Frank signed to them to stoop and follow him. Bending low, he crept along below the verandah, stopped for a moment to peep into a room, and finding that it was a bedroom and empty, led them on towards the kitchen. This, too, a glance showed to be unoccupied. But the servant must be near at hand, for Frank heard the splashing of water and the clatter of crockery. He must be washing up.
Moving still more cautiously, Frank came to the corner of the building. He looked round. Just outside the door a young sallow-hued oriental was washing up in a trough. Frank stole back to his men.
"Parker, you'll come with me," he whispered. "I'll leave you here, Moggs, to watch that fellow. If you hear a row inside the building, collar him and keep him quiet. But don't move otherwise unless I call you."
"Ay, ay, sir."
Followed by Parker, he went to the French window of the empty bedroom, gently forced the catch with his clasp knife, and entered. Tiptoeing across it, he passed out of the open door, into a short passage. From the left he heard the faint sounds of the cook's movements: the kitchen was in that direction. On the right, a few steps along, light fell across the passage from an open door. Frank stole up to this and peeped in. It was another bedroom, like the first unoccupied. Almost opposite this was a closed door; there was no other door on either side or at the end. This must be the sitting-room, parlour or sanctum of the holy men. Muffled by the timber, there came through the door the sound of snoring he had heard outside. He listened for a moment. The snores were all in one tone: it appeared likely that he had only one man to deal with. Was it Wonckhaus or the Turk? Or perhaps Wonckhaus was sleeping, and the other man admiring him.
He drew his revolver, very gently turned the handle of the door, and looked in when the crack was wide enough. The room had only one occupant. Wonckhaus, big, ungainly, lay stretched in a long cane chair, his head lolling sideways, his mouth wide open, one arm hanging limp, a long German pipe held loosely in the other hand. On a small round table beside him were a tobacco-jar, a black bottle, and a glass. Beyond this was another long chair, beside which stood a stool, bearing a glass, a carafe of water, and a few small pale lemons. And the room rang with German snores.
Frank's eye, swiftly ranging the room, passed from the lemons to the open mouth. It was a happy chance. He turned to Parker at his elbow and whispered a few words. The man nodded. Then Frank opened the door, and stole on his toes round the back of Wonckhaus's chair to the stool. From this he took up a lemon about the size of a hen's egg, and with the quickness of a conjurer slipped it into the gaping mouth. The German awoke with a convulsive start and shudder--and his eyes, bleared with sleep, fell on a revolver pointed within six inches of his temple, and above it the face, a little grimmer than it had ever appeared in a photograph, of the man whom he had not seen for many weeks, even in his dreams.
Before he could collect his wits, Parker stepped up to him on the other side and with some ends of thin rope which he had taken from his capacious blouse tied the German's hands and feet, with a British seaman's quickness and thoroughness.
"Now for the cook," said Frank.
They went back into the passage. The cook was still washing up. Entering the kitchen noiselessly, they crept to the door. Frank made a sign, Parker rushed out, caught the unsuspicious servant by the throat, and in two minutes had laid him, gagged and trussed, just inside the kitchen door. It was a credit to the discipline of the British navy that Moggs, watching these proceedings with amazement round the corner, neither moved nor uttered a sound.