"Same here, old man," said Chumbley, puffing away at his cigar, the incandescent part of which was getting dangerously near his nose. "Pleasant finish to the Perowne _fete_, isn't it?" Here there was a fierce adjuration from the Malays in the other boat, which Hilton obeyed to the extent of speaking in a lower tone. "What is to be done?" he said, "I'd come and help you, but I'm bound hand and foot." "So am I, old man," replied Chumbley, coolly. "Tighter than you are, I'll swear." "But what is to be done?" said Hilton again. "Goodness knows. Nothing, I should say. Have a cigar?" "Chumbley!" cried Hilton, passionately, "is this a time for joking, when at any moment our lives may be taken! Be sensible if you can." "I thought that was being sensible or philosophical if you like it better, old man. I don't see that it's of any use to fret so long as they don't kill us. It will be a change from pipe-clay and parade; and judging from what I saw between you and someone else in a certain quarter to-day, I should have thought that you would have been glad of a holiday." "Holiday, with a kris at our throats," cried Hilton, passionately. "Bah! they won't kill us!" said Chumbley. "I tell you that is what the scoundrels mean!" replied Hilton. "Not that it matters much," he added gloomily. "Oh, doesn't it!" said Chumbley, "but it does, a good deal. I don't know that we should make much fuss--soldiers can't; but I know of plenty of people who would cry their eyes out about me." "If the English rajahs," said a voice, that seemed to the two young men in their bandaged condition to come out of the darkness, and to speak haltingly, as if the utterer were not quite sure of the language in which he spoke--"If the English rajahs will be patient, and not try to escape, no harm shall be done to them." "There," said Chumbley, "do you hear that, old man! Better have a cigar." "Rubbish!" cried Hilton, angrily. "Not a bit of it, old man," said Chumbley; "they are some of old Perowne's best, and I have just finished one, and am going to have another. Here! hi! my lord the Malay chief, Maharajah, Muntri, Tumongong, or whatever you are, stop the boat, and give my friend a cigar. Load us both and fire us old chap, and then we can go off comfortably." There was no cessation in the rowing; but as Chumbley sat back there he felt his request attended to, the smoked-out cigar being taken from his lips and thrown into the water, where it fell with a loud hiss, the case taken from his breast, opened, and then it seemed that the boats were drawn together, and a cigar was passed to Hilton. "Got it, old man?" said Chumbley, sucking at his own, and biting off the end. "Yes," said Hilton gruffly, as if he were resenting the attentions of his captors.