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. Tap till it burst, for me. But without sleep the work will be hard in the morning." He went away. Instantly the two figures were again upon their feet, and the sawing recommenced. For three hours the work continued, interrupted at intervals by the visits of the sentry. Midnight was past before Desmond, with cramped limbs and aching head, gave the word for the song and accompaniment to cease, and the shed was in silence. Chapter 13: In which Mr. Diggle illustrates his argument; and there are strange doings in Gheria harbor. The morning of the third day dawned--the last of the three allowed Desmond for making up his mind. When the other prisoners were loosed from their fetters and marched off under guard to their usual work, he alone was left. Evidently he was to be kept in confinement with a view to quickening his resolution. Some hours passed. About midday he heard footsteps approaching the shed. The door was opened, and in the entrance Diggle appeared. "You will excuse me," he said with a sniff, "if I remain on the threshold of your apartment. It is, I fear, but imperfectly aired." He pulled a charpoy to the door, and sat down upon it, as much outside as within. Taking out his snuffbox, he tapped it, took a pinch, savored it, and added: "You will find the apartment prepared for you in my friend Angria's palace somewhat sweeter than this your present abode--somewhat more commodious also." Desmond, reclining at a distance, looked his enemy calmly and steadily in the face. "If you have come, Mr. Diggle," he said, "merely to repeat what you said yesterday, let me say at once that it is a waste of breath. I have not changed my mind."