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The Rajah of Dah, a fiction by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 22. Tim's Happy Idea |
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_ CHAPTER TWENTY TWO. TIM'S HAPPY IDEA "Come up here, Driscol," said the doctor; and as Tim appeared Frank came to the inner doorway to creep into a corner, where he was in shadow, and could listen to what was said. "Now, Braine," said the doctor. "We are all waiting, what do you propose?" "I have nothing to propose. We have a guard of sixteen outside. If we could get by them, we might reach the river in the darkness. Can you tell me how to proceed?" The doctor was silent. "Frank, can you suggest anything?" "No, father; only to fight." "Madness, boy. Help would come directly." "I have an idea," said the doctor, "if it would act. I should do it unwillingly, but it is our only hope that I see. Stop!--Driscol, can you help us?" "Sure, I've been thinking hard, sor, and all I can get hold of is one idaya, and that's as shlippery as an oysther out of its shell." "Speak, man, what is it?" "To wait a bit, and thin go round wid a thick shtick and bate all their heads." "Oh, nonsense!" cried Mr Braine. "That's what I said to meself, sor, for I saw while I was quieting one, he would make a noise, and--ye see if I could hit all their heads at wance." "Hush! silence!" said the doctor. "Braine, the only thing I can propose is to fill a vessel with wine and--drug it." "No," said Mr Braine, sternly. "For one thing they are Mussulmans, and it is forbidden; some would not drink. For another--" "They'd be suspicious, and would not touch it," said Frank, quickly. "Quite right, Frank," said his father. "Then if I medicated some cigars," whispered the doctor. "Oh, then," said Frank, "they'd roll them in the waists of their sarongs, and save them to cut up and smoke in their hubble-bubbles to-morrow." "Yes; it is hopeless," said the doctor, despondently; and there was a long silence broken by Tim. "Whisht! masther dear," he said, "would the rat poison taste much?" "Poison? No. Who said a word about poison? I should only send them to sleep." "Oh!" said Tim, "a short slape; not the very long one. Would it taste, sor?" "No, my man; why?" "Thin, bedad, I have it. Ye nivver touched the shmall cakes for dinner: put some of the stuff into thim, and I'll shtale out with a whole trayful and a bottle of wine from down below, jist as if it's me being civil to the bastes, and I'll offer 'em the wine, and they won't touch it, but I will, and dhrink of it heartily. They won't think there's anny desait in it then, and I'll offer 'em the cakes, and ate a shpare one or two that I'll kape on one side." "Tim, you're a scoundrel!" cried Mr Braine, excitedly. "Sure, that's what my mother always said, sor," replied Tim, modestly; "but, masther dear, ye wouldn't put any rat poi--shlaping stuff, I mane, into the wine." "And rob ourselves of our right hand?" said the doctor, warmly. "No!" "Thank ye, sor," said Tim. "I thought I'd say that, for ye may remimber once making a mistake, and nearly cut off your right hand--I mane meself." "It was not a mistake, Tim, but an experiment with one of the native medicines." "Faix, it just was, sor, and I'll niver forget it. But ye'll look loively, sor. There's plinty of the little cakes iv Masther Frank didn't ate thim all." "I did not touch them, Tim," said Frank, eagerly. "Then the day's our own, sor. You come down and docthor 'em, and I'll go and prepare the syle for the sade." "What are you going to do?" said Mr Braine, quickly. "Only shmoke me poipe in the gyarden, sor, and soother and blarney them over a bit. It'll kim aisier, thin, to go in and fetch a bit and sup from the panthry, and not be so suddint like. They're such desayving thayves of the world, they suspect everybody." Tim went down, and the doctor busied himself at a medicine-chest for a few minutes before following him. "Now, Greig, help me," said the Resident, turning down the lamps a little. "Frank, keep out of sight in case we are watched. You know where the doctor keeps his ammunition." "Yes, father," was the reply, and the pair busied themselves in examining revolvers and guns, placing ammunition ready for flight, and finally arming the ladies, and thrusting an ornamental kris from the walls into their belts. Then weapons were placed ready for the doctor and his man, their arrangements being about complete as the former returned looking pale and anxious. "Ah," he said, on seeing the preparations, "that's right. It's hard to leave all our treasures and collections." "Yes; but we must think only of ourselves." "Of our wives and children," said Greig, quietly. "Yes. But, tell me, what have you done?" "Put a strong opiate in every cake." "But those who take it--does it mean risk to their lives?" "No. The worst that can happen may be a day or two's illness after. That is not what I fear," said the doctor, significantly. "What then?" "The rajah's punishment of the poor wretches." "Hah!" ejaculated Mr Braine, "but we must be selfish here for others' sake." A few more preparations were made by Frank's suggestion, every scrap of food from below being placed in a couple of baskets; the two women who assisted Tim in the house having gone for the night some time before. "Now," said the doctor, "what next? Matches and a lantern." These were placed ready; a few comforting words said to the ladies--who were now calm, firm, and helpful, looking strangely Malayan in their garb, for they had trenched upon a store which, they had saved up as mementoes of their sojourn in the jungle--and then all sat down to listen and wait, the strange forest sounds coming faintly to their ears, mingled with the occasional mutterings of their guard. _ |
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