The quiet level tones, so strangely contrasting with the tones of fierceness and hate that were still ringing in the ears of the unhappy prisoners, had an extraordinary effect. There was dead silence in the shed: it seemed that every man was afraid to speak. Then one of the Marathas said in a whisper: "What do you mean, sahib?" "What do I mean? Surely it must be clear to any man. Have we not sat long enough on the carpet of patience?" Again the silence remained for a space unbroken. "You, Gulam Mahomed," continued Desmond, addressing one of the Biluchis whom he considered the boldest--"have you never thought of escape?" "Allah knows!" said the man in an undertone. "But he knows that I remember what happened a year ago. Fuzl Khan can tell the sahib something about that." A fierce cry broke from the Gujarati, who had been moaning upon his charpoy in anguish from the lashings he had undergone that day. Desmond heard him spring up; but if he had meant to attack the Biluchi, the clashing of his fetters reminded him of his helplessness. He cursed the man, demanding what he meant. "Nothing," returned Gulam Mahomed. "But you were the only man, Allah knows, who escaped the executioner." "Pig, and son of a pig!" cried Fuzl Khan, "I knew nothing of the plot. If any man says I did he lies. They did it without me; some evil jin must have heard their whisperings. They failed. They were swine of Canarese." "Do not let us quarrel," said Desmond. "We are all brothers in misfortune; we ought to be as close-knit as the strands of a rope. Here is our brother Fuzl Khan, the only man of his gang who did not try to escape, and see how he is treated! Could he be worse misused? Would not death be a boon? Is it not so, Fuzl Khan?" The Gujarati assented with a passionate cry. "As for the rest of us, it is only a matter of time. I am the youngest of you, and not the hardest worked, yet I feel that the strain of our toil is wearing me out. What must it be with you? You are dying slowly. If we make an attempt to escape and fail we shall die quickly, that is all the difference. What is to be is written, is it not so, Shaik Abdullah?" "Even so, sahib," replied the second Biluchi, "it is written. Who can escape his fate?" "And what do you say, Surendra Nath?" "The key, sahib," whispered the Babu in English; "what of the key?" "Speak in Urdu, Babu," said Desmond quickly. "Don’t agree at once." Surendra Nath was quick-witted; he perceived that Desmond did not wish the others to suspect that there had been any confidences between them. "I am a coward, the sahib knows," he said in Urdu. "I could not give blows; I should die. It was told us to-day that the English are about to attack this fort. They will set us free; we need run no risks." "Wah!" exclaimed one of the Mysoreans. "If the Firangi get into the fort we shall all be murdered." "That is truth," said a Maratha. "The Rao would have our throats cut at once." The Babu groaned.