They had by this time finished their cigars, and being near the landing-stage, they took a most effusive leave of the three officers, entered their boat, and were rowed away. "Well, then," said Captain Horton, as soon as he heard the parts of the conversation that he had not understood, "that game's over, and they are beaten at diplomacy?" "Yes," said Major Sandars. "I envy you your command of countenance, and knowledge of the language, Linton." "Game? over?" said Mr Linton, smiling sadly. "No, my dear sirs, that is only the first move our adversaries have made--king's pawn two squares forward; to which I have replied with queen's pawn one square forward." "And that's a bad move, isn't it, Horton?" exclaimed Major Sandars. "So the chess books make one think," said the captain. "It all depends upon your adversary and your game," said the resident, smiling. "Gentlemen, I hope I have done right." "And what are you going to do now?" said Captain Horton. "Wait to see our adversary's next move. Meanwhile, gentlemen, extra caution will do no harm, for we have touched the Malays in one of their most sensitive places." "We? You mean those young scamps of boys," said Captain Horton. "Oh, it's _we_ all the same," said Major Sandars. "Well, what's to be done?" "I should, without seeming to do anything, put on a few extra sentries, Major Sandars," said the resident; "and, Captain Horton, I should be ready for action at a moment's notice, and be cautious about who came on board, and what prahus anchored near." "Quite right--quite right, Linton," said Captain Horton. "You had no business to be a civilian. You ought to have been in the service." The resident smiled, and they separated, as Mr Linton said, to wait for the enemy's next move. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT. HOW SULTAN HAMET VISITED HIS FRIENDS. The enemy, as the resident termed the sultan's party, made no move for a couple of days, during which all went on as usual. There was the usual morning parade in the fort, and the soldiers gardened, idled, smoked, and told one another it was "jolly hot"--a fact that needed no telling. On board the "Startler" the men were beat to quarters, and went through their drill in the cool of the morning, before hammock rails, the sentries' rifles, and the breeches of the glistening guns grew too hot to be touched with impunity. So hot was it, that, like the burnt child who fears the fire, Bob Roberts was exceedingly cautious about placing his hands in any spot where they were likely to be defiled by the pitch that cannot be touched without those consequences; for from between seams, and the strands of well-laid cables, it oozed, and even bubbled out, beneath the ardent wooing of the tropic sun.