As they reached the foot of the steps, the doctor stepped forward, and then said that he would descend.
“She is asleep at last,” he whispered. “Thank you for coming. You need not be so anxious now. Go back, and I promise you both that I will send Driscol on if there is the slightest need of your help. There is not likely to be anything but a quiet insistence on his part, and this must be met firmly.”
“There is likely to be something more than quiet insistence, Doctor Barnes,” said Murray, sternly. “We have come to bring bad news. Those two lads have been spirited away.”
“What!” cried the doctor, excitedly. “No, no; surely not. They were favourites with the rajah. Some accident or some prank. They are only boys; perhaps my man Driscol has— No, no, no. He is here in the house. But think again; had they any idea of trying some kind of night fishing, or shooting? Yes, of course. I heard Frank tell my child that he was going to sit up and watch with a Malay—of course—in the jungle, to try and trap or shoot a specimen or two of the argus pheasant for you, Mr Murray.—That is it, depend upon it, Braine.”
“No,” said the Resident, despondently. “He would not have gone to-night after such a weary day, and he would not have gone without telling me his plans. He told me everything, even to his trifling fishing trips on the river. There is something more—an accident, or he has been carried off.”
“What! by the crocodiles?” said Murray, suddenly.
“No, no; I don’t fear that. Come, man, we must be up and at work now.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Murray, eagerly, for he was quivering with the intense desire he felt to be in action.
“I am going to the Tumongong. He has always been my friend.”
“The man who was watching and listening to-night!”