“Don’t, father!” was the result, as Frank spoke, without unclosing his eyes. “Let me lie a bit longer. My head is so bad.”
“Frank, old chap, wake up. Where are we? What does it all mean?”
The boy opened his eyes and sat up, stared round, rubbed himself, and then gazed at his companion.
“I—what does it mean? I—what—I remember now. Some one jumped on me and stuffed something into my mouth. I thought it was you then. It was that Hamet. What does he mean? Here, we’re not tied now; let’s get out of this. I say, where’s my kris?”
He sprang up, and Ned followed his example, both making for the doorway, but only to be confronted directly by four spearmen, who effectually barred the way.
“Eh,” said Frank, thoughtfully, “that’s it, is it? ’Tisn’t one of Hamet’s games. Here you,” he continued, speaking now in Malay; “what does all this mean? Why are we brought here?”
One of the men answered respectfully enough, and Frank turned from the door to face his companion.
“Those are the rajah’s chaps, and that fellow says we are to stay here. I know: they thought we were going to cut off in that boat. Here you, where’s Hamet?”
The man addressed looked at him half smilingly, but made no reply.
“He won’t speak,” said Frank, impatiently. “It’s no good to try. You might as well ask questions of a cocoa-nut. I hope they haven’t given him the kris. Here, you: tell me this—Hamet—has he had the kris?”