"Because the Sahib Prince's servant thinks if the cabin is taken down and thrown into the river to float away, the boat can be pushed between the big posts of the landing-place, and will lie under the bamboo floor."
"Yes, when the tide's down," said Harry; "but when the tide rises, what then?"
"The boat will be pushed close up against the bottom of the floor, and the water will rise a little round it, Sahib."
"But we should be shut up like in a trap, Sree, and regularly caught," said Harry.
"No, Sahib; the bamboos are split, and only tied down with rotan cane. It would be easy to undo two or three, so that we could pass out, or to leave a little of the boat outside one end, so that there would be room to get out on to the floor."
"Well, you are a clever old fellow, Sree," said Harry eagerly. "And now the bungalow is burnt no one will come there."
"No, Sahib; they will keep away. Does Sahib Kenyon feel that we should go there?"
"Yes, my man, yes. It will be less of a risk, for boats that pass will not think of meddling with the one lying there."
That was enough. Sree said one word, and Adong rose from where he had crouched, plunged his oar into the water, and forced the boat downward against the tide, while Sree and the boatmen set to work and cut loose the mats which hung from the cabin roof. These were carefully rolled up by one of the men, while the bamboo rafters were cut away. Then four men stood on the sides of the boat, each by one of the stout uprights, and at the word of command raised the light matting and palm-thatch roof, and heaved it away, to fall edgewise with a splash into the dark river.
Ten minutes later the last of the four uprights was thrust overboard, and almost directly after the garden landing-place was reached, and Sree's calculations were put to the test.