sket in hand, of the resident, who, after
talking to them for a time, walked down to the landing-place, saw their
ample supply of fruit and flowers, and ended by granting them a site by
the water's edge, where they might set up their hut, and secure their
boat, the understanding upon which the grant was made, being that an
ample supply was to be kept up for the use of the officers and men.

"Capital fellow, Linton," said the doctor. "Nothing like fruit in
moderation to keep men in health. But isn't it risky to have these
fellows on the isle?"

"I have thought of that," said Mr Linton; "but by being too exclusive
we shall defeat our own ends. We must receive the principal part of the
Malays in a friendly way, and it is only by a more open policy that this
can be done. If we admit any wolves amongst the sheep they must meet
with the wolves' fate. So far I think I have done well."

"Well, yes, perhaps you are right," said the doctor. But both gentlemen
would have altered their opinions exceedingly if they had seen a long
low boat, painted of a dark grey, and manned by six men, float gently
down stream that night, and, unseen by the sentries, stop beside the
sampan of Abdullah and his Malay companion.

Here there was a short consultation, Abdullah crawling over the gunwale
into the long low boat, where he lay down, side by side with the man who
steered.

Their conversation was long, and the others in the boat lay down while
it was going on, so that had the boat been seen by an unusually watchful
sentry it would have appeared to be empty, and moored to a bamboo stake
thrust into the mud.

But the dark silent boat was not seen by the nearest sentry, either when
it floated down, or when it was cautiously turned and paddled up stream
once more, till, out of hearing, the oars went down with a noisy splash,
and the long narrow vessel literally dashed through the river.

The reason it was not seen was simple enough.

Private Sim was on duty that night, and he had been once more fast
asleep.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

THE CREW OF THE CAPTAIN'S GIG.

There was a good deal of the schoolboy left in the young representatives
of Her Majesty's two services; not that this is strange, for a good deal
of his schoolboyhood clings to a man even in middle life. Bob Roberts
had a tiff with Long, made vow after vow that he would never speak to
the ensign again; declaring him to be a consequential cocky scarlet
pouter pigeon,