mr Braine looking up, he dimly saw that there was a figure standing there with a group of others behind, and in spite of the gloom he had no difficulty in seeing who the foremost figure was, and comprehending why the Tumongong had been so guarded in his replies to them.

Mr Braine addressed himself to the dimly-seen figure at once, speaking now in the Malay tongue.

"Your highness has heard all I have said," he cried. "Tell me, has some accident befallen those two boys, or have they been taken away by your orders?"

It seemed to be a different man entirely who was now speaking, and though Murray could not comprehend a word, he grasped the rajah's meaning plainly enough, as he uttered what was evidently a command, to which Mr Braine spoke again sharply now.

The rajah uttered a low guttural word, and Murray now cried: "What does he say?"

"Go!"

"But I insist," cried Murray.

The rajah spoke again, and a dozen armed men ran from behind and leaped actively to the ground.

Murray's hand darted to his breast, but Mr Braine caught his wrist.

"Madness!" he said. "Wait."

"But—"

"Do you want to throw away two lives that are valuable to our friends?" whispered the Resident. "Do as I do. It is folly to resist now."

That moment the rajah spoke again, the men formed up around Murray and Mr Braine, and their leader said something to the latter.

"Come, Murray," he said, bitterly. "I have drilled these men to some purpose. We are prisoners, I suppose."

He took his companion's arm, and they were marched off through the darkness.

"Where will they take us?" said Murray, who was raging with pain and indignation at his inability to struggle against such force.

"To a boat, I suppose, and then put us on board one of the prahus," replied Mr Braine. "I might have known what would come of all these years of service."

They marched on in silence for a minute or two, and then Mr Braine uttered an ejaculation full of surprise; for their guards faced round to the left, and marched the prisoners into the Resident's own garden, where the leader said a few words and pointed up.

"Prisoner in my own place?" said Mr Braine to the officer.

"His highness commands that neither you nor the bird man leaves the house till he gives orders."

"It might have been worse, Murray," said Mr Braine, as they ascended the steps, and dimly made out that the leader of the little party of guards was posting his men here and there.

"Been worse!" said Murray, angrily, as he threw himself upon a divan, "impossible!"

"Possible," said Mr Braine, quietly. "We are not quite prisoners, and are at liberty to plot and plan. They are very cunning, these people; but we English have some brains. It must be getting on toward morning. Let's have some coffee, and a quiet smoke."

"Oh, how can you take things so quietly!" cried Murray.

"Because I am more at ease. Those boys are alive. He would not kill them. He felt that they were in the way of his plans. They must have done something to make him act as he has done."

"If I could only be sure of that," said Murray, "it would be one trouble the less."

Mr Braine clapped his hands. A quiet-looking Malay entered the room, trimmed the lamp, and went out again, to return with water-pipes and a pan of charcoal; after which he retired as silently as he came, and once more entered bearing a tray with coffee.

"Smoke, drink your coffee, my dear fellow," said Mr Braine, quietly.

"I cannot."

"You must, man; you want your brain clear and your body rested."

"How can you speak so coolly, with those poor people in such agony?"

"Because I am helping them—or preparing to," said Mr Braine, cheerfully. "Then the game is not lost; be guided by me, and you shall marry Amy, and some day we will talk and chat over these troubles, which time will soften, and they will not be so horrible then."

"But if it comes to the worst," cried Murray. "If this wretched despot, presuming on his power, insists upon that poor girl becoming his wife— Wife? No; it is an insult to the name."

"He will not succeed," said Mr Braine, sternly; "even monarchs are not all-powerful. The night before the marriage, if everything else has been tried, that man will die."

"What! be murdered?" cried Murray, in horrified tones.

"No; the cup of his iniquities will be full; he will be adjudged worthy of death; he will die, and a new rajah will reign."

"A new rajah! Who will it be?"

"Hush! these places are very thin; our words might be heard."

"But tell me. You can trust me."

"Hist! some one."

There was a foot upon the steps, and the Tumongong entered and saluted both gravely.

"His highness bids me tell you," said the officer, "that he does not forget the many good services you have done for him. He desires now that you content yourselves by staying here, where you will have everything you desire."

"Except liberty," said Mr Braine, bitterly.

"Except liberty," replied the Tumongong. "Good-night. Sleep. Be obedient, and your lives are safe."

He bowed and left them, and as soon as he was out of hearing, Mr Braine told Murray what had passed.

"Then our lives are safe?"

"If we are obedient."

"I shall be obedient till I see an opportunity to strike, sir. But go on; tell me who will reign in his stead."

"That man," said Mr Braine, quietly puffing at his pipe.

"The Tumongong?"

"Yes. Still waters run deep."

"But—"

"Hush, man! Keep that in your breast. I know, and I am certain. He is our friend, but is compelled to act as he does. You saw just now—you heard his words—so did the Malays by the door, and every sentence will be reported to the rajah," said Mr Braine.

"Yes."

"If the tyrant dreamed that his officer was friendly toward us to the extent of trying to give us help, he would be marched to the river-bank at sunrise; there would be another execution, and the world would hold one honest man the less. Now, drink your coffee, and lie back and sleep."

"I cannot."

"You must. We can do nothing but wait the turn of affairs, and the more coolly we take these matters, the better able we shall be to act. Now try and rest."

Murray shook his head, and sat wondering how a man whose son had been suddenly snatched from him could drop into a calm and restful sleep. Then he wondered how Amy and the ladies were, and then he ceased wondering, for when the sun rose above the river mist and the tops of the jungle trees, it shone in between the mats hanging over the doorway, lighting up the Resident's room, and the divan where Murray lay back utterly exhausted, and now fast asleep.



CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

WHERE THE BOYS WERE.

"Doesn't matter out here, doesn't it?" said Ned. "Well, I tell you what it is. I shall talk to uncle about it, and he'll speak to the doctor, and tell him it would be disgraceful."

"Don't talk so loudly; those fellows are close behind."

"But they can't talk English."

"No; but some of them have heard so much that I often think they understand a little of what is said."

"I don't see any one about."

"Perhaps not, but they're following us all the same, and if you were to make a rush off now, very likely you'd run up against one of them, ready to stop you. But I don't know," continued Frank, looking stealthily about; "I've got regular cat's eyes now, with going to the jungle edge of a night to set and watch traps with the men. I don't see any one about. What do you say to a walk down to the jetty?"

"What for?"

"To hear the crocodiles at play. They have fine games there of a night, splashing and chasing one another."

"Oh no. I'm too tired, really."

"You are a chap! Why, we might take one of the boats and have a row. Go off to one of the prahus, and startle the beggars. No, that wouldn't do, because they might throw spears at us."

"But they couldn't hit us if they did."

"Couldn't they! You don't know. They throw them splendidly. Why, I know fellows here who could hit you with a spear every time at thirty yards, and send the thing right through you."

"Ugh!" ejaculated Ned, with a shudder. "Come along, and we'll get Hamet to give us some coffee."

"And bring us pipes. I say, let's try and smoke."

"Nonsense!"

"Well then, let's go down to the jetty. You can see the fireflies down by the river-side. They look wonderful on the other bank."

"Then let the monkeys and crocodiles look at them. I don't want to look at anything. I'm so tired."

"Then sit in a sampan, and I'll row you about among the crocs."

"I'm not going to sit in Sam's pan or anybody else's pan," cried Ned. "I want to lie down and rest. That elephant has shaken me all to pieces, and I'm so sore; I'm just as if I had been caned all over."

"Perhaps you have," said Frank, laughingly. "Your uncle has been giving it to you. I say though, seriously, I'll ask the rajah to give you a set of native togs. You'd find them so cool and comfortable."

"And look just such a guy as you do."

"You want me to punch your head, Ned. Guy, indeed!"

"Do. Try."

"Not I. Ill-tempered beggar, that's what you are. I say, there are no guards watching us. Let's go and have a game somewhere."

"Yes, a game at coffee and cushions," said Ned. "Here we are.—I say, Hamet, can you give us some coffee, quick?"

The Malay was busy arranging the rifle and guns which had been used that day, and he nodded; but, instead of hurrying to prepare the meal, he laid his hand on Ned's arm.

"Something wrong?" he said. "Trouble?"

"Oh, I don't know," replied Ned, carelessly; "nothing much. Why do you ask?"

"Hamet think so," he said, his peculiar pronunciation sounding strange. "The master want to go away back down the river?"

"Eh? Yes, but we can't. They have taken the boat and the men."

"Yes; but Hamet knows where now. Always been try to find boat and men."

"But you couldn't find them. My uncle can't, and you don't know, do you, Frank?"

"No; they took them all right away somewhere. But never mind about them. You can have the rajah's boats when you like, and you don't want to go away."

"How do you know?" replied Ned, thoughtfully. "We might want to go perhaps all in a hurry, and it would be handy to know where our own boat and men are."

"Oh, bother! Don't be shabby, and talk about going. We've had no fun at all hardly yet. Where's that coffee?"

"But it would be handy to know where the boat is kept in case of there being trouble; and I know my uncle has been annoyed at its being so hidden away."

"Yes; the master angry," assented Hamet. "My boat—my men."

"And you know where it is?" said Frank.

"Yes; one of my men came and told me to-night. They all want to go back home, and they are kept at work."

"Yes!" exclaimed Ned, "we ought to know."

"Very well then," cried Frank, rather ill-humouredly; "he knows where the boat is, and when you've done collecting, and we've had no end more trips, you can get your things onboard again, and go."

"But we ought to know too," said Ned, "in case of there being trouble. We might want to go in a hurry."

"Yes; that's right," grumbled Frank. "Well, you are shabby. I haven't had a companion for years now; and as soon as I've got one, you want to take him away."

"But you used to do without one before I came."

"Yes; but then I hadn't had one. I say, never mind about all that. Settle down here till we all go. Perhaps we shall some day."

"Hamet show the young master where the boat is?"

"Yes," said Ned eagerly; and he forgot his weariness in the desire to know that which had been concealed from him.

"Why, I thought you were too tired to stir," cried Frank.

"I wanted you to go down to the river to a boat, and you were gruff and wouldn't come."

"Hamet did not say down by the river."

"Where do you suppose it is, then?" cried Frank, laughing; "up in a tree?"

"Yes; down the river. Hamet knows."

"Let's go and see where it is, Frank," said Ned eagerly.

"What for? I'm too tired now."

"Suppose you and your father wanted to go too."

"We should have a naga and plenty of the rajah's men."

"No, you would not. He would not let you go."

"No more he would," said Frank, thoughtfully. "All right then, if you really mean to go, I'll come. I can guess where it is, though, and it will not be a very nice walk."

"Not far. Soon go," said Hamet. "Then the master know if he want boat."

"Are the men in it?" said Ned.

"No. All on board big prahu."

"Let's go and see, Frank."

"Very well, but you mean 'feel.' Why not wait till morning?"

"No can go then," said Hamet, quickly.

"Very good reason," said Frank, as thoughtful now as his companion. "Yes, we might as well know. My father has often said he wished we had a boat of our own that we could use if we wanted to go away in a hurry, because the rajah had gone in a mad fit."

"Young masters come?"

"Yes. Go on and we'll follow," said Frank; "but look out for the crocs."

Hamet gave them a keen look, held up his hand, and threw himself down, crawled to the doorway, and out on to the veranda.

"Looking out for squalls," said Frank, laughingly.

In a minute Hamet was back.

"Can't see men. All dark. No one. No speak. Keep close to Hamet."

"Yes; we'll follow," said Ned, and after lowering the lamp a little by putting the wick back amongst the oil, they crept out on to the veranda, where all listened for a time and tried to pierce the darkness.

It was very quiet. Only a cry from the jungle, and a faint splash from the river; and descending quickly, Hamet took about a dozen paces at a run, and then stopped for the boys to overtake him.

"No one. No spears," he whispered, evidently fully convinced that his sharp run would have in some way brought him in contact with the guard if they had been there.

Then, going off quickly in the direction of the jetty, he turned off when about half-way there, and led his young companions in and out among the houses, and after passing them, away along the edge of the rice-fields that skirted the village, the boys following in perfect silence for about a quarter of an hour, when Frank whispered: "He's going wrong, right away from the river."

"Hist!" whispered Hamet, and he went on again for another ten minutes, before Frank tried to speak again.

"It's all right," he said. "I know: it isn't where I thought. There's a creek runs right up ever so far among the rice-fields. I never went there, but that's where he is going."

"Hist!" whispered Hamet.

"Oh bother! You need not be so particular now. We're right away from all the houses. Nobody would be down here.—I say, Ned, how do you like your walk?"

"It's very dark and awkward," said Ned; "but I don't mind. I should like to be able to tell uncle where the boat is."

They had now reached a part where trees were growing pretty thickly, and it was only by keeping close to their guide that they were able to make their way onward; but this confusing part of their journey was soon over, for Hamet suddenly stood fast as if puzzled, and uttered a word or two in a tone full of vexation.

"He can't find it after all," cried Frank. "Oh, what a bother, to drag us all this way for nothing."

"Hah!" ejaculated the Malay, and catching Ned's hand, he drew him through the trees at right angles to their former course, and again suddenly stopped.

"Well, which way now?" asked Ned. "Can't you find it?"

"The boat—the boat!" whispered Hamet, and drawing Ned's arm out to full length, he made him stoop a little in the black darkness, with the result that the boy's hand rustled among the leaves of the attap covering.

"It's here, Frank," he said excitedly, and pressing down now with both hands, he felt the boat yield and then stop.

"Yes, that's a boat, sure enough," said Frank, who now felt about the top of the awning. "Yes, and I can feel the poles and oars. Why, this is quite a narrow ditch, only just wide enough to hold it. I've got hold of a rope, too. It's tied up to a cocoa-nut palm; I know the thing by the feel."

"Yes; the boat," whispered Hamet.

"All right. Then now you know where your own boat is, Ned, and when you are tired of us all, you can jump in and say 'Good-bye.'"

"Or take you with us," said Ned. "I don't want to go away from you. Not so ungrateful as you think. Oh, don't! You needn't hug me like that. I say: don't act like a great girl. Ah, Ham—"

Then silence. For Ned felt, as he believed, his companion fling his arms affectionately about him, and so roughly that he bore him back. He felt the silken baju and sarong and the hilt of the kris against him, and then he went down heavily. Frank was evidently playing him some foolish trick, and he had clapped a hand now over his mouth to keep him from making a noise, and betraying their whereabouts.

Then a horrible pang of fear ran through him, for there were smothered sounds and scuffling going on close by, leaves cracked and stalks and twigs snapped, and directly after the hand was removed, and he opened his mouth to cry out, but something soft was thrust in, then a cloth was dragged over his head, his arms were bound to his body, and he felt himself lifted up, and carried by a couple of men.

"A piece of treachery," he thought. "And we trusted Hamet so. Poor Frank! Is he being served the same?"

He got as far as that point, and then the heat and the oppression caused by the gag so nearly stifled him that his brain grew confused; there was a sensation of giddiness and a singing in his ears.

"They are choking me," he thought; and he made a desperate struggle to get his hands to his lips, and then he remembered no more till he felt a sensation of something cool being trickled between his lips. It tasted bitter but pleasant, and in his half-insensible state he swallowed the grateful beverage, and swallowed again and again.

Then forgetfulness stole over him once, and he knew no more, till he opened his eyes and saw the level rays of the sun shining through the open doorway on to the mats that formed the side of the room.

"Going to get up, uncle?" he said, and then he stared, for a couple of dark faces were thrust in to stare at him, and as he looked quickly round, he could not see the guns on the walls, nor his uncle's specimens hanging out of reach of the ants, nor yet his uncle; but close beside him, lying on a mat, the figure of Frank, evidently fast asleep.

The two swarthy-looking faces were withdrawn slowly, and Ned turned, seized Frank by the shoulder, and shook him violently.

"Don't, father!" was the result, as Frank spoke, without unclosing his eyes. "Let me lie a bit longer. My head is so bad."

"Frank, old chap, wake up. Where are we? What does it all mean?"

The boy opened his eyes and sat up, stared round, rubbed himself, and then gazed at his companion.

"I—what does it mean? I—what—I remember now. Some one jumped on me and stuffed something into my mouth. I thought it was you then. It was that Hamet. What does he mean? Here, we're not tied now; let's get out of this. I say, where's my kris?"

He sprang up, and Ned followed his example, both making for the doorway, but only to be confronted directly by four spearmen, who effectually barred the way.

"Eh," said Frank, thoughtfully, "that's it, is it? 'Tisn't one of Hamet's games. Here you," he continued, speaking now in Malay; "what does all this mean? Why are we brought here?"

One of the men answered respectfully enough, and Frank turned from the door to face his companion.

"Those are the rajah's chaps, and that fellow says we are to stay here. I know: they thought we were going to cut off in that boat. Here you, where's Hamet?"

The man addressed looked at him half smilingly, but made no reply.

"He won't speak," said Frank, impatiently. "It's no good to try. You might as well ask questions of a cocoa-nut. I hope they haven't given him the kris. Here, you: tell me this—Hamet—has he had the kris?"

This too in Malay, and the man addressed smiled now, but he would not answer, and Frank gave it up.

"I don't think they've killed him, or they wouldn't look so civil. Perhaps they've only shut him up like us. Well, I'm glad we went to see where the boat was."

"Oh, I say, don't reproach me!" cried Ned. "I did all for the best. Then we've been sleeping here all night. I never knew."

"Not you. They gave us some stuff, I know."

"But my uncle! He'll think I'm lost, or gone into the river, or something. What will he say?"

"Oh, bother your uncle!" cried Frank, petulantly. "I'm thinking about my poor old dad."



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A FRIENDLY HAND.

The two boys stood staring thoughtfully at each other that bright, sunny morning, for some minutes before Ned spoke again.

"They will not kill us, will they?" he said.

"Kill us? No. I should just like to catch them at it. The brutes! To take away my kris too. There's going to be a row about this as soon as my father knows."

"Then you think it's all a mistake?"

"Of course it is. I shouldn't have wondered if they'd shut you up like this, but you see they've shut up me."

"Well, you're of no more consequence than I am," said Ned, laughing in spite of his trouble and a throbbing head.

"No more consequence than you? Why, I've done as much as I liked about here for ever so long, and the people have treated me just as if I were the rajah's son. It's all your fault."

"I suppose so," said Ned, dismally.

"But if they think they're going to do just as they like, they're mistaken. Here!" he cried in Malay, "water."

There was a bit of a bustle out on the veranda, and two men came in with brass basins and cotton cloths, which they held while, without hesitation, Frank began to bathe his face.

It was a good example, and Ned followed suit, the cool, fresh water feeling delightful to his heated brow.

"Done?" said Frank, as he wiped his hands.

"Yes."

"Take away, and bring breakfast," cried Frank, haughtily, to the men, who bowed and went off with the water and towels.

"I'll let them see whether they're going to treat me like a prisoner," cried Frank.

"I wish I could be as bumptious as you are with them," said Ned, with a faint smile.

"You don't try."

"I'm so anxious."

"Oh, it's of no use to be anxious," said Frank, gazing out of the door, and then through the window with its bamboo lattice-work.

"Which house are we in?"

"I don't know. I was trying to make out, but you can only see trees. I do believe they've taken us up the river somewhere. I don't know, though. These houses are all alike. It isn't the Tumongong's, nor the Muntrie's, nor the Maharajah Lela's. Yes, I believe they've taken us up the river. The old chap has houses in all sorts of places out in the jungle, where he likes to go and hide himself sometimes, but I don't see any fun in his hiding us."

"Then they brought us up here. But how?"

"In a naga, of course."

"But in our sleep, or while we were insensible?"

"Insensible, if you like to call it so. They must have given us some stuff. They've all kinds of dodges of that sort, bless 'em! You should hear Doctor Barnes talk about the poisons they use."

"I should like to—now," said Ned, drily.

"And so you shall—before long. I'll soon get you out of this. Yes," he continued, "this is one of the old boy's places. See how fine the mats are, and how the walls are covered. But never mind now, my head's better, and here's our breakfast."

For the two men entered as the boys came back into the main room opening on to the veranda from an inspection of two side-places beautifully hung and covered with mats. Then a third man entered, and as Frank nonchalantly seated himself on the matting floor, Ned followed his example, and an excellent breakfast was placed before them.

"Not bad for being prisoners," said Frank, as he ate away; while, after the first few mouthfuls, Ned's appetite increased, and he began to enjoy the meal.

"That's right. Ruminate away, old chap. There's nothing to pay. It's the rajah's orders, sure enough, or we shouldn't be fed like this. He isn't going to kill us."

"Think not?"

"Sure of it, unless he's going to fatten us up, and then try whether we're good to eat."

"I wish I had such good spirits as you have."

"Oh, I'm getting better now. Here you, send in the head-man," cried Frank to one of their attendants.

The man bowed respectfully, and withdrew to the veranda, where they heard him speak, and directly after one of the party, evidently a man of some consequence from his silken sarong, came in.

"I want my kris," said Frank.

The man smiled, and shook his head.

"You give it me directly. It was the rajah's present."

"You will run amok," said the man.

"No. I promise. An English gentleman's promise," said Frank.

The man thrust his hand under his silken robe, and produced the handsome weapon.

"An English gentleman does not break his word," he said, giving the kris to the boy.

"Of course he doesn't. Thank you," said Frank, replacing the dagger at his waist, and covering up the hilt with a significant look at the man, who smiled and withdrew, while the boy interpreted the words which his companion had failed to grasp.

The meal being ended, they rose; the men came and cleared away, and as soon as they were alone again, Ned looked at Frank.

"What next!" he said.

"Ah, that's the puzzle! Here we are, like two dicky-birds in a cage, and they won't let us go out. If they keep us shut up long like this, it will be horrid. I wish I could send father word."

"Could we escape?"

"I don't know. We might try. What a muddle, to be sure. They think we were going to run away with Hamet, and we may talk for ever and they wouldn't believe us."

"But we can't sit here and do nothing."

"No; it will be horribly dull. Those Malay fellows like it. They can sit in the sun all day and chew betel. We can't. All we can do is to sit and eat fruit, and you can't keep up doing that always."

Sure enough the party of Malays, ten strong, who acted as their guard in the palm-thatched house, and attended to every want instantly, did sit in and below the veranda in the sun chewing betel, with their eyes half-closed, till, to use Ned's words, it nearly drove him mad.

Frank tried persuasion, bribery, threats, and then force, to get out if only for a walk; but in a patient good-humoured way the chief and his followers refused to let them pass even out on to the veranda; and all the boys knew at last of their position, as the sun went down, was that which they had learned at sunrise: they were in a house somewhere deep in the jungle, shut in by trees.

"Can't we get away when it's dark?" said Ned.

"Get away where?" cried Frank, ill-humouredly. "You ought to know by this time that you can't get through the jungle without men to chop for you."

"But there must be a path by which they brought us."

"Yes; one leading down to the river, where you could get no farther for want of a boat, and trust 'em, they'll watch that night and day. Fellows who know they'll have a kris stuck into them, and be pitched into the river if they let a prisoner escape, look out pretty sharp."

It was rapidly growing dark when Frank, who had tried lying down, sitting cross-legged, standing up, walking about, and lying on his chest, with his elbows on the bamboo flooring and his chin in his hands, suddenly exclaimed: "Have some more durian?"

"No, thank you."

"Some mangosteens?"

"No, I've had enough."

"Try some of those little bananas."

"No—no—no, I couldn't eat any more fruit."

"No more can I. Shall we tell them to bring us some curry to finish off with?"

"Oh, I say, don't talk any more about eating," cried Ned; "we seem to have done nothing else all day."

"Well, there wasn't anything else to do.—I know."

"What?"

"Let's catch the jungle fever. Then they'll be obliged to take us back to the doctor."

"Nonsense! But I say, Frank, if it's so miserable and wearisome to be shut up like this for a day, what will it be by-and-by?"

"I don't know. Never mind by-and-by," said Frank. "'Nough to do to think of just now. What shall we do?"

"Go to sleep and forget it till to-morrow morning," said Ned philosophically.

"Come," cried Frank; "that's the best thing you've said to-day. All right."

It was now so dark that they had to feel their way into the inner room, where they lay down on the mats with their heads close to the side, and they had hardly settled themselves comfortably when the chief entered the main room followed by two men, one of whom bore a lamp.

The principal Malay looked sharply round, and then said to Frank, who lay on his back with his hands under his head:

"Does my lord want anything else?"

"Yes. You to go and not bother," replied the boy ungraciously.

"Can we bring him anything?"

"Yes; a boat to take us home."

"Shall I leave the light?"

"No; take it away. I'm sleepy."

The man bowed, backed out with his followers, the matting was dropped between the two rooms and then over the doorway as they passed into the veranda.

"That's the way to talk to them," said Frank, peevishly.

"You weren't very civil."

"Well, who's going to be to people who shut you up. It's no use to be 'my lord' without you behave like one. Now let's go to sleep."

Easier said than done. First in the hot darkness came the ping-wing of a mosquito, then the restless sound made by the boys fidgeting about, and the low dull murmur of the men talking in the veranda.

"What's that?" said Ned, suddenly.

"Bother! Go to sleep. Only our chaps walking underneath to see if all's safe below. I say," he added, after a pause, "I know what I shall do if they don't let us out soon."

"What!"

"Say I want to learn to smoke—late some evening."

"And make yourself sick."

"No; I'll make them sick. They'll bring a pipe and some burning charcoal."

"To light the pipe?"

"No; it will be to light this jolly old bamboo house. It will blaze up like fun."

"And roast us to death!"

"Not it. We won't be inside. Perhaps we can run away in the scrimmage."

Silence again, and hot, weary, and miserable, the boys lay there in the darkness, till a peculiar sound struck Ned's ear.

"Asleep?" he said.

"No; who's going to sleep if you talk so. Yes, there it is again. Hurrah!"

"Then you did hear that sound?"

"Hear it? Yes. Know what it is?"

"I thought it was a crocodile in the river."

"So it is, and it shows that the river isn't far off. I wish there were none, and then we'd cut down some bamboos and float away to the village. But not to-night. Let's go to sleep."

There was again silence, with the hot air growing unbearable, and Ned had just made up his mind to undress, when from out of the jungle, plainly heard through the thin plaited bamboo and palm walls, came a peculiar cry—Coo-ow, coo-ow—to be answered from farther away.

"What's that?" said Ned, half aloud, speaking to himself.

"Argus pheasant," said Frank, drowsily. "Oh, I do wish you wouldn't bother. Wonder whether they've got any of that stuff."

"What stuff?"

"To send us to sleep again."

"I wouldn't take a drop," thought Ned; and then in the hot silence he lay thinking about Frank's father, wondering what was going on at the rajah's village, and what his uncle thought of his absence, till weary nature closed his eyes, and even the loud cry of the argus pheasant and the melancholy howl of a tiger prowling about had no effect upon his slumbers.

But a touch effected that which sound had not produced.

For, mingled with his dreams, he had one of a great rat gnawing very softly somewhere by his head, and this kept on for what seemed in his dream like a tremendous length of time before it ceased, and the rat came in through the hole and began walking over his face and sat up on his lips.

That woke him, and he felt the perspiration standing on his brow, for it was no dream: the rat was seated on his lips, and as he lay motionless like one in a nightmare, he felt the little animal glide from his lips to his shoulder, then down his arm to where his hand lay upon his chest, play with the fingers for a few moments, and then grasp them firmly.

It was not a rat: it was a warm soft hand.

A sob escaped from Ned's breast, and he was about to speak, but his hand was pressed firmly, and he returned the grasp, for it felt like the hand of a friend, and if it were, it meant help and perhaps escape.

Turning quickly on his side, he leaned over and touched Frank, who started awake.

"Yes," he said loudly. "What is it?"

The hand was snatched away.

"I told you. Argus pheas—fez—fuz—" snore.

Ned shook him again sharply.

"What's the matter?" he said, thoroughly waking up now.

"Hush! pray. Hist!" whispered Ned; and he pressed his companion's arm, for steps were heard on the creaking bamboo floor, a light shone through between the mat hangings, a dark face appeared and a lantern was held up, so that its dim light fell upon them.

Just then a bright thought occurred to Ned.

"Tell them to bring some water," he said, querulously; and Frank, who grasped the idea that there was something particular in the way, gave the order sharply to the man, who retired directly, and returned in a few minutes with another bearing a vessel of some pleasant, cool drink, of which Ned partook with avidity.

"Leave a fellow a drop," said Frank; and the half-full vessel was handed to him. "Ah, it ain't bad," he continued, as he too drank heartily. "There, be off. Thank you," he added, in Malay; "the light hurts my eyes."

The man smiled as he took the vessel, and as Ned watched through his half-closed eyes, he saw that there was the gleam of spears in the outer room. Then the matting dropped behind their jailers, the bamboo floor creaked, the last rays of the light disappeared, and Frank rose softly, crept to the doorway, and peered under the matting.

"They're all out on the veranda," he whispered, as he returned. "What was the matter?"

Ned told him, and Frank uttered an excited "Ah!"

Then after a long silence:

"It's help come. P'r'aps it's old Hamet. Bah! you were dreaming."

"No; I am sure."

"Then," said Frank, with his lips close to his companion's ear; "if you were awake, there must be a hole for the hand to come through."

And as Ned listened, he heard the faint rustling of his companion's hand moving here and there, and then there was a heavy catching breath, and Frank's fingers were placed over his lips.

"Big hole under the mat. Behind your head. Hist! some one coming."

For there was a gleam of light, and then, hardly heard, save for a faint creak of the floor, some one approached, and Ned lay with his arm over his eyes, just making out that the lantern was thrust in, and that a head was visible between the mats and the door, while Frank lay as naturally as if in a heavy sleep, his head half off its resting-place.

The mats fell within again. There was another faint creak, the last gleam of light again disappeared, and the boys lay for a full half-hour without moving, while the silence was now broken by the heavy beating of their hearts.

All at once, after an interval which seemed terrible, the cry of the argus pheasant was repeated, and it sounded terribly near, while at the same moment Ned was conscious of a faint rustling, and the steamy dank scent of the jungle came to his nostrils.

The next moment fingers touched his cheek, were pressed upon his lips, touched his breast, and were gone directly; a slight start from Frank suggesting that he was now being touched. Then followed a faint rustling, and Frank leaned over, put his lips to Ned's ear, and said:

"The hand touched me, then went down to my waist, and it has taken my kris. It's a thief. Shall I call for help?"

At that moment he felt his hand seized and tugged. Then again, and it was drawn under the mat to the opening above their heads.

"It's all right," whispered Frank. "I'm to go first. Snore."

For a few moments the boy did not grasp his friend's meaning, but the idea came, and he commenced breathing hard, and uttered a faint sigh in his agony; for just in the midst of the rustling sound close by him, caused as he knew from a touch by Frank gliding slowly through the opening as if being drawn, he saw a gleam of light beneath the matting at the doorway, and felt that some one was coming again with the lantern.

The difficulty now was to make a noise that should sound natural. If he snored loudly it might seem forced, and if he did not, he felt sure that the rustling, scraping sound would be heard. But fortune favoured him.

Just as he was in despair, there was the sharp ping-wing of a mosquito, and he babbled out something incoherently, made a restless movement, and slapped his face quickly twice, as he had often done before in an attempt to slay one of the noxious little insects.

The light disappeared directly, for the listening Malay was satisfied; and as Ned stretched out his hand again, he found that he was alone.

There was a terrible pause now, and in these brief moments the boy began to think that he had been forsaken, when all at once the hand touched him, glided down to his waist, and drew at it firmly.

He yielded and tried to force himself along, but did little, and that little seemed unnecessary, for strong muscles were at work, and he was almost entirely drawn through the opening till he was quite out; his legs sank down gently, and he was lowered till he felt his feet touch the ground, and a hand which he knew directly for Frank's, lay on his lips.

As he was puzzling himself as to how it had been managed, he grasped the fact that some one was gliding down the smooth trunk of a palm-tree which grew close to the house, and to which one of the bamboo rafters had been secured, but whether it was Hamet or some other friend he could not tell.

He had no more time for thinking, for two hands were placed on his shoulders, and a voice he now recognised whispered: "Down—creep— follow."

He grasped the idea at once, and went down on hands and knees, to begin crawling slowly and softly after two bare feet, which he had to touch from time to time to make sure that he was right, while he felt that Frank was behind him, and that he too was touching his boots in the same way.

They were evidently crawling through a tunnel-like track below the undergrowth, a path probably made by a wild beast—unless it was a contrivance to escape from the back of the house in case of emergency— and along this they crawled painfully, with the bushes on either side and overhead. Now a thorn entered hand or knee, now some kind of vegetable hook caught in their clothes, and then they had to creep round some rugged stump of a tree stem to get forward.

The distance was really not great, but it seemed painfully long, and every moment the fugitives were in expectation of having an alarm raised, and seeing the lights of the men in pursuit. But at last, just as Ned had crawled under a bush which scraped and pricked severely, he heard a rustling noise and a peculiar rippling, and was aware of the fact that their guide had risen upright, and that he too could stand.

"Ah," sighed Frank, directly after, "what a—"

"Hist!" came in a low whisper. "Stop here—don't move. Quiet;" and it seemed to Ned that the man lowered himself down till his head was on a level with his companion's knees, and a faint splashing told him where.

They were at the edge of the river, and their rescuer was slowly wading against the stream, holding on by the overhanging boughs.

Then the faint splashing ceased, and the boys joined hands, to stand awe-struck and listening in the thick darkness, and with the knowledge that the water, gliding swiftly by their feet, swarmed with monstrous reptiles, which for aught they knew might seize their guide, or be marking them down for their prey.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

DOWN THE STREAM AGAIN.

Five minutes, ten minutes, a quarter of an hour passed, and neither of the boys spoke. No sound came from the house, no splashing of the water told that their guide was on his way back.

All at once a shout reached them, followed by another cry, the noise of a struggle succeeded by a splash. Then another splash, and while, with their nerves all on the strain, they listened trembling with excitement, there was another faint gurgling cry; but, instead of being from the direction in which their rescuer had gone, it was close to them in the river, and ceased at once, to be heard again more faintly lower down.

"Oh, Ned," whispered Frank, passionately, "that was poor old Hamet. They've krissed him, and thrown him in the river."

"Can't we help him?" panted Ned, knowing as he spoke that they were only vain words.

"No—no—no," groaned Frank. "And hark! They're coming after us."

For there were shouts, and quite close at hand the glow of torches dimly-seen above the trees, while as the boys strained their eyes in the direction, Ned jerked Frank's arm.

"Hark!" he whispered; "some one's crawling along the path. Can't we run?"

"Can't we fly?" said Frank, bitterly. "It's all over."

"Hist! quick!" came from the water; "get in."

There was the sound of wood brushing against the bushes, and a dark object rose in front of them.

"The boat!" said Frank, excitedly. "Hurrah! In with you, Ned."

The latter needed no second admonition, but sprang in against the man who was holding on by the boughs, and as the boy stumbled and fell, Frank followed.

It was none too soon, for there was a sharp rustling behind them, something dark sprang right after them, and another black figure, which had struggled through the tunnel-like passage, rose up; but the boat was loosened, their rescuer struck out fiercely, and the man who had tried to leap on board fell back into the water with a splash, and they heard him dragging himself out just as there was a peculiar thud close to where Ned stood.

"What was that?" he whispered.

"Spear," said the man, laconically; and they heard him drag the weapon out of the thwart into which it had stuck.

The shouting continued, and it was as if two parties were answering one another; but the sounds grew more distant, and Ned realised that they were gliding down the stream.

"They'll come after us in another boat," panted Ned.

"No. No boat," said the man.

"Oh, Hamet, old chap," whispered Frank, "we thought they had krissed you, and that we heard you go down the river."

"No," said the man, quietly. "Two men keeping boat. Not hurt."

Ned felt a strange shrinking sensation, and his imagination supplied the facts of the case, as he mentally saw their friend wade in the darkness up to where this boat had been moored, and attack its guardians. He shuddered, and dared think no more, but, happily, Frank began whispering to him just then.

"This is one of the little nagas," he said. "I know it. The men used it to take us up the river. They did not know it would be all right for us to escape. I say, Hamet, how far is it down to the rajah's campong?"

"Don't know," said the man quietly, using an oar so as to get the boat's head down stream, and farther from the bank, where the fireflies were still flitting at intervals.

"Well, we shall float down to it. We needn't speak low now?"

"No; only a little," replied the man.

"I say, you were a good one to come and help us. But, I say, you did not kill any one, did you?"

"They tried to kill Hamet," he replied, quietly.

"Oh, Ned!" whispered Frank, with a shudder, "I shall never wear that kris again."

They glided on down in silence for some time before either of the boys spoke again, and then Ned said in a low voice:

"They seized you too, Hamet?"

"Yes, master, and brought us up the river here. I said to myself, 'I will save the young masters,' and they are here."

"But what is to be done now?"

"Go down in the dark to my lord, and say here is a boat waiting. Shall we go back to Dindong?"

"But we could not, Hamet," said Frank. "The rajah's people would hear us, and stop us."

"Perhaps," said the man, quietly. "Heaven knows: but we will try."

"Yes," said Frank, "we will try, unless my father thinks we ought all to stop, and he could bully the rajah. But we will see."

"Yes, we will see," replied Hamet; and there was silence once more for a time, but Ned was too much excited to remain quiet long.

"Are you sure," he said, "that they cannot follow us on shore though they have no boat?"

"Quite sure," said Frank. "They are on the wrong side of the river, and they could not cut a way through the jungle for days and days. I don't know how far we are up either. Perhaps miles and miles, and they were rowing and poling up all night."

Silence once more fell upon the party, and the boys sat watching the dark wall of trees on either side and listening to the forest sounds, all of which seemed strange and impressive at such a time. Now and then the oar creaked with which Hamet kept the boat's head right, and several times now the boys shrank from the side as there was a sudden swirl and rush through the water, evidently caused by a crocodile disturbed by the passing boat. Then, too, came the cry of a tiger, distant or near, and other peculiar calls from deep in the jungle, sounds that they would hardly have noticed by day, but which were peculiarly impressive now.

And so the time wore on, till, just as Ned was asking if his companion did not think they must be near the campong now, Hamet said in a low voice:

"Don't talk. Words fly along the water. Be heard."

"Then we must be near now?" whispered Ned.

"Yes," replied Frank. "I say, Hamet, keep a good look-out for the prahus, and run her in by the tree where the crocodile was caught. It will be quite black under those boughs."

"Pst!" whispered Hamet, and he ceased dipping his oar in the water, for suddenly a faint light appeared ahead of them not larger than that emitted by a firefly, but the regular beat of oars told that it was in some boat, and unless prompt measures were taken, it was evident that they would be seen, and the efforts of the night thrown away.



CHAPTER TWENTY.

THE RAJAH'S MESSAGES.

Murray woke with a start to find that the sun was well above the trees, and a curious sensation of shame troubled him as he recalled the events of the previous night.

As he started up, he saw that Mr Braine was seated at his little table writing, and as the latter noticed his fellow-prisoner's awaking, he laid down his pen, and held out his hand.

"I was writing a few lines to the doctor," he said. "I daresay they will take a note for me. I have told him that we are prisoners, to account to my wife for our absence."

"Tell him—tell them," said Murray, flushing a little, "to be of good cheer, for we are behaving like prisoners, and watching some means by which we may all escape from this wretched place."

"And if my letter goes to the rajah first, he may get it interpreted for him, and know what we intend to do." Murray made an impatient gesture.

"You are right," he said. "My brain is all confused. We cannot escape without those boys."

"I am as confused as you are," replied Mr Braine. "The rajah has had those two taken to hold as hostages. I am sorry to give you pain, but the truth must be told."

"But why—why?"

"Do you need to ask?"

"No," said Murray, despairingly. "I know well enough, and in my selfish love for her, I am ready to say she must be saved from such a fate."

"And my son condemned to death in company with your brother's child."

Murray sprang up, and began to pace the room, making the floor wave and the walls quiver with his impetuous tread.

"Tell me what to do," he said at last. "I feel helpless. I will follow your instructions, and look to you for what is right."

Mr Braine shook his head sorrowfully, finished his letter, and handed it to Murray to read.

"Yes," he said; "you cannot say more."

The letter was sealed, and the chief of their guards summoned.

"I want this letter taken to the doctor," said Mr Braine.

The man bowed, took the letter, and gave it to one of his men, who went off directly, while Mr Braine stood back against the wall of the room.

"I thought so," he said. "I am fallen from my high position now."

"What do you mean?" said Murray, eagerly.

"The messenger has gone toward the rajah's place, and not to the doctor's house."

Breakfast was brought in to them soon afterwards, but Murray turned from it in disgust.

"Eat, man," said Mr Braine, quietly. "It is a necessity. You may want all your wits and strength before long."

"I said I would look to you for advice," Murray exclaimed; and he sat down and ate mechanically, while Mr Braine went on talking.

"If those boys were here," he said; "matters have now arrived at such a pitch, that I should try and scheme in some way to procure a boat, get all on board, and make an attempt to start away in the darkness."

"Of course!" cried Murray. "They might not see us, but if they did, we are skilled in the use of our weapons, and I swear I could bring down every man at whom I shot."

"Yes," said Mr Braine, thoughtfully; "if driven, we should have to fight. I might win over three or four or half a dozen of the men to whom I have been friendly. I think I could. But no. The rajah has been too cunning for us. He sees that we are likely to try to escape, and he has us on the hip. Murray, I cannot go and leave my boy to the mercy of this demon. Mercy? He does not know the word. I should horrify you, if I told you of all I have been compelled to witness here."

Murray gazed at him with his brow puckered, and then he suddenly started.

"I was to go on another expedition to-day; and, good heavens! here comes the rajah's messenger to say that the elephants are ready. He shall kill me before I'll stir a step. Stop," he cried excitedly—"the elephants. I shall be able to take gun, rifle, and revolver. What if I make the men stop a mile or two away in the jungle path. Could you contrive to join me with the ladies after dark?"

"And if you could alone over-ride your guard, and I could contrive to join you with the ladies after dark, where should we go? My dear fellow, it is madness. Only out into the mountains to starve. We could not take the ladies, even if we could forsake the boys. Hush! here he is."

The Tumongong, who had been in close conference with the chief of the guard below in the garden, now ascended the steps, and saluted the two prisoners.

"I bring you a message," he said, gravely. "The rajah wishes him to wait for a few days before going upon his expedition, and he is to return to his own house. Tell him."

"The rajah sends word that we are to be separated, Murray," said Mr Braine. "You are to go."

"And if I refuse?"

"There is no appeal, man; force would be used. Go patiently, and console yourself with the thought that I am working and planning for you. You must go."

Murray rose and held out his hand.

"Look here," he said; "if they have not taken them, I have plenty of arms and ammunition there, and I am ready to stand by you to the death.—Hah!" he ejaculated angrily, as he turned fiercely on the Tumongong, "you know what I said?"

The Malay looked at him fixedly, but said nothing, and Murray shook hands with Mr Braine.

"Is this a ruse!" he said, bitterly. "Is it good-bye for ever? Are they going to make an end of me?"

The Tumongong looked admiringly at the firm manly fellow about to be led off, for aught he knew, to execution, and he spoke quickly to Mr Braine.

"The Tumongong bids me tell you that your life is quite safe."

"Hah!" ejaculated Murray; and he gave the Malay a grateful look, and went down to where his escort was waiting, the chief and half the guard marching him off back to his house, where at the first glance he saw that his weapons were still in their places; and here he threw himself down, to try to hit out some plan, while the Malays stationed themselves about the place, and he saw that he was to be strictly watched.

Meanwhile the Tumongong and Mr Braine stood gazing hard into each other's faces.

"Well, what next?" said Mr Braine at last, gazing searchingly into the Malay's eyes.

"You are to join the doctor and his family, and if you value your life, help his highness by reasoning with them, so that his wishes may be obeyed at once."

"He is still set upon this atrocity?"

"Yes; he is determined that the poor lady shall be his wife."

"And if we all refuse and set him at defiance?"

"What good?" said the Tumongong, bitterly.

"I cannot do it, man," cried Mr Braine. "Tell me where are those boys?"

"I cannot—I do not know."

"But—you have always been my friend—is there no way out of this difficulty?"

The Tumongong was silent.

"Yes," continued Mr Braine; "there is that way. His death or imprisonment. Is not the time ripe?"

The Malay made no answer.

"Murray is a strong man, brave as a lion; the doctor, Greig, and I are good shots. We will fight for you to the death."

"It is time to go," said the Tumongong, coldly; and he walked out into the veranda, and gave the guard below an order to be in readiness.

"It would be to the death," he said, quietly, as he returned. "No; we are not strong enough. It is not for want of courage. I could kris him, but it would be too cowardly. If we fought, it would mean death to your friends and the boys—the ladies left alone to his mercy. There: I am your friend. I have trusted you: my life is in your hands."

"It has been for months," said Mr Braine, quietly; "I have known your secret for long."

"Are you ready?" said the Tumongong, loudly. Then in a low tone—"Bring your weapons."

Five minutes after, the Resident was being marched to the doctor's, where his coming was eagerly greeted; and the guard there being strengthened by the newcomers, the Tumongong looking grave, and then going slowly off, followed by his attendants.

"Frank? Tell me about Frank," cried Mrs Braine, clinging to her husband's hand.

"Mr Murray—Ned?" cried Amy, seizing the other.

"All well as yet," said the Resident, sadly.

"This is true?" whispered Mrs Braine. "You are not deceiving me?"

"You know," he replied, gravely; and the ladies shrank away to weep together, while the doctor offered his old friend his hand.

"Bad news?" whispered the doctor.

"The worst. He insists, and it is to be at once."

"I would sooner kill her," said the doctor, passionately.

"And I would sooner see her dead."

They stood thoughtful and silent for a few minutes before the doctor spoke again.

"I never felt our helplessness so much before. Where is Murray?"

Mr Braine told him.

"A good man the less, but we might perhaps get a message to him to make a dash for us here. Braine, will you fight?"

"To the death."

"We shall be four, with the women to load for us as we fire."

"I am ready, man," said Mr Braine, sadly; "and we shall have the satisfaction of acting as Englishmen in a time of peril, but we can do no more than keep them at bay for a time. Even if we did that, they could starve us out."

The doctor let his hands drop helplessly to his side.

"Yes; that's it," he said. "It is madness. It would only mean so much bloodshed and nothing done."

"He would send every man he had to his death to gain his ends."

"If I had only known—if I had only known!" groaned the doctor; "he would never have recovered from that last illness, I swear."

"Then you swear falsely," said Mr Braine, holding out his hand. "My old friend, John Barnes, never did a treacherous act, and never could."

"Hah!" ejaculated the doctor, wringing the Resident's hand. "Now you disarm me: but a man would do desperate things to save his wife and child."

"Even to giving his life, as I would mine."

They stood by the door in silence, then gazing out into the garden, where a spearman stood at the gate, and the rest of the guard sat about mechanically chewing their betel-nut and sirih-leaf, apparently heedless of the prisoners' presence, but ready to start into action on the instant.

Mr Greig joined them, and the day wore on in sorrow and despair, for their position seemed to be absolutely hopeless, and it was nothing to them that the sun shone down from the pure blue sky on the gorgeous vegetation, whose leaves seemed to shed silver beams of light down amongst the dark shade beneath. Plan after plan was suggested and referred to the ladies, who also made proposals. But the result was always the same. They acknowledged that the rajah, with his Eastern cunning, had checkmated them, and that nothing could be done but wait.

As the day wore on, the doctor's servants went about their work as usual, and Tim Driscol brought in the mid-day meal, and stood looking on in despair to find it untouched.

"Oh, Miss Amy, dear," he whispered, "my heart's bruk intirely to see your pretty eyes all swelled up and red like that. What'll I do, darlin'? Say the word, and if it's to slay and kill him, I'll go."

"Don't—don't talk to me, Tim," she whispered, with the tears flowing fast.

"Not talk to ye—me who carried ye when ye were only half the size ye are! I'll go to the masther, thin."

With the freedom of an old servant, he went out to where the doctor was seated in the veranda, so as to avoid seeing the sad faces within.

"Oh, masther, dear," he said, "what's to be done?"

"I wish I could tell you, Tim."

"It makes a man's heart sore, sir, to see the misthress and her frinds looking like that.—Mr Braine, sir, begging your pardon for intrudin', it's only bekase I want to help. Wouldn't a good fight set it straight, bekase if so, I'm your man."

"Waste of blood, waste of life, and no good done, Tim," said the Resident, sadly. "We are in God's hands. I cannot see that we can stir."

"Four of us and Mister Murray, if we could get at him," mused Tim; "that makes foive, and they're as many hundreds, and got their prahus and boats beside; but I don't know. The old counthry looks a very shmall place on the map, but she could beat the world. Well, the masther has only got to spake, and I'll foight for me misthress and my young lady as long as I can lift a fist."

As the evening drew near, Tim comforted himself by examining and loading the guns and pistols that were in the house, and then replaced them, ready for use at a moment's notice.

But when he had done, he shook his head sadly.

"It's such a whishp of a place to fight in," he said to himself. "Anny one could knock it all over wid a scaffold pole. Why, if it kim to a foight, the bastes could run underneath, and shtick their spears through the flure. An' I'd like to get one crack at the head of the man I caught doing it."

The dinner-time came, and Tim made another attempt to get the unhappy party to eat.

"And not a bit of fruit," he muttered. "Wonder whether they'd let us get some."

He went and spoke to one of the women who acted as servant, and she readily agreed to go and fetch what was necessary, catching up the second sarong worn by the Malay women as a veil, and used with the two ends of the long scarf-like article of attire sewn together.

With this over her head, she started off, and the guard now looked up sharply, but they had no orders to interfere and prevent one of the women from going out, and in less than a quarter of an hour she returned bearing a basket of mangosteens and bananas.

But it was all labour in vain; the dinner and dessert, so thoughtfully prepared, remained untouched, and the wine, cool and fresh from the evaporating it had received, remained on the table.

It was a lovely starlit night, and after Mr Greig had gone, the doctor and Mr Braine rose from the table to go and walk up and down in the veranda, and wait for the coming of the next messengers from the rajah, for that there would soon be another both felt perfectly convinced.

They had not long to wait before the Tumongong appeared with a small retinue of men, spear-armed as usual, who were halted by their officer at the foot of the steps, while the Malay chief ascended to the veranda to announce briefly that the rajah would honour the ladies with a visit that evening; after which he turned and left the place as he came, the dark figures of his escort filing out through the bamboo gate, looking like shadows in the starlight.

"There is only one thing left," said Mr Braine, as the doctor sat too much stunned by the intelligence, now it had come, to be able to go in and communicate it to his wife and child.



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

FRANK'S ERRAND.

"What'll I do? What'll I do?" muttered Tim Driscol to himself as he walked up and down one of the garden paths hidden from his master and his friends, and unheeded by the Malay guard, who contented themselves with seeing that he did not pass out of the gate.

"That pretty colleen! Ow, the covetous owld rip, and him wid a dozen wives at laste, to want our darlin'. What'll I do?—what'll I do? Faix, I'll have me poipe."

He filled the rough bamboo affair with the coarse native tobacco he used, and went on smoking, the bowl glowing as if a ruddy firefly were gliding up and down the garden walk. "Ow, sorrow to uz all!" he muttered. "An' what are all his wives about? Why, they can't have a taste o' sperrit in 'em, or they wouldn't shtand it. Why, if they were ladies from the ould country, and he even thought of taking another, there wouldn't be a bit of hair left on his wicked head. Oh dear! sorrow to me, what'll I do at all, at all?—Who's this. To see wan of the women, I suppose."

He was near the gate where two spearmen stood, and in the full starlight he saw a Malay woman coming up, and as she drew near, she raised her hands beneath the veil-like sarong she wore over her head to a level with her brows, spreading out the plaided silk after the custom of the women, so that the top and bottom hems were drawn parallel, covering her face and forming a narrow horizontal slit through which her eyes alone were seen.

"Yah! Get out. How modest we are. Sure, and ye're an ugly flat-nosed coffee-coloured one, or ye wouldn't be so moighty particular. Want to see one of the women folk, do ye? Well, the gyards'll shtop ye, and send ye about yer bishness, and good-luck to ye."

But the guards did not stop her as she walked quietly up. A woman coming to the doctor's house, that was all; and she passed between them with her face covered, and turned off into the narrow path among the trees leading to the servants' quarters, the men just glancing after her, and then chewing away at their betel.

The consequence was that the next minute the woman was face to face with Tim, who blocked the way in a surly fashion; and as they stood there in the shadowy path, Tim's pipe bowl glowed, and the eyes seen through the narrow slit gleamed.

"And what do you want?" said Tim, in the Malay tongue.

"Muhdra," was the reply, in a faint voice.

"She's yonder," said Tim. "I daresay you know the way."

"Show me," said the woman softly.

"Oh, bad luck to ye to want to come chattering haythen nonsense to the cook, wid all this trouble on the way," he said angrily, in his own tongue. Then more civilly in Malay, "Come along, then."

He led the way, and the woman followed till they had passed another sentry, when he felt his arm gripped.

"Don't flinch—don't speak. Tim, don't you know me?"

"Masther Frank! Oh murther!"

The man staggered in his surprise as he uttered these words, but the quick Irish wit grasped the situation directly, and he said aloud in the Malay tongue something about its being a fine warm night, and then led the way into the dark room he called his pantry, though it was little more than a bamboo shed, and excitedly clasped the boy to his breast.

"Masther Frank, darlin'! Oh, Heaven be thanked for this!—Ah, ye wicked young rip, to frighten us all as ye did."

"Hush, man, silence! Don't, Tim. Why—my face is all wet."

"Whisht! nonsense, boy. That's nawthing. Only a dhrop o' water. It's so hot. But quick! An' good-luck to ye for a cliver one. To desave us all like that!"

"Where is my father? He was not at home."

"Faix no; he's up-stairs. But where have ye been?"

"Don't ask questions. Are they all right?"

"Oh yes, all right; and all wrong too. There's me news, boy. The rajah's going to marry Miss Amy, and we're all prishners."

"I thought so," whispered Frank. "But prisoners?"

"Oh yes; ye saw the gyards."

"Where is Mr Murray?"

"Shut up at home wid sax or eight min to take care of him."

"Go and tell my father I'm here. No; take me up to them at once."

"Oh, murther! no, Masther Frank! Don't think of it, boy. Iv ye go up, the ladies'll all shquale out, and yer mother go wild wid sterricks. Sure an' Masther Bang-gong's just been to say the owld chap's coming to see the ladies to-night."

"Oh!" ejaculated Frank.

"But where have ye been, lad?"

"Go quite quietly, and tell my father or the doctor I'm here."

"Yis."

"And Tim, have you got anything to eat? I'm starving."

"Lashins, me dare boy. Help yerself, for the sorrow a taste would they take in the parlour."

Tim hurried up, passed through the main room, listened for a moment or two to the murmur of the ladies' voices in one of the inner places, and then crept out into the veranda, carrying a tray with a metal bottle and two cups, which he made to jingle loudly for the guard to hear.

"No, no, my man," said the doctor. "It's very thoughtful of you, but no.—Braine, will you?"

"No, no," said the Resident; and then he uttered a gasp, for Tim's lips were at his ear, as he stood behind his seat, and said softly:

"Whisht, Mr Braine, darlin': don't make a hurroo. Masther Frank's come, and he's below."

There was a dead silence for a few moments, and then Mr Braine said in a forced voice:

"No, no drink, Tim.—Doctor, come in and give me a cigar."

He rose, and walked quietly in with the slow careful acting of one who knows that his every action is watched, and, wondering at his friend's change, the doctor rose and followed.

"Get the cigars and matches," said Mr Braine, quietly; and then in a quick whisper: "Be firm, man, and act. Light a cigar. Frank has come back."

"Thank God!" muttered the doctor, and he pressed his friend's hand before getting cigars and matches, and they stood where those in the garden could see, striking a match, and holding it between them as they lit their cigars—great coarsely-made ones of the native tobacco.

"Now, Tim, where?" said Mr Braine.

"In my room, shure, sor."

"Sit down there and smoke," said Mr Braine, in a low tone. "Take both cigars, man, and keep them alight, changing your position as you change the cigars."

"And desave the haythens. Yes, sor, I undherstand," said Tim, taking the cigars as the gentlemen prepared to descend, "and a moighty plisant way of desaving 'em," he muttered to himself, as he began smoking away; while the next minute Frank was in his father's arms, hurriedly telling him of his adventures.

"And when we heard the naga coming up the river before daybreak, we pulled in under the trees and bushes, just below the stockade," he said in conclusion, "and there we've been all day, not daring to stir, and even when it was dark we were afraid to move, till I thought of putting a sarong over my head, and coming like this. I passed lots, and no one spoke to me."

"And the boat?"

"Safe under the trees with Ned and Hamet."

"Is it big enough to hold us all?" said Mr Braine.

"Plenty."

"Heaven has sent us help!" said Mr Braine fervently. "Barnes, we must by some means get all on board to-night, and trust to the darkness to run down the river."

"But the rajah's visit?" said the doctor.

"Ah! I had forgotten that," said Mr Braine, with a groan; "the rajah and our guards; but with help and ease of mind coming like this, we must not despair. Now, doctor, go back up-stairs. One moment—your women-servants?"

"They are to be trusted."

"Then go and set my wife's mind at rest. Tell her our lives depend upon her being calm. There must be no excitement, or we shall excite suspicion. Implore your wife and child to be careful."

"And Murray and Mr Greig's?"

"Another obstacle?" exclaimed Mr Braine. "Never mind; one thing at a time. We may get the women to the boat, then we might drop down opposite to Murray's place and cut him out. But we shall see. Go on, and in a minute or two I'll bring up Frank."

The doctor went up, passed Tim, who was carefully keeping his two points of light glowing at a distance from each other, and communicated his tidings to the ladies, with the effect that Mrs Braine fainted dead away, but to recover directly, and eagerly whisper that she would be firm and not make a sound.

She kept her word, weeping silently over her son, while Mrs Barnes and Amy both clung to the lad's hands, in the faintly-lit room.

"Quick!" said Mr Braine, whose ears were preternaturally sharp. "Frank, keep here in hiding. You three come out when the doctor summons you. Come, Barnes, back to our cigars. The rajah."

They glided back into the dark warm room, after adjuring those they left to be silent, and as they took their places they could see the gleam of lights through the trees, the sight of which had roused their guard into making the sound which had warned the Resident.

"Light both the lamps, Tim," said Mr Braine; "and be guarded. The rajah is coming."

The man obeyed, and as the lights shed a softened glow through the place, the guards could see the doctor and Resident seated back smoking calmly.

"What are we to say?" said the doctor, huskily.

"Surprised at his treatment—ask for a little time—the lady startled by the unexpected demand—diplomacy—diplomacy. Let him go back thinking that you will yield."

And as these last words were uttered, the lights drew near and lit up the swarthy faces of the rajah's guards and sword-bearers filing into the grounds.

"Whatever you do, be careful. Don't seem to yield easily. We are hurt by his treatment, mind."

There was no time to say more, for the escort was already at the foot of the steps, on each side of which they formed up in a picturesque group, the lanterns they bore lighting up the showy costumes and displaying the rajah in his European uniform.

The two Englishmen advanced into the veranda to receive him, and as he mounted alone, he smiled, and waited to be asked into the room, evidently quite confident of his safety with his guard so near.

As soon as he was seated, he placed his glittering sword against his knee, and his plumed cap beside it, drawing himself up and glancing toward the doorway to make sure that he was in full sight of his guard. Then, turning to the doctor, he said in English: "Theeee—laidees."

The doctor bowed, and crossed to the inner door, which he threw open, and the prisoners came out looking pale and calm, to be received with smiles and motioned to take their seats, while the gentlemen remained standing.

"Tell them this is only a short visit," said the rajah. "To-morrow shall come, not to return alone. The lady will be with me, and we shall go to the mosque. Then my English wife will return here no more."

The Resident translated the rajah's words, though the task was needless, for all present followed him pretty well.

Then the doctor spoke, as their visitor keenly watched the effect of his words and fixed his eyes upon the shrinking girl before him. Her father's words were much as had been arranged, and the rajah listened to the interpretation patiently enough.

"Yes, yes," he said; "you are her lather. I understand. But you will be rich, and like a prince here. It is a great honour to your child. Tell him what I say."

Mr Braine repeated the rajah's words formally, and then the visitor rose, bowed and smiled with good-humoured contempt, and ended by drawing a ring from one of his fingers as he rose, walked toward Amy, and placed it upon her hand, after which he made a profound obeisance and moved toward the door.

"One moment, your highness," said the doctor. "We are your old servants and friends. You treat us as prisoners."

"No, no," he said, on Mr Braine repeating the words. "I honour you. It is a guard for my wife. Not prisoners. After to-morrow, no."

"But our English friend, Murray. Your highness will let him join us?"

The rajah, caught the name Murray, and his face grew black as night, and without waiting for the interpretation, he made an angry gesture in the negative.

"But my son and his young friend," said Mr Braine, watching him narrowly, to ascertain whether the flight was known.

The rajah gave him a meaning look, and laughed.

"After to-morrow," he said, "they will come back."

His face was all smiles once again, and he bowed to Amy, passed into the veranda, descended, and the little cortege moved out of the shady grounds. The lights slowly disappeared among the trees, while the doctor dropped the matting hangings over the door to hide the interior of the house from their guard, after which he turned to encounter the pleading face of his wife as Amy threw herself sobbing upon his breast.

Mr Braine stood looking on for a few moments in silence. Then, in a cold, stern voice, he said:

"Go back to the inner room and pray for our success. Then you have sarongs, make yourselves as much like the Malay women as you can."

"Then we shall escape?" cried Amy, joyously.

"Heaven knows!" said the Resident. "We shall try. Ah, thank goodness, here are the Greigs;" and unchallenged by the guards, Mr Greig and his wife came up to the house.



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

TIM'S HAPPY IDEA.

"Come up here, Driscol," said the doctor; and as Tim appeared Frank came to the inner doorway to creep into a corner, where he was in shadow, and could listen to what was said.

"Now, Braine," said the doctor. "We are all waiting, what do you propose?"

"I have nothing to propose. We have a guard of sixteen outside. If we could get by them, we might reach the river in the darkness. Can you tell me how to proceed?" The doctor was silent. "Frank, can you suggest anything?"

"No, father; only to fight."

"Madness, boy. Help would come directly."

"I have an idea," said the doctor, "if it would act. I should do it unwillingly, but it is our only hope that I see. Stop!—Driscol, can you help us?"

"Sure, I've been thinking hard, sor, and all I can get hold of is one idaya, and that's as shlippery as an oysther out of its shell."

"Speak, man, what is it?"

"To wait a bit, and thin go round wid a thick shtick and bate all their heads."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Mr Braine.

"That's what I said to meself, sor, for I saw while I was quieting one, he would make a noise, and—ye see if I could hit all their heads at wance."

"Hush! silence!" said the doctor. "Braine, the only thing I can propose is to fill a vessel with wine and—drug it."

"No," said Mr Braine, sternly. "For one thing they are Mussulmans, and it is forbidden; some would not drink. For another—"

"They'd be suspicious, and would not touch it," said Frank, quickly.

"Quite right, Frank," said his father.

"Then if I medicated some cigars," whispered the doctor.

"Oh, then," said Frank, "they'd roll them in the waists of their sarongs, and save them to cut up and smoke in their hubble-bubbles to-morrow."

"Yes; it is hopeless," said the doctor, despondently; and there was a long silence broken by Tim.

"Whisht! masther dear," he said, "would the rat poison taste much?"

"Poison? No. Who said a word about poison? I should only send them to sleep."

"Oh!" said Tim, "a short slape; not the very long one. Would it taste, sor?"

"No, my man; why?"

"Thin, bedad, I have it. Ye nivver touched the shmall cakes for dinner: put some of the stuff into thim, and I'll shtale out with a whole trayful and a bottle of wine from down below, jist as if it's me being civil to the bastes, and I'll offer 'em the wine, and they won't touch it, but I will, and dhrink of it heartily. They won't think there's anny desait in it then, and I'll offer 'em the cakes, and ate a shpare one or two that I'll kape on one side."

"Tim, you're a scoundrel!" cried Mr Braine, excitedly.

"Sure, that's what my mother always said, sor," replied Tim, modestly; "but, masther dear, ye wouldn't put any rat poi—shlaping stuff, I mane, into the wine."

"And rob ourselves of our right hand?" said the doctor, warmly. "No!"

"Thank ye, sor," said Tim. "I thought I'd say that, for ye may remimber once making a mistake, and nearly cut off your right hand—I mane meself."

"It was not a mistake, Tim, but an experiment with one of the native medicines."

"Faix, it just was, sor, and I'll niver forget it. But ye'll look loively, sor. There's plinty of the little cakes iv Masther Frank didn't ate thim all."

"I did not touch them, Tim," said Frank, eagerly.

"Then the day's our own, sor. You come down and docthor 'em, and I'll go and prepare the syle for the sade."

"What are you going to do?" said Mr Braine, quickly.

"Only shmoke me poipe in the gyarden, sor, and soother and blarney them over a bit. It'll kim aisier, thin, to go in and fetch a bit and sup from the panthry, and not be so suddint like. They're such desayving thayves of the world, they suspect everybody."

Tim went down, and the doctor busied himself at a medicine-chest for a few minutes before following him.

"Now, Greig, help me," said the Resident, turning down the lamps a little. "Frank, keep out of sight in case we are watched. You know where the doctor keeps his ammunition."

"Yes, father," was the reply, and the pair busied themselves in examining revolvers and guns, placing ammunition ready for flight, and finally arming the ladies, and thrusting an ornamental kris from the walls into their belts.

Then weapons were placed ready for the doctor and his man, their arrangements being about complete as the former returned looking pale and anxious.

"Ah," he said, on seeing the preparations, "that's right. It's hard to leave all our treasures and collections."

"Yes; but we must think only of ourselves."

"Of our wives and children," said Greig, quietly.

"Yes. But, tell me, what have you done?"

"Put a strong opiate in every cake."

"But those who take it—does it mean risk to their lives?"

"No. The worst that can happen may be a day or two's illness after. That is not what I fear," said the doctor, significantly.

"What then?"

"The rajah's punishment of the poor wretches."

"Hah!" ejaculated Mr Braine, "but we must be selfish here for others' sake."

A few more preparations were made by Frank's suggestion, every scrap of food from below being placed in a couple of baskets; the two women who assisted Tim in the house having gone for the night some time before.

"Now," said the doctor, "what next? Matches and a lantern."

These were placed ready; a few comforting words said to the ladies—who were now calm, firm, and helpful, looking strangely Malayan in their garb, for they had trenched upon a store which, they had saved up as mementoes of their sojourn in the jungle—and then all sat down to listen and wait, the strange forest sounds coming faintly to their ears, mingled with the occasional mutterings of their guard.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

NED IS OBSTINATE.

Tim acted his part well. He strolled out from his "panthry," and sauntered along to where the chief of the guard stood gazing at him sternly; and trusting to the pretty good smattering of Malay he had picked up, he said quietly: "Going to be on guard all night?" The Malay nodded.

"Sorry for you," said Tim, beginning to fill his pipe. "I did six months' soldiering myself when I was a mere lad, and it was hard work keeping awake on sentry-go."

He struck a match and lit his pipe, lighting up the scowling face of the guard and his own good-humoured phiz.

"I say," he continued, "next boat you gentlemen overhaul, look sharp after the matches, if they've brought any up from Malacca, for we're getting short, and I don't care to take to the flint and steel."

Tim nodded and went on, smoking, to make the round of the place, stopping to say a word or two to the other armed men in his easy good-tempered way, seasoning his remarks with a joke or two, while the lightning flickered in a bank of black clouds across the river.

By degrees he made his way back to the head-man, and began to talk confidentially.

"I say," he said, "I suppose we shall all be big people now, when the rajah has married me young lady."

The Malay laughed softly, contemptuously. "Oh yes," he said. "Perhaps he'll make you Muntrie or Tumongong."

"Get out, making fun of a boy," said Tim, good-humouredly. "Well, good-luck to you, I've nearly finished my pipe. I'm tired, and going in to sleep. Take care of us. Good-night."

The Malay wished him good-night, and Tim turned to go, but stopped and pulled out his pouch.

"Have a bit o' tibakky!" he said. "It's the master's. Some the rajah gave him."

The Malay nodded eagerly, and Tim gave him two or three pipefuls.

"Here," he said, "I've got a lot. The master don't like it, and tells me to help myself. I'll fetch a bit for the other boys."

Tim lounged off, and at the end of a few minutes, with a small basket made of thin strips of bamboo, and still smoking, sauntered up to the head-man.

"Call 'em up," he said, in a low voice. "Don't talk loud; they've not gone to bed yet indoors."

The Malay gave Tim a peculiar searching look, but the Irishman was tapping the ash out of his pipe and putting it in his pocket, after which he took a brass box from the basket just as the Malay uttered a low guttural sound, and his men stole up silently one by one.