g 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."

"No, not to repeat, my young friend. Crambe repetita--you know the
phrase? Yesterday I appealed, in what I had to say, to your reason;
either my appeal, or your reason, was at fault. Today I have another
purpose. 'Tis pity to come down to a lower plane; to ap