And in the blackness, Desmond worked as he
had never worked before, plying his saw hour after hour, never forgetting
his caution, running no risks when he had warning of the sentry's
approach. And hour after hour the shower of sawdust fell noiselessly into
Babu's outspread dhoti. Then suddenly the beating of the tom tom ceased,
the singer's voice died away on a lingering wail, and the silence of the
night was unbroken save by the melancholy howl of a distant jackal, and
the call of sentry to sentry as at intervals they went their rounds.
At midnight the guard was relieved. The newcomer--a tall, thin, lanky
Maratha--arriving at Desmond's shed, put his head in at the little window
space, and flashed his lantern from left to right more carefully than the
man whom he had just replaced. The nine forms lay flat or curled up on
their charpoys--all was well.
Coming back an hour later, he fancied he heard a slight sound within the
shed. He went to the window and peered in, flashing his lantern before
him from left to right. But as he did so, he felt upon his throat a grip
as of steel. He struggled to free himself; his cry was stifled ere it was
uttered; his matchlock fell with a clatter to the ground. He was like a
child in the hands of his captor, and when the Gujarati in a fierce low
whisper said to him: "Yield, hound, or I choke you!" his struggle ceased
and he stood trembling in sweat.
But now came the sentries' call, passed from man to man around the
circuit of the fort.
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