He, however, was perhaps not sufficiently attentive to the
monotonous strains; for, as soon as the warder had left the yard, he had
unlocked his fetters and begun to work in the darkness. Poised on one of
the rafters, he held on with one hand to a joist, and with the other
plied a small saw, well greased with ghi. The sound of the slow careful
movements of the tool was completely drowned by the singing and the
hollow rat-a-pan of the tom tom. Beneath him stood the Babu, extending
his dhoti like an apron, and catching in it the falling shower of
sawdust.
Suddenly the figure on the rafter gave a low whistle. Through the window
he had seen the dim form of the sentry outside approach the space lighted
by the rays from the lantern, which he had laid down at a corner of the
shed. Before the soldier had time to lift it and throw a beam into the
shed (which he did as much from curiosity to see the untiring performers
as in the exercise of his duty) Desmond had swung down from his perch and
stretched himself upon the nearest charpoy. The Babu meanwhile had darted
with his folded dhoti to the darkest corner. When the sentry peered in,
the two performing Marathas were sitting up; the rest were lying prone,
to all appearance soothed to sleep.
"Verily thou wilt rap a hole in the tom tom," said the sentry with a
grin. "Better save a little of it for tomorrow."
"Sleep is far from my eyes," replied the man. "My comrades are all at
rest; if it does not offend thee--"
"No.
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