Hamet listened respectfully till it had been decided that the only way was for the party to creep up silently, seize and bind the guard, and then retreat at once—a rather reckless proceeding, but one that seemed to them the most likely to succeed—and then he whispered a few words to Ned.
“Hamet proposes, sir, that we should try to communicate with my uncle from the back of the house or the roof. He says he could climb the durian tree and break through quietly.”
“Then let him try,” said Mr Braine, eagerly. “We will be ready to support him and attack if it is necessary.”
Hamet drew in his breath at these words, and assuming the lead, took the party round through garden after garden, till they were only a few yards from the house, where they stood listening to a low, murmured conversation, which told where the guards had stationed themselves; and then going down on hands and knees, he crept away from them, leaving the others breathless with excitement, and listening for the alarm.
In a couple of minutes the Malay was back to catch Ned’s hand and draw him away, to put in force the tactics which had enabled him to rescue the two lads on the previous night.
Ned followed him with beating heart, till they were beside one of the palm-tree posts which supported the house, and then submitting to the Malay’s busy hands, he found himself placed with his arms grasping the post and his body curved a little, and comprehending the man’s plans, he stood firm, while Hamet reached up as high as he could, planted one bare foot on the boy’s back, the other on his shoulder, and then the bamboo supports of the matting walls creaked softly, as with the agility of a monkey he passed along to where the durian tree stretched a branch over the roof, upon which, by the help of the bough, he managed to swing himself, and then all was silent again.
Thump—thump—thump—thump. Ned felt his heart beat as he listened to the murmuring of the Malay guards’ voices which came under the house, and as the boy stood there, his ears were strained for the next noise Hamet might make, wondering the while whether the guard would hear.
He was so near the spot where Murray would be lying, that he felt he had only to raise his voice a little to announce their presence, but he dared not speak. Then he started, for he knew that Hamet was at work, for there was a faint rustling, with an occasional crack, as of the breaking of a leaf; and as the boy stood there in the darkness, he knew that Hamet was cautiously cutting through the attap thatch, scrap by scrap, for now little pieces no bigger than elm-leaves began to fall about him.
This went on for what seemed to be an interminable length of time, and he began wondering how a Malay who knew so well how his fellow-countrymen made a roof, could be so long in making a hole big enough for a human body to pass, when a familiar voice close to his ear, as it seemed to him, exclaimed:
“Who’s there? Stop, or I fire.”