“It’s neck or nothing,” I grumbled. “If we’re spotted everything goes smash, and we’ll probably be in for it. I’m hanged if those fellows in the camp who cussed us for nuisances are worth the risk.”
We were still pondering gloomy possibilities when heavy footsteps sounded on our stairs, and paused on the landing outside.
“Htebsi-gituriorum-effendiler-htebsi-i-i.”
Hill and I looked at each other. The noise was like nothing on earth.
“Htebsi-gituriorum-htebsi-i-i-i,” again.
“Somebody sneezing, I think,” said Hill, and opened the door.
It was the Commandant’s second orderly. We never knew his name, so because he was in rags, and looked starved, and had the biggest feet in Asia, we called him “Cinderella” for short.
In his hands was an enormous blue tray, piled with enamel dishes, from which came a most appetising odour of baked meats. Cinderella advanced cautiously into the room. He was obviously afraid of us two criminals, but he was much more nervous about the tray. He wore the look I have seen on the face of a bachelor holding a baby, and seemed to expect everything to come to pieces in his great hands. Very gingerly he sidled round the table, keeping it between him and ourselves, and placed the tray upon it.
“Htebsi!” he said again with a sigh of relief, and pointing to the tray he left us.
“He was not sneezing after all, Bones. ‘Htebsi’ must mean grub or something. Let’s see.” Hill began to uncover the dishes, I helping him.