“Tell them to bring some water,” he said, querulously; and Frank, who grasped the idea that there was something particular in the way, gave the order sharply to the man, who retired directly, and returned in a few minutes with another bearing a vessel of some pleasant, cool drink, of which Ned partook with avidity.
“Leave a fellow a drop,” said Frank; and the half-full vessel was handed to him. “Ah, it ain’t bad,” he continued, as he too drank heartily. “There, be off. Thank you,” he added, in Malay; “the light hurts my eyes.”
The man smiled as he took the vessel, and as Ned watched through his half-closed eyes, he saw that there was the gleam of spears in the outer room. Then the matting dropped behind their jailers, the bamboo floor creaked, the last rays of the light disappeared, and Frank rose softly, crept to the doorway, and peered under the matting.
“They’re all out on the veranda,” he whispered, as he returned. “What was the matter?”
Ned told him, and Frank uttered an excited “Ah!”
Then after a long silence:
“It’s help come. P’r’aps it’s old Hamet. Bah! you were dreaming.”
“No; I am sure.”
“Then,” said Frank, with his lips close to his companion’s ear; “if you were awake, there must be a hole for the hand to come through.”
And as Ned listened, he heard the faint rustling of his companion’s hand moving here and there, and then there was a heavy catching breath, and Frank’s fingers were placed over his lips.