“Have I the huzur’s leave to speak?”

“By the twelve imams {high priests descending from Ali, the son-in-law of Mahomet}, yes! but quickly.”

“There is a mistri on board the serang’s boat who is used to working in ships—­a khalasi from Gujarat.  He might do something on board your Excellency’s ship.  If this vessel sank, according to the plan, the Firangi would not be able to get aboard the others, and they would have time to sink slowly.”

“Barik allah {bravo!}!  It is a good idea.  Bid the mistri come aboard at once.”

Hubbo sent a long hail over the water.  The serang cast off the rope by which he had made fast to the sloop, and the petala came slowly down until it was abreast of the subahdar’s vessel.  Hossain, Desmond, and Karim stepped aboard, the last carrying a small box of tools.  Only the Bengali was left in the boat.  All salaamed low to the subahdar.

“This, huzur, is my friend,” said Hubbo, presenting his brother.  “This is the mistri, and this his assistant.”

“Good!” said the subahdar.  “Go down into the hold, mistri:  look to the holes; if they are not large enough make them larger, and as quickly as you can.”

Desmond with Karim dived down into the hold.  It was filled with earth, except where a gangway shored up with balks of timber had been left to give access to the holes that had been drilled and temporarily stopped.  After a few words from the subahdar, Hubbo and his brother followed Desmond below.

Half an hour later, Hubbo climbed up through the hatchway and approached the subahdar, who was pacing the deck, giving many an anxious glance down the river.

“The mistri has bored another hole, huzur.  He said the more holes the better.  Perhaps your Excellency will deign to see whether you regard it as sufficient.”

“Nay, I should defile my clothes,” said the subahdar, not relishing the thought of descending into the malodorous depths.

“As your Excellency pleases,” said Hubbo, salaaming.

Then the gravity of his charge appeared to overcome the subahdar’s scruples.  Gathering his robes close about him, he stepped to the hatchway and lowered himself into the hold.

“We must hasten,” he said.  “The ships of the Firangi may appear at any moment, and I must be on the lookout.

“Meantime,” he added to Hubbo, “you keep watch.”

For a man of his build he was fairly active.  Dropping on to the loose earth, he scrambled over it towards the oil lamp by whose light the mistri and his assistant were working.

“This, huzur,” said Hossain, pointing to a circular cut in the planking of the vessel, “is the new hole.  It is not yet driven through, but if your Excellency thinks it sufficient—­”

The subahdar craned forward to examine it.  “Khubber dar {look out}!” said Desmond in a low voice.

Hossain had only waited for this signal.  He threw himself on the stooping subahdar and bore him to the floor, at the same time stuffing a gag between his teeth.  In a couple of minutes he was lying bound and helpless.  His ornate garment was but little sullied.  It had been stripped from him by the mistri, who hastily donned it over his own scanty raiment, together with the subahdar’s turban.