“It was somewhere about here—somewhere about here,” whispered Ned. “Yes, I know! Here!”
He pointed to a narrow rift just before him, and into this, as the ladies came up, he led them; the others followed, and they had hardly all passed from the heat and glow of the day into the cool darkness of the cavern into which Ned had slipped on his first expedition, when a big swarthy-looking Malay brushed by the bushes which masked the entrance, followed by two more, who paused and shouted.
“The heathens!” muttered Tim, who was the last to enter; “they’ve found us, and I’ve lost me poipe.”
There was an answering shout, and the men went on, while those in the cave breathed more freely. They were for the moment safe.
There was shout after shout, now more distant, now close at hand, for, to the dismay of the fugitives, the Malays did not go far, but, as if scenting their prey, turned back, and came by the narrow crack again and again, and those within wondered that they passed it unseen, for the eager excited faces of the Malays were plain enough, and once they were not more than twenty yards away.
“There is some reason for their hanging about,” whispered Mr Braine, as he stood there pistol in hand. “They must know of the place.”
As he spoke there was a fresh shout, and four spear-armed men came to where the big fellow the fugitives had before seen was standing, rolling his opal eyes in every direction.
There was an answering shout from high up overhead, and as Ned stood gazing out past Mr Braine, he saw one of the men down the slope give a sudden leap, stoop down, and after securing something, hold up a bamboo-and-reed pipe.
“Bedad, they’ve found it,” murmured Tim. “It fell out of me pocket.”
“You’ve lost us now, Tim,” whispered Frank.