“It might have been worse, Murray,” said Mr Braine, as they ascended the steps, and dimly made out that the leader of the little party of guards was posting his men here and there.
“Been worse!” said Murray, angrily, as he threw himself upon a divan, “impossible!”
“Possible,” said Mr Braine, quietly. “We are not quite prisoners, and are at liberty to plot and plan. They are very cunning, these people; but we English have some brains. It must be getting on toward morning. Let’s have some coffee, and a quiet smoke.”
“Oh, how can you take things so quietly!” cried Murray.
“Because I am more at ease. Those boys are alive. He would not kill them. He felt that they were in the way of his plans. They must have done something to make him act as he has done.”
“If I could only be sure of that,” said Murray, “it would be one trouble the less.”
Mr Braine clapped his hands. A quiet-looking Malay entered the room, trimmed the lamp, and went out again, to return with water-pipes and a pan of charcoal; after which he retired as silently as he came, and once more entered bearing a tray with coffee.
“Smoke, drink your coffee, my dear fellow,” said Mr Braine, quietly.
“I cannot.”
“You must, man; you want your brain clear and your body rested.”