Stan did not know much about those underworld characters of India and Burma, the dacoits. He had read a few stories about them and how they worked, but he could not remember much of their method of attack, except that they were sinister and sneaking, that they struck without warning.
He sauntered toward one of the arches. The wall was five feet thick and the archway was wide enough to allow the passage of a loaded cart. Outside the archway a Japanese soldier squatted in the sun. He was sitting on a little stool behind a machine gun. The gun effectively covered the entrance to the garden. The Jap looked up and grinned at Stan. He seemed to be inviting Stan to step out.
Stan wandered on around the wall. Each opening was guarded by a machine gun. Te Nuwa might handle his killings after the fashion of the East, but the general in command believed in more modern methods. Stan kept on until he halted before the pillared hallway leading into the temple. This was the way he had entered. Two machine guns stood inside the temple, manned by two leering Japanese.
Stan studied the wall. It was about fifteen feet in height, he judged. No vines or creepers grew on its smooth sides. It could not be climbed, Stan was sure of that. The women and children and the men passing through the garden paid no attention to him. Stan guessed that they were used to seeing doomed men wandering about inside this prison.
Stan decided that no attempt would be made on his life until dark, but he stayed away from the wall and from under the big trees. In the stories he had read, the dacoits always worked at night from hidden spots of vantage. Warned, he might be able to fool them.
As he watched the scene in the garden, a small boy entered driving a peacock. The youngster halted and looked at Stan, then waved a leafy branch at the fowl, shooing it across the garden. As Stan stood idly watching the boy, an idea suddenly occurred to him whereby he might be able to outsmart his captors. Lying down on the grass in the shade of a mulberry tree, Stan rested his head on a green hummock and closed his eyes. He opened them and looked up into the mulberry tree. He could see every limb and branch. He was sure no one was hiding there. The grass was soft, and after the hard bench it felt like a feather bed. Stan closed his eyes and went to sleep.
He was wakened by the howling of a monkey somewhere inside the temple. With a heave, he sat upright. The sun still was shining, but a glance at his watch told Stan that he had slept a long time.
As he sat there, Stan had a strange feeling. He was sure someone was watching him. He scanned the wall and the temple roof with its many spires and small roofs. He was careful because he did not want the watcher to know he was suspicious. He yawned and lay back. But look as he would, he saw no one who was the least bit interested in him. At last, he got up and strolled about.
Nothing happened to prove he had actually been watched as he lay on the grass. He wandered about for another two hours. Just before sundown Niva brought him a tray of chicken and rice and a pot of coffee. She set them down on the step and stood looking at Stan.