"Um!" retorted Grosvenor with a suspicion of peevishness in his voice;
"that is not very much. What do you think they mean to do with us?
That is what I am trying to get at. Of course I remember that the gist
of Mitchell's homily to us was: `Don't go, if you value your lives,
because those people don't like strangers.' But if a fellow seriously
considered a little matter like that, exploration would soon be a thing
of the past, for I've noticed that many of the johnnies whose countries
we have passed through haven't liked strangers. Yet we've contrived to
pull through all right thus far; and of course I have been hoping that
our luck would still hold good, and that when we arrived in this country
something would happen to enable us to create a favourable impression
upon the chappies, causing them to decide that we are the exceptions to
the general rule, and are worthy to be treated as honoured guests and
all that sort of thing--eh, what? But when I look round me and take in
the details of this apartment it seems to me that things have somehow
gone wrong; I can't help thinking that they must have a more comfortable
guest chamber than this somewhere in this old caravanserai--eh? What do
you think?"

"I have no doubt they have," returned Dick. "Yet they may consider this
quite good enough for us. But I am not going to worry very greatly just
yet, and I would recommend you not to do so either. It is true that so
far these folk have displayed a most lamentable and disconcerting lack
of appreciation of our many excellent qualities, but you must remember
that we have not had much opportunity for a display of those qualities
as yet. The opportunity will come no doubt, and when it does we will
just make our friends outside sit up--I don't quite know how, but we
will do it somehow. So cheer up, old chap; the fact that they have put
us in here instead of killing us at sight, so to speak, seems to suggest
to my mind the belief that, if they are displeased at our presence in
their country, they at least intend to give us some sort of a trial
before passing us on to the executioner."

"Oh, dash it all, old man, don't talk about executioners--!" began
Grosvenor, when he was interrupted by the opening of the cell door and a
man entered, bearing in one hand a pitcher of water, and in the other a
loaf of bread of liberal proportions on a wooden platter. These he
placed on the floor beside the prisoners, and was gone again