Chumbley was fast asleep; of that there could be no doubt, so Hilton determined that it was his duty to watch for both. He could not go to sleep at a time like this, so he began thinking about Helen, muttering angrily the while; but by degrees his countenance softened, his eyes closed, his cigar fell from his lips, the infection of Chumbley's despised readiness to sleep came over him, and, quite exhausted, he, too, lay breathing heavily, and perfectly unconscious of the lapse of time. Naturally enough he dreamed of Helen and her careless coquettish treatment of his love, which was rapidly cooling down, like the lava after some violent eruption, and giving place to a hard and bitter anger at her heartless ways. As for Chumbley he was too weary to dream, but slept on as calmly as if he were in his own cot at the fort; perhaps more calmly, for the well-ventilated room was shaded by waving cocoa-palms and the branches of a great durian-tree, while the large leaves of banana kept the sun-rays from the glassless window. At intervals of about an hour the Malay came in, and stepping softly towards them, seemed to assure himself that they were both asleep, going out directly with a satisfied smile as he saw how calmly they were resting. "They are brave men, these English," he muttered. "They will do. It is right. They do not know but that this may be their last day on earth, and yet they sleep." Mid-day had long passed before Chumbley awoke suddenly, as if influenced by the presence of the tall Malay, who was standing by him. "Hallo, old chap!" he drawled, "have I been asleep? I say, have I been asleep?" he added, in the Malay tongue. "Since morning, rajah, and it is now past mid-day," replied the Malay, respectfully. "Here, hi! Hilton! Wake up, old man!" cried Chumbley; and his fellow-prisoner leaped up, looking vacantly before him for a moment or two, and then growing angry as he realised where they were. The Malay retired at once, and a couple of fresh men entered, bringing brass basins with water, cloths, and English-made hair brushes, and soap. These the two officers gladly used, Chumbley uttering grunts of satisfaction as he indulged in a good wash, and ended by carefully adjusting his short crisp hair. "That's better, lad," he said. "One feels more like a human being now." "Yes," replied Hilton, smiling. "It is surprising what a degraded creature a man feels when he has not made acquaintance for some hours with soap and water." "Come, that's more cheery, my noble. Why, I believe, old fellow, that this affair is doing you good!" "I suppose I am a little rested," said Hilton, quietly. "Take away those things," he said to the Malays, who both bowed respectfully and withdrew. "I say, Hilton," said Chumbley, "I suppose this really is Murad's game, isn't it?" "No doubt. Of course it is!"