He was listless, bemused.  What was it, then, that made him suddenly spring erect?  What gave him that strange uneasiness?  He had heard nothing, seen nothing, yet he faced round, and stood at the head of the steps with his back to the sea.  The figures prone below him felt that he was looking toward them.  They held their breath.  Both were on the topmost step but one; only a narrow space separated them from the sentinel; they could hear the movement of his jaws as he chewed a betel {nut of the areca palm wrapped in the leaf of the betel plant}.

Thus a few moments passed.  Desmond’s pulse beat in a fever of impatience; every second was precious.  Then the sentinel moved; his uneasiness seemed to be allayed; he began to hum a Maratha camp song, and, half turning, glanced once more out to the sea.

The moment was come.  Silently Fuzl Khan rose to his feet; he sprang forward with the lightness, the speed, the deadly certainty of a Thug {name of a class of hereditary stranglers}, his hand was on the man’s throat.  Desmond, close behind, had a gag ready, but there was no need to use it.  In the open the Gujarati could exert his strength more freely than through the narrow windows of the shed.  Almost before Desmond reached his side the sentinel was dead.

In that desperate situation there was no time to expostulate.  While the Gujarati laid the hapless man gently beside the gun that peeped through the embrasure of the parapet, Desmond picked up the sentinel’s matchlock, ran softly back, and summoned his companions.  They came silently up the steps.  To fasten the rope securely to the gun carriage was the work of a few instants; then the Gujarati mounted the parapet, and, swarming down the rope, sank into the darkness.  One by one the men followed; it came to the Babu’s turn.  Trembling with excitement and fear he shrank back.

“I am afraid, sahib,” he said.

Without hesitation Desmond drew up the rope and looped the end.

“Get into the loop,” he whispered.

The Babu trembled but obeyed, and, assisting him to climb the parapet, Desmond lowered him slowly to the foot of the wall.  Then he himself descended last of all, and on the rocks below the little group was complete.

They were free.  But the most difficult part of their enterprise was yet to come.  Behind them was the curtain of the fort; before them a short, shelving rocky beach and the open sea.

No time was wasted.  Walking two by two for mutual support over the rough ground, the party set off toward the jetty.  They kept as close as possible to the wall, so that they would not be seen if a sentinel should happen to look over the parapet; and being barefooted, the slight sound they might make would be inaudible through the never-ceasing swish of the surf.  Their feet were cut by the sharp edges of the rocks; many a bruise they got; but they kept on their silent way without a murmur.