At the moment of discovery he had felt the eager boy’s impulse to spring upon the sleeper at once, but although his muscles had been hardened by a year of toil he doubted whether he had sufficient physical strength to make absolutely sure of his man; a single cry, the sound of a scuffle, might be fatal.  The Gujarati, on the other hand, a man of great bulk, could be trusted to overpower the victim by sheer weight, and with his iron clutch to insure that no sound came from him.  Desmond’s only fear indeed was that the man, as in the case of the sentinel on the bastion, might overdo his part and give him all too thorough a quietus.

He came to the entrance of the cabin.  His appearance brought the Gujarati to his side.

“Remember, Fuzl Khan,” he whispered, “we must keep the serang alive; not even stun him.  You understand?”

“I know, sahib.”

Drawing him silently into the apartment and to the edge of the platform, Desmond again crept to the lantern, and now turned it gradually still farther inwards until the form of the sleeper could be distinctly seen.  The light was still dim; but it occurred to Desmond that the glow, increased now that the lantern was turned round, might attract the attention of the gamblers on the gallivat at the end of the line.  So, while the Gujarati stood at the platform, ready to pounce on the sleeper as a cat on a mouse if he made the least movement, Desmond tiptoed to the door and began to close the sliding panel.  It gave a slight creak; the sleeper stirred; Desmond quickly pushed the panel home, and as he did so the serang sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking in sleepy suspicion towards the lantern.

While his knuckles were still at his eyes Fuzl Khan was upon him.  A brief scuffle, almost noiseless, on the linen covering of the divan; a heavy panting for breath; then silence.  The Gujarati relaxed his grip on the man’s throat; he made another attempt to cry out; but the firm fingers tightened their pressure and the incipient cry was choked in a feeble gurgle.  Once more the hapless serang tried to rise; Fuzl Khan pressed him down and shook him vigorously.  He saw that it was useless to resist, and lay limp and half throttled in his captor’s hands.

By this time Desmond had turned the lantern full upon the scene.  Coming to the man’s head, while the Gujarati still held him by the throat, he said, in low, rapid, but determined tones: 

“Obey, and your life will be spared.  But if you attempt to raise an alarm you will be lost.  Answer my questions.  Where is there some loose rope on board?”

The man hesitated to reply, but a squeeze from the Gujarati decided him.

“There is a coil near the mainmast,” he said.

Desmond slipped out, and in a few seconds returned with several yards of thin coir, a strong rope made of cocoanut fiber.  Soon the serang lay bound hand and foot.

“What are the names of the men on the furthest vessel?”