The two struggled out into the open; two naked forms grappling in the stream where the water was just shallow enough to allow a precarious footing.
"Keep quiet!" commanded the padre in Nicobarese, whispering, as another of their party splashed to the leader's relief.
"There! They've got him.... Yes. It is one of the Shorn Pen!"
The man was dragged towards the bank and a dozen willing hands stretched out to draw him up. Scarecrow, who, generally, showed more initiative than his fellows, stepped forward to act as spokesman. Fingers were firmly pressed against the prisoner's mouth, lest his alarmed shout should attract his friends.
"Tell him," said Jellybrand, "that if he gives us the information we require, no harm shall come to him; but that on his making the least sound it w-will be the w-worse for him. Our revenge w-will be horrible," he informed the man himself with the utmost placidity.
The latter had, evidently, made up his mind not to risk shouting. Or, maybe, he was only a stray member of the tribe, lured back to the motor-boat out of curiosity.
To get him to speak, however, was another matter. His dialect, also, differed from that of his interlocutors.
"He must speak," said Ferlie. "He shall speak. He will speak under torture."
"Mrs. Sterne!"
She wheeled round upon the padre as he advanced hastily to her side, pushing him back into the arms of his huddling flock.