"—they might drop us down that grating in the floor, toss us into the Bosphorus the way Abdul the Damned used to dispose of his enemies. There are lots of things they could do with us. They will think that even if they have to scrag us they will still have the Kings and Watty to work on."
"Don't be too comforting," I observed with feeble sarcasm.
Nikka roused himself.
"There is no sense in abandoning hope," he remarked. "Is this any worse than that pill-box at Le Ferriere?"
"Good old Nikka," said Hugh affectionately. "I say, if I had to make an ass of myself I'd rather do it with two such prime—"
"Asses?" I suggested.
"—Not even to you would I say that, Jack," he retorted. "By the way, lads, we're not running true to form. In every tale I ever read in which brave, resourceful men were made prisoners, they gnawed each other's ropes and so gained their freedom."
Nikka chuckled at this.
"If I tried to reach either of you I'd roll over on my face," he said. "I've already tested the knots around my wrists. It would take a strong man half an hour to untie them, and a very sharp knife to hack through them. The only way we shall be freed is by help from outside."
"That means not at all," replied Hugh. "Let's try for a nap. It must be some hours to daylight yet—not that that matters any in this dark hole."