Probably the flight of the beetle had helped his noiseless approach.
"Sahib!" The girl started at the unexpected call from the depths.
"Yes," said Jenks quietly.
"A rope, sahib." The sailor lowered a rope.

Something was tied to it beneath.

The Mahommedan apparently had little fear of being detected.
"Pull, sahib." "Usually it is the sahib who says 'pull,' but circumstances alter cases," communed Jenks.

He hauled steadily at a heavy weight--a goatskin filled with cold water.

He emptied the hot and sour wine out of the tin cup, and was about to hand the thrice-welcome draught to Iris when a suspicious thought caused him to withhold it.
"Let me taste first," he said.
The Indian might have betrayed them to the Dyaks.