My relief was considerable when O’Hara whispered:
“Don’t worry; Fae Fae expects me, and it’s not her who is going to scream.” Then, in a tense whisper, he added: “Besides, she sleeps alone, away from the rest of the palace folk.”
“Thank God for that much!” thought I, as we once more started to creep, like two monstrous slugs, down the floor of the corridor.
O’Hara suddenly stopped. My heart gave a slight flutter. I knew we had arrived outside Fae Fae’s chamber. I heard my comrade give two soft taps—so, “tap!” “tap!”—on the door’s bamboo panel with his knuckles. Each tap seemed to echo and re-echo down the silent corridor. I was thankful that I had drunk deeply from the whisky-flask which O’Hara had so thoughtfully handed me. Had we been about to seize a heathen man, or even an old woman, the matter would have seemed different. Notwithstanding that I had knocked about the world, the thought of so rudely disturbing a maiden’s slumber and those romantic ideals which I can find no name for here, had still a great influence over me. Consequently, I paused on the threshold of that chamber. She was an innocent girl, none need doubt that much. To the reader, who has never plunged into such a midnight venture as I tell of here, I can confidently say that he would require a little artificial stimulant to buck his courage up were he placed under like circumstances. There’s something eerie in creeping into a semi-heathen palace and crawling down an interminable corridor to seize a maid as she sleeps in her chamber. And all this, mind you, not for one’s self, but for another! And, again, there was not only the danger of detection by that heathen crew to reckon with, but also the French officials, who would assuredly give us penal servitude in the calaboose (jail), or transport us to Noumea should they catch us on this mad venture. But for the fact that we had youth’s superabundant confidence on our side, I am sure we should never have ventured on such an escapade. I recall the breathless hush of that supreme moment when O’Hara once more gently tapped the maiden’s door.
“Fae Fae!” he whispered.
How eagerly we listened! Only a faint moan came from the forest palms just outside, then all was silent again.
“Begorra, she’s not there,” came in an agonized whisper from O’Hara.
Our hearts thumped—we heard a rustling sound, which resembled a noise made by someone yawning. An uncomfortable suspicion flashed through my brain: Had O’Hara mistaken the room? and was that chamber occupied by some mighty chief?
“What’s that?” I said in a tense whisper, as that eerie sound came again, with the soft patter of bare feet. “Look out, pal!” I whispered, instinctively ducking my head in some vague idea that a club was falling on it!
O’Hara tapped again, then softly called the maid’s name. I looked up, my heart in my mouth, as we crouched there, both on our hands and knees. The door creaked. We watched—and it was being slowly opened. Through a chink, that was no wider than two inches, peeped two sparkling eyes, half hidden by dishevelled tresses—it was Fae Fae!