Ned felt his heart beat as he listened to
the murmuring of the Malay guards' voices which came under the house,
and as the boy stood there, his ears were strained for the next noise
Hamet might make, wondering the while whether the guard would hear.

He was so near the spot where Murray would be lying, that he felt he had
only to raise his voice a little to announce their presence, but he
dared not speak. Then he started, for he knew that Hamet was at work,
for there was a faint rustling, with an occasional crack, as of the
breaking of a leaf; and as the boy stood there in the darkness, he knew
that Hamet was cautiously cutting through the attap thatch, scrap by
scrap, for now little pieces no bigger than elm-leaves began to fall
about him.

This went on for what seemed to be an interminable length of time, and
he began wondering how a Malay who knew so well how his
fellow-countrymen made a roof, could be so long in making a hole big
enough for a human body to pass, when a familiar voice close to his ear,
as it seemed to him, exclaimed:

"Who's there? Stop, or I fire."

"Oh, uncle!" panted Ned to himself; "how could you be so stupid."

Then he threw himself down, for there was the quick movement of feet,
the familiar creaking of the bamboo steps in front, that he had so often
ascended and descended, and then his uncle's voice said loudly:

"Nothing wrong. Water--water!" And as if to himself--"I don't suppose
they understand a word."

But it was evident that they comprehended the last word, for the bamboo
floor creaked, and Ned plainly heard the sound of some one drinking.
Then came the words, "Thank you;" the floor and steps creaked again, and
after all had been silent for what seemed to be half an hour, the boy
rose to his feet again, conscious that Hamet was hard at work, for the
scraps fell fast.

Then came a pause, the faint creaking of the floor as if Murray had
turned round, a dull expiration of the breath as of some one breathing
very hard; and as Ned stood grasping the pillar, he felt that the slight
house was quivering slightly.

Ned's heart beat now fast, and in imagination he saw his uncle hanging
from Hamet's hands and being drawn upward toward the sloping roof.

Another creak, a loud rustle, and he knew that he had climbed--half
drawn--through the palm thatch, and the pair were about to descend.

"Quick, quick!" thought Ned, "before they hear you;" and longing to go
to Murray's help, he st