"I say, this is a rum set-out, Bertie," drawled Chumbley. "I suppose
you are there?"
"Yes, I am here, or there, as you choose to call it," replied Hilton,
rather bitterly, for his bonds gave him no little pain.
"I will loosen the rajahs now," said the voice that Chumbley had heard
all through his unpleasant adventure.
Busy hands were now about them, and a knife was used to cut them free;
but their limbs were so cramped by the long confinement, and so tightly
bound, that they could hardly move.
Then the handkerchiefs were removed from their eyes, and they lay back
on the soft matting gazing about them, the subdued light of the large
room in which they found themselves being very grateful to their dazzled
eyes.
The man who had set them free from the cords was a stern-looking,
muscular Malay in plain cotton jacket and sarong, in whose folds were
stuck a couple of formidable-looking krisses; and the place in which the
prisoners' eyes struggled with the light was a tolerably large room
floored with split bamboo, the walls being for the most part a kind of
basket-work of cane, partially covered with native woven hangings, while
the floor was pretty well hidden by Persian and Turkish rugs.
Everything looked cool and comfortable; and, in spite of the absence of
tables and chairs, there was a good deal of elegance in the way in which
various ornaments of bronze and china were arranged about the apartment.
Here and there, too, were objects of European manufacture, principally
in glass, Italian imitations of old Venice being principally chosen.
Naturally enough the first glances of the prisoners were aimed at the
windows, of which there were two, and at the door; but they were
evidently strongly made, and though the bars of the windows were but
wood, they were stout bamboos externally almost as hard to cut as flint.
The Malay saw their looks; and making a sign to them, he crossed to the
door and threw it open, admitting with the rays of the morning sun the
glinting of the spear-heads of half a dozen stout Malay guards.
Closing the door, he beckoned to the prisoners to come to the windows.
Hilton essayed to rise, but sank back upon his mats with an ejaculation
indicative of pain, for the attempt was full of suffering to his swollen
limbs.
Chumbley, though in pain, was more successful, or more fall of
fortitude, for he struggled to his feet, and heavily tottered across the
bamboos and mats to the window, which was covered with a
beautifully-scented creeper, and through which a pleasant prospect was
visible of undulating woodland and dense jungle.
"Quite fresh to me," muttered Chumbley; "I wonder where we are?"
Not till he had had this glance round did he pay any heed to the Malay,
who was pointing to a group below each window of three well-armed men.
"They are to kill you if you try to go," he said, quietly; and then,
with a meaning smile, he left the room, fastening the door with some
kind of bar.
"This is atrocious!" cried Hilton, as he bit his lip, and pressed his
swollen wrists; while Chumbley dropped at full length upon the mats,
turned upon his back, and began to rub his legs.
"A--bom--i--na--ble," he drawled.
"That scoundrel Murad is at the bottom of it, I'll swear," cried Hilton.
"Hang the fellow! I could shoot him like a dog."
"You should have hung him or shot him before he carried out this game,"
said Chumbley, rubbing away very softly, and evidently feeling a good
deal of satisfaction as his reward.
"It is to get me out of the way while he resumes his attentions to--you
know," he cried, peevishly; "but he might have saved himself the
trouble, for I've done."
"He seems to have had an idea of going it wholesale," drawled Chumbley,
"or else he wouldn't have brought me."
"What shall we do now?" said Hilton, altering his position, for the
numbing sensation was passing off.
"As soon as ever I've done rubbing my legs," said Chumbley, "I'm going
to have another cigar; and then if they don't bring us breakfast I shall
have a nap, for I feel as if it would do Mr Chumbley good."
"Chumbley, I haven't patience with you!" cried Hilton.
"Not when you have pins and needles in your legs, dear boy; but have a
weed to soothe you, and then you can philosophise over our trouble.
Say, old chap."
"What?"
"No parade this morning--no drill. No anything to do at all but lie
here and smoke. Hah! this is a nice one. Look out, old man. Catch!"
To Hilton's annoyance his friend coolly took a cigar from his case,
struck a light, and having ignited the end of his roll of tobacco-leaf,
he pitched case and match-box to his friend, then lay back and smoked.
For a few minutes Hilton gazed at him in an angry, disgusted manner; but
the process of smoking looked so calming in its effects upon his friend,
that he submitted to the desire to imitate him, and proceeded to light a
cigar himself; but before he had been smoking many minutes, a regular
hard breathing told him that Chumbley was dozing, and sure enough he was
lying there, heedless of present trouble and that to come, his cigar
tightly held between his teeth, and his breath coming and going, as he
slept placidly and well.
"I always thought Chumbley cool," muttered Hilton in an annoyed way;
"but he really is the coolest fellow I ever met. Why, that villain may
kill us to-morrow--to-day for what I know. Oh, it's monstrous! and all
through that wretched, coquettish girl."
"I hate myself!" he said, after a few minutes' pause. Why, he did not
say, but he, too, lay back and indulged in his friend's bad habit,
feeling gradually calmer and more at rest, especially as the furtive rub
he gave from time to time at one or other of the places where the bonds
had been was mollifying in its effect.
Chumbley was fast asleep; of that there could be no doubt, so Hilton
determined that it was his duty to watch for both. He could not go to
sleep at a time like this, so he began thinking about Helen, muttering
angrily the while; but by degrees his countenance softened, his eyes
closed, his cigar fell from his lips, the infection of Chumbley's
despised readiness to sleep came over him, and, quite exhausted, he,
too, lay breathing heavily, and perfectly unconscious of the lapse of
time. Naturally enough he dreamed of Helen and her careless coquettish
treatment of his love, which was rapidly cooling down, like the lava
after some violent eruption, and giving place to a hard and bitter anger
at her heartless ways.
As for Chumbley he was too weary to dream, but slept on as calmly as if
he were in his own cot at the fort; perhaps more calmly, for the
well-ventilated room was shaded by waving cocoa-palms and the branches
of a great durian-tree, while the large leaves of banana kept the
sun-rays from the glassless window.
At intervals of about an hour the Malay came in, and stepping softly
towards them, seemed to assure himself that they were both asleep, going
out directly with a satisfied smile as he saw how calmly they were
resting.
"They are brave men, these English," he muttered. "They will do. It is
right. They do not know but that this may be their last day on earth,
and yet they sleep."
Mid-day had long passed before Chumbley awoke suddenly, as if influenced
by the presence of the tall Malay, who was standing by him.
"Hallo, old chap!" he drawled, "have I been asleep? I say, have I been
asleep?" he added, in the Malay tongue.
"Since morning, rajah, and it is now past mid-day," replied the Malay,
respectfully.
"Here, hi! Hilton! Wake up, old man!" cried Chumbley; and his
fellow-prisoner leaped up, looking vacantly before him for a moment or
two, and then growing angry as he realised where they were.
The Malay retired at once, and a couple of fresh men entered, bringing
brass basins with water, cloths, and English-made hair brushes, and
soap. These the two officers gladly used, Chumbley uttering grunts of
satisfaction as he indulged in a good wash, and ended by carefully
adjusting his short crisp hair.
"That's better, lad," he said. "One feels more like a human being now."
"Yes," replied Hilton, smiling. "It is surprising what a degraded
creature a man feels when he has not made acquaintance for some hours
with soap and water."
"Come, that's more cheery, my noble. Why, I believe, old fellow, that
this affair is doing you good!"
"I suppose I am a little rested," said Hilton, quietly. "Take away
those things," he said to the Malays, who both bowed respectfully and
withdrew.
"I say, Hilton," said Chumbley, "I suppose this really is Murad's game,
isn't it?"
"No doubt. Of course it is!"
"Well, he is doing the thing civilly. I wonder whether he treats all
his prisoners like this? Hallo! what's this mean--an execution sheet or
a tablecloth?"
"The latter," said Hilton, quickly.
"And quite right too," exclaimed Chumbley. "I say, how hungry I do
feel!"
These last remarks were elicited by the fact that the tall Malay had
returned, ushering in half a dozen more, who quickly spread a white
tablecloth in the English fashion; and to the surprise of the prisoners
they were served with a capital breakfast, which included, among native
luxuries, coffee, very good claret, roast and curried chickens, and
fairly-made bread.
"Look here," said Chumbley, who was staring ravenously at the
preparations, "if you have any suspicions about the food being poisoned,
don't say a word about it, old man, until I have fed."
"Oh, absurd!" replied Hilton. "Why should it be poisoned?"
"I don't know, and I don't want to know!" exclaimed Chumbley. "Only let
us leave all other discussion till we have discussed our breakfast;" and
seating himself in the Malay fashion upon the floor, he at once set an
example to his companion, that Hilton was fain to follow.
"As that fellow said somewhere, `a child might play with me now,'"
sighed Chumbley, and wiping his lips, in token of having finished, he
leaned back against the divan. "Done?"
"Yes," said Hilton, gloomily, "I have done."
"I wish you had done being glumpy," said Chumbley. "Why, this is quite
a pleasant change. I say, executioner," he cried, in the Malay tongue,
"I have emptied my case. Can we have some cigars?"
The tall Malay, who had been standing with folded arms, looking like a
swarthy statue, bowed respectfully, and left the room, the men coming in
directly to remove the remains of the breakfast; while their leader
returned at the end of a few minutes with a box of cigars, a jar of
tobacco, and a couple of large pipes, one of which, a kind of hookah,
Chumbley at once appropriated, filled, and began to smoke.
"I say, Hilton, old man, failing the costume--which wants brushing, by
the way--I feel quite the Rajah. Take it easy, lad. 'Tisn't half bad
for a change."
"Hang it, Chumbley, you would make yourself contented anywhere!" cried
Hilton, who, now that his hunger was appeased, began to grow angry once
more. "Put down that pipe, and let's see if we cannot contrive some
means of getting away from here."
"Eh?"
"I say put away that pipe, and let's plan how to get away."
"Not if I know it," replied Chumbley. "The tobacco is delicious, and
I'm not going to spoil my digestion by putting myself in a fever
directly after a meal."
"But we must make some plans!" cried Hilton.
"Must we? Well, by-and-by will do. I'm very comfortable; and as long
as a fellow is comfortable, what more can he want? There, light up and
do as I do. I don't know that I want to escape at all if the _cuisine_
is to be kept up to this mark."
"But we are prisoners!"
"So we are at the island, man alive. We couldn't help being brought
here; but now we are here, we may as well make the best of it. What
splendid tobacco! Real Latakie!"
Hilton fretted and fumed; and finding that he could not move his friend,
he went to door and window, examined the walls, and looked up at the
open roof; but Chumbley did not move, he merely seemed to be studying
their position in the coolest way.
"Look here, sit down, old fellow," he exclaimed at last, just as Hilton
had worked himself into a heat, "it doesn't seem to me to be of any use
to fret and fume. Have a little patience, and let's see whether this
has been done by our dark friend, or else what it does mean."
"How can a man have patience," cried Hilton, "seized in this ruffianly
way!"
"'Twas rough certainly," said Chumbley, slowly.
"Torn from his quarters--"
"To better ones, my dear old man. Let's play fair. One doesn't get
such a breakfast as this at the fort."
"Dragged from his love!" cried Hilton, who did not seem to heed his
companion's remarks.
"Well, that last's all sentiment, old man," drawled Chumbley. "For my
part I think it will do you good. I say--happy thought, Hilton--Helen
Perowne's at the bottom of this, and wanting to get rid of you, has had
you carried away. Me too, for fear I should make the running in your
absence."
"Do you wish to quarrel, Chumbley?" cried Hilton.
"Not I. You couldn't quarrel with me. But joking apart, old man, I saw
enough yesterday to know that you had got to the end of your tether, and
that--"
"And that what?" cried Hilton, fiercely; for Chumbley had halted in his
speech.
"That she had pitched you over, same as she had a score of others before
you."
"Silence! It is a falsehood--a calumny--a damned lie! How dare you say
that?"
"Oh, easy enough!" said Chumbley, without moving a muscle. "It's just
waggling one's tongue a bit. Bully away, old man, I don't mind; and
you'll feel better when you've rid yourself of all that spleen."
"As to Miss Perowne knowing of this--"
"Oh, that's absurd, of course!" cried Chumbley; "but she has pitched you
over, old man, and you now belong to the ranks of the unblessed."
"I cannot quarrel with you, Chumbley," said Hilton, cooling down,
"because I know you to be too good a fellow to slight; but will you talk
sense?"
"Yes, dear boy, of course I will; but I wish you'd try this tobacco.
This is sense that I am going to say now. I feel sure that we have been
kidnapped so that our new friends may get a nice little sum for us out
of the British Government."
"Well, it is likely," said Hilton, whose anger had been of a fleeting
nature. "But if they do not get the ransom--what then?"
"That's an unpleasant emergency that it is not worth while to consider
until we know that negotiations have failed. It is unpleasant, dear
boy, because I suppose we should then get a taste of kris, applied in a
dexterous manner peculiar to the Malays, through the hollow of the left
shoulder. But that would only be a _dernier ressort_, and a thousand
things might happen in the meantime. It will all come right in the
end."
Seeing that Chumbley was determined to make the best of their position,
Hilton gradually began to take somewhat of the same tone; and agreeing
with his friend that at present any attempt at escape would be folly, he
partook heartily of the excellent second meal provided for them,
questioned their guard, but obtained no information whatever as to where
they were and why they had been brought, and ended by seating himself by
the open window and listening to the weird noises of the jungle as
darkness fell.
Feeling weary at last, Hilton sought his couch, and lay thinking once
more of Helen, wondering where she was, but with less excitement than of
old; and somehow the sweet, earnest face of Grey Stuart rose like a
pleasant picture before him, as he fell asleep, thinking that if Helen,
with her beauteous face, had only had the sweet disposition of her
schoolfellow and companion, what a lovable woman she would have been.
Chumbley was dropping off to sleep at the same time, and he too was
thinking of Helen Perowne, and that nature was guilty of making a great
mistake in sending such girls abroad upon the earth.
"In fact," said Chumbley, who was in a drowsy state of content with the
rest, good meals, wine and coffee--"in fact, old fellow, I begin to
think that women are a great mistake altogether, and I for one am
perfectly cured."
Sleep spread her drowsy wings over his eyes at this point, and his
heretical notions had no farther play, for his slumber was dreamless,
and he like his friend passed a calm and pleasant night.
They awoke early, and breakfasted in keeping with their time of rising;
after which, finding themselves quite alone, and seeing that they were
not watched, they had a good quiet investigation of the place, doing
what Chumbley called, "a bit of engineering."
"Don't seem feasible at present," said Chumbley at the end of the look
round.
"Unless we could bribe the guards," replied Hilton.
"Yes, it would only be throwing away energy just at present. Let's bide
a wee, as old Stuart would say. I say, old chap, talk about old Stuart,
why don't you marry his pretty little lassie?"
"Why don't you keep that Solomon-like intellect of yours to bear on the
subject in hand?" retorted Hilton. "I've done with women."
"So have I," said Chumbley. "I'd turn monk if I were offered a nice
cell with good shooting and fishing."
"You're a queer fish yourself, Chum," said Hilton, laughing; "but
seriously, we must get away from here. It is perfectly absurd!
Kidnapped, and nothing else!"
"Quite a romance," replied Chumbley; "but never mind. We shall know
what our ransom is to be to-night."
"I wonder whether Harley is taking steps to find us?"
"Sure to be, unless he thinks we are drowned," replied Chumbley.
"There's no knowing. I believe my hat went floating down the river."
"I hope not," said Hilton. "If he thought that he would not search for
us."
"Not till he heard about the ransom. I say, old fellow, I'm tired of
smoking, I wonder whether they have a billiard table, or chess?"
"Pshaw."
"Well, then, a pea-rifle to pot the birds."
"Very likely," said Hilton, drily, as they sat by the open window,
looking out at the soft shadows of the coming night.
"I'd give something to know really why we are boxed up here," said
Chumbley, after a long silence. "It can't be anything connected with
the station, or I should be in a terrible fidget. It must be something
to do with us alone."
"Yes," replied Hilton; "but it is all darkness at present."
For the moment it was; but the light came all at once as they sat there
having a similar conversation on the evening of the third day, after
vainly trying to get some information from their guard, for just before
sunset the door was thrown open, and looking very handsome and
picturesque, and evidently as if she had paid great attention to her
toilet, the Inche Maida entered; and as the two officers started up, she
walked straight towards Hilton with extended hand.