“But have you not punished yourself, Prabu,” asked Martin, “by quitting the coast with so small a cargo?”
“Not so,” he replied; “for the nests taken from the rogues double in quality and quantity—at least, so says Kati—any we could have gathered for the next moon. Truly,” he concluded, “God is great! This cave is a wonderful discovery!” and then he went to look after the placing of his cargo; and, my brother and I being alone, I took the opportunity of recurring to that portion of my adventures in the cave which I knew would so much interest him.
“Do you remember that Chinese fellow, Martin, we tied up in the mosquito-curtains the night of the robbery at Mynheer’s house?”
“Remember him, Claud! Is it possible I can ever forget the rascal, or that night when poor Marie was stolen from us? But why do you ask?”
“Well, I have seen and spoken to him.”
“When—where—how?” he cried, seizing my arm.
I then related my adventure with To-ki; but instead of expressing his joy at the news of Marie’s being still alive, he complained that I had not discovered by whom she had been stolen away.
“Claud—Claud!” he cried, “you have behaved unkindly, cruelly, unbrotherly! You should have told me all this the night before we went bee-hunting; and, instead of accompanying those rogues, I would have gone to the cave, and forced from the fellow at least some clue to the person or persons who instigated the kidnaping of our cousin.”
“It would have been useless, Martin, for the man was a mere tool of the hunchback, and knew no more than he told me; while you would have endangered Prabu’s plans and our own safety. Patience, brother, patience, and we will discover Marie yet.”
But words were useless; Martin considered himself aggrieved, and was angry and almost surly with me for a long time—at least, that day and the next—a very long time for him.