Sydney immediately followed his comrade’s example and was soon arrayed in the costume of the Chinese jailer.
Phil pointed to their discarded irons and in a few moments they had snapped feet and hand manacles over the helpless limbs of Ta-Ling. Then they both turned impatiently toward the door. Phil hesitated for an instant.
“They may come to before we can make our escape,” he said. “We must gag them.”
Stripping their prisoners of their undergarments, these as gags were tied firmly over their mouths.
“I hope he doesn’t smother,” Phil whispered in some alarm; “he seems to be hardly breathing.”
“We can’t take any chances now,” Sydney returned calmly; “it’s their life or ours. If we are caught now nothing can save us.”
To make more sure of their prisoners, the arms of each were bound to their sides, so that upon regaining consciousness they could not work their gags off their mouths and give the alarm to the yamen.
“I hope they’ll be found before they starve to death,” Phil said anxiously. “I fear the jailer will feel that we are ungrateful for his aid. I don’t dare liberate him; he may in fear betray us into the hands of the guard.”
“They’ll surely be found in the morning,” Sydney assured him. “Our friends the prisoners will clamor when their breakfast doesn’t appear, and then a search will be made for him and for us too. If we are not found before,” he ended grimly.
“What’s this!” Phil exclaimed, drawing from the inside pocket of his Chinese coat a number of papers and examining them in the light of the lantern. “A telegram!” he cried, “and addressed to Commander Hughes!”