came the noises of some one lighting a fire, and coughing as he
fanned smouldering embers into a glow with his breath, and then more
coughing and some curses as the fire-lighter took his departure. The
door above clapped down into place, and then there was the sound of
someone dragging over that and over the doors of the other two prisons
what seemed to be carpets, or heavy rugs.

There was something mysterious in this manoeuvre at first, but the
secret of it was not kept for long. An acrid smell stole out into the
air, which thickened every minute in intensity. Kettle seemed dimly to
recognize it, but could not put a name to it definitely. Besides, he was
working with all his might at scraping away the earth from the foot of
the wall, and had little leisure to think of other things.

The heat was stifling, and the sweat dripped from him, but he toiled on
with a savage glee at his success. The foundations had not been dug out;
they were "floating" upon the earth surface; and the labor of
undermining would, it appeared, be small.

But Murray in the other prison had smelt the reek before, and was able
to put a name to it promptly. "By Jove! Captain," he shouted mistily
from the distance, "they're going to smoke us to death; that's
the game."

"Looks like trying it," panted the little sailor, from his work.

"That's dried camel's dung they're burning. There's no wood in Arabia
here, and that's their only fuel. When the smoke gets into your lungs,
it just tears you all to bits. I say, Skipper, can't you come to some
agreement with Rad over those blessed rifles? It's a beastly death to
die, this."

"You aren't dead--by a long chalk--yet. More'm I. I'd hate to
be--smoke-dried like a ham--as bad as any Jew. But I don't start in--to
scoff the cargo--on my own ship--at any bally price."

There was a sound of distant coughing, and then the misty question:
"What are you working at?"

"Taking--exercise," Kettle gasped, and after that, communication between
the two was limited to incessant staccato coughs.

More and more acrid grew the air as the burning camel's dung saturated
it further and further with smoke, and more and more frenzied grew
Kettle's efforts. Once he got up and stuffed his coat in the embrasure
from which the smoke principally came. But that did little enough good.
The wall was all chinks, and the bitter reek came in unchecked. He felt
that the hacking coughs were gnawing away his strength, and just now