Desmond called up the serang. He dare not reply himself, lest his accent should betray him.
"Tell him all is well. We have a message from the fort to the Tremukji," he said in a whisper.
The serang repeated the words aloud.
"Well, huzur. But what is the meaning of the noise and the torches and the blaze on the sea?"
"Tell him we have no time to waste. Ask him where the Tremukji lies."
The man on the grab replied that she lay outside, a dozen boat lengths. Desmond knew that this vessel, which had been launched during his captivity, and in whose construction he had had a humble part, had proved the swiftest in the fleet, although much smaller than the majority of the Pirate's. Once on board her, and beyond reach of the guns of the fort, he might fairly hope to get clear away in spite of his miscellaneous crew. Giving to the Gujarati the order to go ahead, he questioned the serang.
"What is the name of the serang in charge of the Tremukji?"
"Pandu, sahib."
"How many men are on board her?"
"Three, sahib."