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JACK HARKAWAY
AND HIS SON'S
ESCAPE FROM THE BRIGANDS
OF GREECE.
BEING THE CONTINUATION OF
"JACK HARKAWAY AND HIS
SON'S ADVENTURES IN GREECE."
BY
BRACEBRIDGE HEMYNG
[Illustration: Bother the beggars"--said Mr Mole"--Adv in Greece, Vol
II--_Frontispiece_]
CHAPTER I.
THE CONTESSA'S LETTER TO MR. MOLE--ON PLEASURE BENT--THE
MENDICANT FRIAR--MIDNIGHT MARAUDERS--HOUSE BREAKING.
When Mrs. Harkaway's maid returned to the villa, she got scolded for
being so long upon an errand of some importance with which she had been
entrusted.
Thereupon, she was prepared with twenty excuses, all of which were any
thing but the truth.
The words of warning which the brigand had called after her had not
been without their due effect.
"She had been detained," she said, "by the Contessa Maraviglia for the
letter which she brought back to Mr. Mole."
The letter was an invitation to a grand ball which was to be given by
the contessa at the Palazzo Maraviglia, and to which the Harkaways were
going.
Dick Harvey had been at work in this business, and had made the
contessa believe indirectly that Mr. Mole was a most graceful dancer,
and that it would be an eternal shame for a _bal masqué_ to take
place in the neighbourhood without being graced by his--Mole's--presence.
The result was that during lunch Mr. Mole received from the maid the
following singular effusion.
"Al Illustrissimo Signor Mole," which, being translated, means, "To the
illustrious Mr. Mole."
"Hullo!" said the tutor, looking around him and dropping his eye on
Dick, "who is this from?"
"From the Contessa Maraviglia," replied the girl.
Mr. Mole gave her a piercing glance.
The contessa's letter was a sort of puzzle to poor old Mole.
"The Contessa Maraviglia begs the honour of the Signor Mole's company
on the 16th instant. She can accept no refusal, as the _fête_ is
especially organised in honour of Signor Mole, whose rare excellence in
the poetry of motion has elevated dancing into an art."
Isaac Mole read and re-read this singular letter, until he grew more
and more fogged.
He thought that the contessa had failed to express herself clearly in
English on account of her imperfect knowledge of our language; but he
was soon corrected in this impression.
The lady in question, it transpired, was English.
So poor Mole did what he thought best under the circumstances, and that
was to consult with Dick Harvey.
"Dear me!" echoed Dick, innocently; "why, you have made an impression
here, Mr. Mole."
"Do you think so?" said Mole, doubtfully.
"Beyond question. This contessa is smitten, sir, with your attractions;
but I can assist you here."
"You can?"
"Of course."
"Thank you, my dear Harvey, thank you," replied Mr. Mole eagerly.
"Yes; I can let the contessa know that there is no hope for her."
Isaac Mole's vanity was tickled at this.
"Don't you think it would be cruel to undeceive her?"
"Cruel, sir!" said Dick, with severe air, "no, sir; I don't. It is my
duty to tell her all."
Mr. Mole looked alarmed.
"What do you mean?"
"That you are a married man."
"I say, I say--"
"Yes, sir, very much married," pursued Dick, relentlessly; "that you
have had three wives, and were nearly taking a fourth."
"Don't, Dick."
"All more or less black."
"Dick, Dick!"
"However, there is no help for it; you will have to go to this ball."
"Never."
"You will, though. The contessa has heard of your fame in the ball
room--"
"What!"
"In bygone years, no doubt--and she does not know of the little matters
which have happened since to spoil your activity, if not your grace."
As he alluded to the "little matters," he glanced at Mr. Mole's wooden
legs.
Mr. Mole thought it over, and then he read through the letter again.
"You are right, Harvey," he said with an air of determination; "and my
mind's made up."
"Is it?"
"Yes."
"So much the better, for your absence would be sadly missed at the
ball."
"You misunderstand me, Harvey; I shall not go."
Dick looked frightened.
"Don't say that, Mr. Mole, I beg, don't; it would be dangerous."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean that this lady is English by birth, but she has lived in the
land of the Borgias, where they yet know how to use poison."
"Harvey!"
"And if her love were slighted, she might recollect it."
Mr. Mole looked precious uncomfortable.
"It is really very embarrassing, Harvey," said he; "my personal
attractions are likely to get me into trouble."
And yet, in spite of his embarrassment, Mr. Mole was not altogether
displeased at the fancy.
He strutted up and down, showing the fall in his back to the best
advantage, and was very evidently conscious that he was rather a fine
man.
"Yes, sir," said Harvey, with great gravity; "your fatal beauty is
likely to lead you into a mess."
At the words "fatal beauty," Mr. Mole made a grimace.
It was rather a strong dose for even him to swallow.
"Draw it mild, Harvey," said he, "pray draw it mild."
Dick shook his head with great seriousness.
"Don't you be deceived, Mr. Mole," said he; "use the greatest care, for
this poor countess is to be pitied. Her love is likely to turn to
violent hate if she finds herself slighted--the poignard or the
poisoned chalice may yet be called to play a part in your career."
Mr. Mole turned pale.
Yet he tried to laugh.
A hollow ghastly laugh it was too, that told how he felt more plainly
than words could have done.
"Don't, Harvey; don't, I beg!" he said in faltering tones; "it sounds
like some dreadful thing one sees upon the stage."
"In all these southern countries you know, Mr. Mole, a man's life is
not worth much."
"Harvey!"
"A hired assassin or bravo will cut a throat or stab a man in the back
for a few francs."
"Oh!"
"I should advise you not to keep out after dark--and avoid dark
corners. These people can poison you, too, with a bouquet or a jewel.
Accept a flower or a nosegay, but don't smell it."
"Harvey."
"Sir?"
"Is it your wish to make me uncomfortable?"
"How can you think it?"
"Do you wish me to dream all night, and disturb Mrs. Mole, and not to
get a wink of sleep?"
"Certainly not; that's why I am giving you advice; but pray understand
the contessa thinks you are a single man."
"Good gracious me; it is very unpleasant to have a contessa in love
with one."
"I don't know that; most men wouldn't say so. There are, I'll be bound,
forty men within a mile of this house who would give their ears to have
received such a letter."
Mr. Mole smiled--a self-satisfied, complacent smile,
"Do you think so?"
"I know it."
Mole lifted his collar and shot his cuffs over his hands, as he stomped
across the room, and looked into a glass.
"Well, well, Harvey, I suppose I must go to the ball; but you will bear
me witness that I only go for reasons of prudence, and that I am not
going to be led away by any little silly reasons of vanity?"
"Of course," returned Dick, gravely.
"Besides, I go disguised."
"Certainly"
"And what disguise would you recommend?"
"Why that is a matter for reflection," said Dick. "I should think that
you ought almost to keep up the character."
"The character!" said Mole. "What character?"
"A Terpsichorean personage," replied Dick, with the air of one
discussing a grave problem. "Say, for instance, a ballet girl."
Mr. Mole gasped.
"No, no; not a ballet girl."
"A fairy queen, then."
"Don't, Dick; don't, I beg."
"Or, if you object to the costume of the gentler sex, what do you say
to the spangles and wand of a harlequin?"
"Do you really think that such a costume would become me?"
"Do I think?" iterated Dick. "Do I _know!_ Of course it would
become you. You will look the part to the life: it wants a figure to
show off such a dress and to be shown off by it."
"But what about my--my wooden legs, Dick?"
"Oh, I'll provide you with cork ones, and here they are," said Harvey,
producing a pair.
And so it was settled.
Mr. Mole was to go to the ball, and his disguise was to be well-known
spangles and colours of a harlequin.
Harvey himself chose a clown's costume and carried over his shoulder
Mole's wooden legs, in case any thing happened to the cork ones he was
walking on for the first time.
Harkaway was to go as a knight of old.
Magog Brand selected the character of Quasimodo, the hunchback of Nôtre
Dame.
Jefferson selected the character of Julius Caesar, a costume which his
fine, stalwart form set off to considerable advantage.
Mrs. Harkaway was to go as Diana, the huntress, and Mrs. Harvey made
Marie Stuart her choice.
Little Emily and Paquita went in dresses of the Charles the Second
period.
These young ladies were escorted by young Jack and Harry Girdwood, who
were richly habited as young Venetian nobles of the sixteenth century.
As they passed through the garden door a man stood in their path.
He wore a long serge gown, with a cowl, like a mendicant monk, and as
they approached he put out his open hand for alms.
"Bother the beggars!" said Mr. Mole, tartly.
The monk shrank back into his cowl, and stood aside while the party
went by.
The garden door was held by the maid servant while they passed on, and
when they were out of hearing, she dropped a small silver coin into the
mendicant friar's hand.
"There," she said, "I can spare you something, father, although those
rich English cannot or will not, the heretics and pagans!"
The friar, who was seemingly an aged man, muttered his thanks, and the
girl retired and closed the door, locking it behind her.
No sooner was the door closed than the mendicant monk whistled a low
but very distinct note, and lo! two men appeared upon the scene.
It looked as though they had just come up trap-doors in the earth, so
suddenly did they show in sight.
"Captain Mathias," said the disguised monk to the first who came up, "I
have learnt all we wish to know."
"You have?" ejaculated, not the man addressed by the mendicant monk,
but the other. "Out with it, then."
"Still your impatience, Toro, if you can.--"
"Bah!"
"Well, then, learn that Mole goes as--"
"Bother Mole!" interrupted Toro, harshly. "How does our great foe go?"
"Harkaway?"
"Yes."
"An English knight of old."
"It shall be my task," said Toro, "to keep up his character, and give
it a realistic look by a hand-to-hand fight."
"Don't be rash," said the mendicant friar, "or you may chance to be
beaten."
"I can risk my life on it."
"You have--you do; every hour that you live here imperils it. Did you
see the party go?"
"I did," said Mathias.
The latter was no other than the captain of the brigands. Already they
were upon a footing of equality, for the two adventurers had had
opportunities, which they had not failed to seize.
They had courage, ready wit, presence of mind, boldness daring, and
cunning, and so it fell out that they who had made the acquaintance of
the brigand's gang under such very unpleasant auspices, became two of
the principal members of it within a few days.
But to resume.
"Tell me, Hunston," said Toro, "does Jefferson go to the ball?"
"Yes."
"How disguised?"
"Julius Caesar."
The Italian said nothing, but his lips moved, and his lowering brow was
as expressive as words could be to his old comrade.
It boded ill for Jefferson.
They had met in fair fight, and he, Toro, had been defeated.
That defeat was as bitter as gall to him.
He would be avenged.
And if he could not cope with the doughty Anglo-American, then let him
look to it.
What strength and skill failed to achieve, the assassin's knife would
accomplish.
"Did you see the girl that attended him to the gate?" demanded the
mendicant friar, or Hunston, as it would be better to call him, since
there is no further need of concealment.
"I did."
"And recognised her, Mathias?" he asked of the brigand captain.
"Yes; it is the pretty girl we stopped with her lover, the coy
Marietta."
"Now that they are well off, we may as well set to work," said Hunston.
"Good."
Hunston threw back his friar's cowl and produced a key.
"They have had many a good hunt for this," he said, with his old
sinister laugh.
"I dare say."
"It was a lucky thing that the dainty little Marietta dropped it."
"Yes, it makes matters much easier for us to begin with."
The door yielded to the touch of the sham mendicant friar, and the
three worthies entered the grounds.
Silently they stepped across a grassplot, keeping a thick shrubbery
between them and the house as far as they could, when just as they
gained the shelter of a trellissed verandah, a dog within set up a most
alarming noise.
The three robbers exchanged uneasy glances.
"Curse the beast!" muttered Mathias the captain; "he will ruin us."
Toro got ready his long hunting-knife and looked about.
But the dog was out of sight.
A lucky thing it was too for our old friend little Mike, for a touch
with that ugly instrument would soon have stopped his singing.
Now, just above the verandah was a half-opened window, and into this
Mathias peered anxiously.
No signs of Mike.
A voice was heard now calling to the faithful guardian of the house to
be silent, but Mike refused emphatically to be comforted; thereupon,
the person very imprudently called the dog to her and tied him up.
This did not quiet him.
So the person in question tripped down the garden to see if there was
really any reason for the dog's singular behaviour.
In passing down the path she went so close to the verandah, that the
skirts of her dress actually brushed aside the creeping plants which
garnished the trellis work.
"Snarling, barking little beast!" quoth Marietta to herself, "and all
about nothing; I wish they would lose him."
But when she got to the bottom of the garden and discovered the garden
door open, she altered her tone.
"How very silly of me to leave the door unlocked," she said to herself.
"Poor little fellow, poor Mike, I'm coming, good dog. Heard someone, I
suppose. Good gracious, what's that? I thought I saw something move
there. I'm getting as nervous as a cat ever since those men stopped us
and made me kiss them, the beasts. Ugh I how I loathe them, although
there was one of them that was really not very bad-looking. I wonder
where that poor old friar went to. What was that? Oh, how nervous I
feel. I wish they had left me some one in the house besides that old
deaf Constantino; he's nice company truly for a girl. Bother the dog,
what a noise he is kicking up."
And chatting thus, Marietta re-entered the house.
Meanwhile Mathias had clambered up the iron balcony and pushing open
the glass door, or rather window, he entered the room.
It was the dining-room, and the remnants of a very sumptuous repast
were yet upon the table.
"I'll just take a glass of wine."
He did, too.
He took several glasses of wine, and then, as the fumes of the good
liquor mounted to his brain, he grew generous, and he lowered a bottle
out of the window to his two comrades beneath.
Toro grasped it, and sucked down a good half of it before it left his
lips.
Then Hunston finished it off at a draught.
When Mathias had regaled himself, he made a move to the door.
There was no one about.
Not a sound.
Now was his time.
His object was to explore the house, and ascertain in what particular
part of it the cash, the jewels, and the plate were kept.
When they had secured these, they could content themselves for the
present at least.
Firstly, therefore, he tied up the silver spoons and knives and forks
from the dinner table in a napkin, and dropped the bundle into Toro's
hat below.
Then he crept back through the room into the passage.
This done, he waited for a while to listen, and assuring himself that
the coast was clear, he crept up.
On the next landing there were seven doors.
Six were shut, so he peeped into the seventh room, and just then he
heard a noise below.
Someone coming up stairs.
What could he do?
He stole back to the stairs and listened. It was Marietta.
It was really a most embarrassing job now, for there was no retreat, so
he crept upon tip-toe into the room, of which the door stood ajar.
It was a bedroom, dimly lighted by an oil lamp.
A cursory glance showed him that this room had only been lately
vacated, and that one or more of the ladies had been dressing here for
the ball.
Within a few feet of the door was a looking-glass let into the wall as
a panel, and reaching from floor to ceiling.
Mathias listened in great anxiety for the footsteps on the stairs, and
every moment they sounded nearer and nearer.
"I hope she will not come in here," thought the robber, "else I shall
have to make her sure."
He showed how he meant to "make her sure" by toying with the hilt of
his dagger.
Mathias crouched down, and crept under the bed, just in time, as the
pert young lady skipped into the room.
Her first care was to turn up the lamp, and by its light she looked
about her.
"I think they might have taken me to the ball with them," she said,
saucily shaking her curls off her face. "I should have looked better
than some of them, I'll be bound. I'm dead beat with fatigue. I've had
all the work dressing them, and they are to get all the fun."
She was silent for some few minutes, and Mathias grew anxious.
What could be going forward?
He would vastly like to know.
Unable to control his curiosity, he peeped out, and then he saw pretty
Marietta's portrait in the long looking-glass panel.
She looked prettier than ever now, for, shocking to relate, the young
lady was undressing.
Mathias was not to say a bashful man, so he did not draw back.
On the contrary, he stared with all his eyes.
Pretty Marietta little thought, as she stood before the glass, that
such a desperate villain was watching every movement.
Marietta, wholly unconscious that she was watched by the vile brigand
chief, walked up and down before the glass, shooting admiring glances
at herself over her white and well rounded shoulders.
"Dress, and rank, and money do wonders," she said. "Why are we not all
about equal? I'm as good as the best of them, I'm sure, and very much
better looking."
With this mixture of feminine vanity and republican sentiments, she
bustled about, putting the room a bit in order.
Now her first job was to put away several dresses.
The first of these was a short Spanish skirt of pink satin, with deep
black lace flounces.
"I wonder how I should look in this?" she murmured.
She held up the dress beside her to test the colour against her
complexion.
"Beautiful!"
Beautiful; yes, this was her frank opinion, and, really, we are by no
means sure but that her own estimate was very near the mark.
On went the dress.
She strutted up and down, and then, when she had feasted her eyes
enough upon her own loveliness, she plaited her hair, and, twisting it
up into a rich knot behind, she stuck a high comb into it, and fastened
the thick lace veil about her.
Mathias watched it all.
He gloated over that pretty little picture, and, shameless rascal!
chuckled to think how little she suspected his presence.
"There," she said, folding the veil about her head with the most
coquettish manner, "if I don't look the prettiest señorita alive, why,
call me--call me anything odious--yes, even an Englishwoman--ha, ha,
ha! How that would please my mistress!"
And then she figured about before the glass, and capered through a
Spanish bolero with considerable grace and dexterity, while she sang an
impromptu verse to an old air.
The verse was naturally doggerel, and maybe given in English as
follows--
"Sweet Marietta,
Rarely has been
A sweeter or better
Face or form seen;
My chestnut tresses,
And my Spanish fall,
Would eclipse all the dresses
At the masked ball.
Then why, Marietta.
Dally?--ah, no!
Pluck up, you'd better,
Your courage and go!"
And as she came to the last line, this impudent little maid whirled round,
spinning her skirts about her like a top.
Mathias was enraptured.
With difficulty he kept himself from applauding.
"She'd make her fortune upon the stage," he said to himself.
Marietta had made quite a conquest; a double conquest, it might almost
be said.
The hidden robber was enraptured, and she was scarcely less pleased with
herself.
"I'll go," she said to herself, "Why should I not? They'll never find it
out; I can do just as Cenerentola (Cinderella) did, and who knows but
that some prince might fall over head and ears in love with me? I can get
back long before they do."
Out she skipped too, and tripped down the stairs.
She was off to the ball.
Little dreamt she that for the last half hour her life hung upon the
most slender thread.
And now, the coast being clear, the three brigands prepared to carry out
their plans.
CHAPTER II.
AT THE CONTESSA'S FETE--A ROMANTIC ADVENTURE BETWEEN CERTAIN OLD FRIENDS.
The most brilliant fête of the year was that given by the
rich Contessa Maraviglia at her palazzo.
All the rank and fashion of the land were there.
The palazzo itself was a building of great beauty, and stood in grounds
of great extent.
The contessa, who was a widow, had a princely fortune, and she spent
it lavishly too.
Upon the night of the masquerade the gardens were brilliantly lighted.
Upon the miniature lake there was a fairy gondola, with a coloured
lantern dangling at the prow, and hung with curtains of pale blue silk
gauze.
In this gondola a lady was seated.
She had taken to the gondola, not alone for the sake of the freshness of
the breeze upon the water, but to read without interruption a letter she
had received from a mysterious man who professed to be deeply smitten
with her charms, and who, the messenger of love let fall, was a prince.
She wore a black domino, but was not masked, for as she threw back its
folds to breathe more freely, you could see that her only veil was a
thick fall of black lace, fastened to a high comb in the back of her
head.
"I hope he will not be long," said she to herself, while her heart beat
high with expectation. "His note says clearly enough on the lake in the
fairy gondola. Well, it will certainly be nice to be a princess, but I
do hope that his highness may prove to be a dashing, handsome youth,
such as a Cinderella might sigh for. Hush, boatman!"
"Lady?"
"Do you hear?"
"Someone singing on the bank yonder? Yes! I hear, lady."
"Row that way."
A voice was heard carolling gently the serenade--"Fair shines the moon
to-night."
The voice meant well, evidently, but something rather spoilt the effect.
It was not altogether in tune, nor had the singer the best idea in the
world of time.
Perhaps his singing was spoilt by excess of love.
Perhaps by liquor.
The latter idea was suggested by a certain unsteadiness that would
appear to indicate both love and liquor.
Be that as it may, the singer was not at all aware of the disadvantages
under which he laboured.
On the contrary, he had the greatest belief in himself.
"Boatman," exclaimed the lady, impatiently, "row me ashore."
"Yes, lady."
He obeyed, as he spoke, and as the boat grounded, the hidden minstrel
stepped forward.
The gallant was rather a tall man, masked and habited in a long cloak,
which almost concealed a glittering and gorgeous costume beneath.
This cavalier hastened to tender the lady his hand and to assist her to
disembark.
As soon as she was fairly upon _terra firma_ the gentleman led her
away to a more secluded part of the garden, and then ensued a brief but
highly interesting conversation.
It took place in the Italian language.
That beautiful tongue was not to say elegantly spoken upon either side.
The gentleman spoke as a foreigner, but imperfectly acquainted with the
idiom.
"Sir," said the lady, after an embarrassing silence upon his part, "I
scarcely know if I ought to be here."
"Nor I either, my dear lady," began the gallant.
But then, aware that this was not exactly what might have been expected
of him, he stammered and broke down.
"Poor prince," thought the lady, with a very unladylike chuckle to
herself. "How embarrassed he is."
The cavalier stared at her through the great eyes in his mask, as he
muttered to himself--
"She is evidently in love with me very badly; I am curious to learn how
a princess makes love. I am anxious only of course to study it as a
matter of curiosity."
"I ought not to have come here, prince," said the lady, in a nervous
tone.
Prince!
The word made the masked gentleman stare.
"Prince! I suppose that she can't know I am a married man, and goes
straight to the question. This is popping the question sharply."
He had never been made love to before by a lady of any degree, much
less by a princess, so he was exceedingly anxious to see how she would
begin upon this occasion.
But after they had got to a quiet and remote part of the garden, they
came to a dead lock.
Not a word was spoken upon either side.
"I wish he would say something to me," thought the lady.
She was not used to such bashful suitors.
"I have kept your appointment, sir," she said, "although I fear I am
very wrong."
"My appointment," muttered the cavalier in English, "Come, I like
that."
However, he added in the softest tones he could assume--
"Fear nothing, princess, I am not a dangerous man."
She thought he was, though, for as he said this he chuckled.
The lady dropped her eyes before his bold glance and looked as timid as
you could wish.
Now this appeared only to encourage the gentleman, for he seized her
round the waist and pressed a kiss upon the only part of her cheek
which was left uncovered by her veil.
She struggled feebly, oh, very feebly to release herself; but that
libertine masker held her firmly; that is, as firmly as possible, for
he was not very strong upon his pins.
"Sir, you must not take advantage of my unprotected situation," she
faltered.
"I should be very sorry to, my coy princess," said the gallant.
These words set her heart beating like clockwork.
"He means well," she thought, growing quite easy in her mind.
Meanwhile the ardent young lover, growing bolder by encouragement,
wanted to remove her veil.
"Grant me one favour, my princess," he said. "Let me bask in the
sunshine of your eyes; let me feast my vision upon your rare beauty."
The lady was enraptured at such poetical imagery.
"It sounds like a lovely book," she murmured in ecstasy.
But she would not accede to his request.
She was so filled with joy, so supremely happy, that she feared to
break the enchanting spell by any accident.
"Desist, prince," she said, struggling gently in his embrace,
"I must gaze on that angelic face," said the passionate Adonis.
"Why," exclaimed the lady, "since you know it so well?"
"Know it!" exclaimed the gallant in surprise.
"Yes."
"I have never seen it."
"Yet your letter praises each feature to the skies."
"My letter!"
He was staggered evidently.
"Undoubtedly."
"I sent no letter."
The lady was amazed "If you sent no letter, why are you here?" she
demanded.
"In obedience to yours," responded the gallant.
"My what?"
"Your note--your ever-to-be-treasured missive," gushed the swain.
Now what would have followed in the way of explanations it is
impossible to say, for at the momentous crisis, a voice close by was
heard repeating softly a couplet heard before--
"Dear Marietta,
Never had been
A sweeter or neater
Face or form seen."
The lady started and screamed, and would have fallen had not the
protecting arm of the gentleman been there to catch her.
But her veil fell aside.
When the lover saw her face, he was staggered, and he nearly let her
fall.
"Marietta!" he exclaimed, "Marietta! Mrs. Harkaway's maid, by all
that's wonderful."
"Oho," screamed the lady, "you're standing on my toe!" saying which she
jerked herself back, and dragging his foot away too, down he went.
"It's Mr. Mole," shrieked the lady; and catching up her pink skirt and
black lace flounces, she fled precipitately along the path, leaving her
admirer scrambling in the most undignified manner upon the gravel walk.
Poor Mr. Mole.
But oh, poor Marietta; how sadly was she disappointed with her prince.
CHAPTER III.
MR. MOLE--THE THREE DEVILS AND THEIR DEVILMENT--THE CONTESSA'S
JEWELS--AN ALARM.
"Mr. Mole--Mr. Mole!"
It was Harvey's voice.
Now Mr. Mole was convinced at once that Dick was at the bottom of this
comical conspiracy in which he had been made to look so ridiculous. So
he resolved at first not to make any reply.
But Harvey was guided to the spot by information which had been
furnished him concerning Mr. Mole, and soon he appeared in sight.
"Mr. Mole--Mr. Mole!" exclaimed Dick, in grave reproof.
"Help me up, Harvey," said Mole, "and don't be a fool."
"Well, that's polite."
"Quite as polite as you can expect."
"What do you mean?"
"Oh, you know what I mean well enough."
"I'm hanged if I do!" protested Harvey, stoutly.
His manner caught Mr. Mole immediately.
So this led the old gentleman to reflect.
If Dick did not know, it would be as well to keep the adventure to
himself.
"Is it possible, Harvey, that you don't know what has occurred?"
"No."
"You don't know about Marietta?"
"No."
This decided Mole.
"Marietta is here."
"Never!" said Dick, in accents of deep mystery.
"A fact."
"Never! And who the dickens is Marietta when she is at home?"
"Mrs. Harkaway's maid, to be sure."
Dick burst out laughing at this.
"Why, Mr. Mole," he cried, "what a sly old fox you are."
Mr. Mole stared again.
"I don't quite understand what you are driving at, Mr. Harvey," said
he.
"Don't you, though?--well, I do, old Slyboots."
"Harvey!"
"Oh, don't you try to come the old soldier over me."
"Sir!" said Mr. Mole, rearing himself up to his full height upon his
timbers, "I don't understand your slangy allusions to the ancient
military."
"Why, it is clear enough that you brought her."
"I what?" almost shrieked Mr. Mole, indignantly.
"Brought her, and your poor wife ought to know of it."
"Sir?" said Mole, "if you are bent on insulting me, I shall leave your
company."
"Go it, Mole," said Dick, laughing until the tears came into his eyes;
"go it. The fact is, you have been sneaking about after that little
girl for a long while past; there can be no doubt about it."
"Harvey, I repudiate your vile insinuations with scorn, The fact is,
that in your anxiety to fix some wickedness never contemplated upon me,
you forget all the most important part of the tale."
"What?"
"Why, that girl has left the villa unprotected."
"Nonsense! there's old Constantino there."
"Useless."
"And Mike."
"He barks, but don't bite."
"Besides; you may be mistaken," urged Dick.
"Not I. I knew her at once, and what's more, she recognised me."
"The deuce!"
"And she bolted directly I pronounced her name."
"How was she dressed?"
Mr. Mole gave a hurried description of Marietta's dress, and they want
off in search through the house and grounds after the flighty Marietta.
* * * * *
In another part of the grounds three men met.
"Hunston."
"Toro."
"Captain."
"Here."
"All safe?"
"Yes."
"Good!"
"What have you learnt, Toro?"
"Not much."
"And you, captain?"
"Nothing, or next to nothing," was the reply.
"And you, Hunston?"
"I have gained knowledge," answered the latter; "good, useful
knowledge."
The other two laughed heartily at this reply.
"You were always of a studious turn of mind, Hunston."
"Ha, ha, ha!"
[Illustration: "'WHAT HAVE YOU DISCOVERED?' ASKED THE CAPTAIN"--ADV IN
GREECE, VOL II, PAGE 21]
It may be as well to mention that they had sought a secluded part of
the contessa's gardens, and met now by appointment.
They were all three arrayed in that peculiar style of costume which the
prince of darkness is popularly supposed to don when he makes his
appearance to German students, in certain weird and wild works of
fiction, or in the supernatural drama.
It sounded really remarkable to hear these three men, disguised as
devils, discussing matters generally in such an offhand manner.
The dresses of all three were alike nearly in every particular.
The only mark of distinction between them was a small straight feather
they wore in their caps.
One wore a yellow feather.
Another had a feather of brilliant red.
The third one's feather was of a bright emerald green.
Now these feathers were small, but yet, by reason of the conspicuous
colours, could be seen at a considerable distance.
"What is it you have discovered?" asked the captain.
"Out with it, Hunston," said Toro, in his old impatient way.
"Well, in the first place," was Hunston's reply, "our letters to old
Mole and to the girl Marietta were perfectly successful."
"Of course."
"The vanity of the one, and the conceit of the other, made it an easy
matter."
"It did."
"I saw the interview from a snug place of concealment, and took care to
let her know it."
"How?"
"By humming her song which you heard her sing up at the villa."
The latter looked somewhat alarmed at this.
"Was that prudent?"
"Of course she did not see me, only we must get a thorough hold over
this girl, so as to have her as an accomplice in the enemy's camp
always."
"Good."
"Now let us get back to the ball-room, and see what is to be picked up
there."
Back they went, and arrived in the large ball-room just as a dance was
being got up.
The three diabolical companions deemed it prudent now to separate, that
no undue attention might be drawn upon their movements.
And they went sauntering about the rooms, each upon the look-out for
any slice of luck which might turn up.
Hunston had added a long red cloak to his costume, so as to envelope
his figure and cover his arm, for fear of accidentally running across
Harkaway or Harvey, or in fact, any of the party.
In this cloak he was wrapped, and silently watching two young and
lovely girls, whose grace and elegance were commanding universal
admiration.
One was fair as a lily, with light, golden, wavy hair, and full blue
eyes.
This beautiful girl it was who excited Hunston's curiosity
"Who can she be? Perhaps Harvey's daughter," he thought
Now these two were equally lovely to gaze upon, the beauty of each
being of a totally different character.
"If we can but spirit little Emily away to the mountains," said Hunston
to himself, "I shall be able to repay them for all I have suffered.
Nay, more, I shall be able to satisfy the greed of Mathias and the
band, by making the accursed Harkaway disgorge some of his enormous
wealth."
A hand was placed upon his shoulder.
"Hah!"
"It is I," said a voice in his ear.
And looking up, he beheld the devil in the red feather.
"Mathias."
"Hush! I have to rejoin a lady now, to whom I am engaged for the
dance."
"The dance!"
Mathias nodded.
"She accepted at once a dance with the devil; I'll lead her a devil of
a dance."
And the brigand captain laughed hugely at his own conceit.
But Hunston was not in laughing humour.
"I'm glad to find you so merry, captain."
The Greek did not observe his gloomy manner; he only replied--"You will
be merry, too, when I tell you the cause."
"I have no thought for the pleasures of these fools," said Hunston,
gruffly; "I only think of business."
"I too."
"And yet you are going to dance, Captain Mathias."
"For business reasons, solely," said the Greek.
"Ho ho!"
"My partner is positively bristling with diamonds," said the brigand,
significantly.
Hunston was interested immediately.
"Diamonds?"
"Aye! diamonds; and such diamonds, too. There is one as big as a nut, I
swear."
"I must see this lady."
"You shall."
"Where is she to be seen?"
"Come with me," said the captain.
Away they went, squeezing through the crowds of dancers and maskers,
until they came to the smaller ball-room, where a lady stood in
conversation with a big man, admirably got up as a knight of the olden
time.
The lady Hunston recognised at a glance, from the description which
Mathias had given of her jewels.
Her finely-rounded arms were encircled by bracelets, set with the
richest diamonds, that matched a necklet of priceless worth apparently.
She wore a tiara, too, of the same costly making and setting.
The dance began.
It was a waltz.
Now the gallant Mathias acquitted himself to perfection in the dance,
carrying his fair and richly-attired partner through the crowded room
without getting at all jostled by the dancers.
Hunston followed their movements with the greatest possible interest,
and as they shot past him for the third time round the room, he
contrived to take from the Greek captain's hand one of the lady's
bracelets which he had with some dexterity removed.
The next round he was less successful.
As they shot past, the brigand's hand was outstretched, but Hunston
missed it, and a glittering object dropped to the floor. Hunston
stooped to recover it, when--
"The lady has dropped something," said a voice in his ear.
"What lady?" he demanded, recovering himself quickly,
"The contessa."
"Ah! I see. But was it the contessa?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes. It is the lady dancing with your half-brother."
"Eh!"
Hunston started a little after these words.
They sounded very unpleasantly in his ear.
He had evidently been associated with Mathias by the speaker.
Now the latter was a strange-looking little being.
A stunted man, with broad, square shoulders, and got up to represent
the description which Victor Hugo has given us of his creation of
Quasimodo.
"That is the contessa?" said Hunston, recovering his presence of mind.
"Yes."
"I am very glad of it, for I shall be able to restore this to its
proper owner."
"Of course."
Hunston arose, and with a slight inclination of the head, crossed the
room, as if in search of the contessa.
The dwarf regarded him eagerly as he went.
"That's a rum one," he said to himself. "He means to pocket the
contessa's bracelet. What a swindle! I thought there was something more
devilish about him than his dress."
* * * * *
Hunston fled precipitately to the gardens.
Close by the spot where he had previously met his companions in crime,
there was a man awaiting him with a big bundle.
"Matteo, is it you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good; give me the other dress out. Quick! I must change, and be back
before my absence can be noticed."
As he spoke, he had already torn from the hands of the man Matteo a
pair of trunks of blue cloth slashed with amber silk, and quick as an
eye could wink, he was into them.
And then he fastened on a similarly coloured mantle.
"Tell me, Matteo, does that change me?"
"Yes, perfectly."
"Good! take this."
"What, jewels?"
"Hush! hear all, see all, and say nothing. Away with you, now."
"Yes. Where to?"
"Back to the mountains, where we can always guard what we ourselves
have made."
"True."
Just then there was a commotion in the ball-room, and a voice was heard
to cry out--
"The contessa has lost her richest diamonds and other precious stones.
There are robbers here. No one must leave the grounds."
"By Heaven!" ejaculated Hunston; "we are lost."
CHAPTER IV.
HUNSTON'S ADVENTURE--MOLE IN A MAZE--HE MEETS AN EVIL SPIRIT--GROSS
OUTRAGE ON HIS WOODEN LEGS--MATHIAS IN TROUBLE-THE ASSASSIN'S
KNIFE.
Quasimodo, who had detected one of the devils, was Magog Brand.
The audacity of the fearless Greek had carried him through so far, but
Quasimodo had spoilt him at last.
A number of gentlemen in the company began to inquire very minutely
into the affair.
Prominent amongst them was Harkaway.
He and Jefferson, prompt to act as ever, inquired into the
circumstances of this gross outrage, and then it was elicited that the
depredator was seen last in diabolical costume.
"A devil!" ejaculated one of the company. "Of course, I saw the man
myself."
"I too," said another.
"Yes, he wore a red feather in his high-crowned hat."
"No," said another; "a feather, it is true, but the feather was green,
I am sure."
Upon this, Magog Brand came forward.
"I saw it all done," he said. "I saw the man who did it"
"What, rob the contessa?"
"Yes, and as soon as I saw what It meant, I gave the alarm; but the
devil disappeared like greased lightning."
"There!" exclaimed half a dozen at once, "I said it was the devil."
"Yes," added one of the guests, eagerly. "What coloured feather had
he?"
"Red," ejaculated another, immediately.
"Green," retorted the opposite faction, loudly, but Magog Brand said--
"It was neither red nor green," said he, "but a bright yellow."
Now, while this inquiry was being proceeded with, nobody happened to
observe one singular circumstance.
That was the presence, the whole of the time, in the motley-coloured
crowd, of one of the diabolical trio in question.
This very devil no sooner heard the question raised about the coloured
feathers in their head gear, than he doffed his hat unperceived and
pulled out the feather.
And then, as the controversy grew warmer, he sneaked off.
He made all possible haste for the garden gate.
Once here he was about to rush through, when he was accosted by two
men, whose uniform gave him an unpleasant twinge.
They were gendarmes.
"You cannot leave the ground yet, sir," said one of them sharply.
"I don't wish to," replied the devil, promptly. "I come to bring you
orders."
"I beg your pardon," said the gendarme.
"A robbery has been committed."
"Yes, sir."
"That is the reason you have had your orders to guard the gate. Oh, you
know it. Well, what you don't know is that the robbery is supposed to
have been committed by a masker dressed as I am. Take particular note
of my dress."
"Yes, sir."
The gendarme grinned as he said this.
"Keep your eyes open. These are the contessa's particular orders."
"Trust me, sir."
"There is a reward if you capture the thief."
The gendarme laughed at this, and said, with an air of
self-confidence--"I think I shall get him."
The merry devil slapped the gendarme upon the back heartily.
"You are the sort of man for my money."
Saying which, he turned and left the spot.
Making his way to a place in the grounds previously agreed upon, he ran
across the brigand Matteo armed with a change of dress for him.
The spot selected was up one of the narrowest alleys in the grounds, at
the end of which was a species of Hampton Court maze in miniature.
Just as the diabolical one was about to divest himself of half of his
skin, Matteo gave the alarm.
"The devil!" ejaculated the masker, which was, perhaps, the most
natural exclamation he could make, all things considered. "What can
this be? Somebody watched me here."
He waited a minute or so in anxiety.
An unsteady footfall was heard upon the gravel walk, and a man in a
cloak came staggering along.
"They may call this a grand _fête_ if they like," he mumbled. "I
call it a shabby affair. Why, there's not a respectable drink in the
place. The lucky thing is that I have provided my own."
He had a bottle with him, and he sucked at it from time to time as he
staggered on, until all of a sudden he ran on to the alarmed masker,
who was growing impatient to change his garments.
The staggering one looked up, and seeing such an alarming figure
towering over him, he gave a wild howl and fled.
"The devil! the devil!" he shouted wildly. "Help! help!"
"Stop that fool, Matteo, or he will bring the whole house down about
our ears."
Matteo seized the merrymaker, and was about to make short work with
him, when his superior held his hand.
"Put by your knife," he said; "not that. Hold him tight and threaten
him; but no knife."
But for this timely interference, it would have gone hard with the
unfortunate new-comer, who was our old friend Mole.
Mole, it should be noted, had been compelled to change his cork legs,
on which he could scarcely stand, for his old, familiar stumps, which
Harvey had brought with him in case any accident should occur.
"Forgive me, Mr. Devil," he implored, in drunken tones, "oh, forgive
me."
"Mole!" exclaimed the devil, in a thrilling voice, "your evil deeds are
known to me."
"Oh, oh, oh!" groaned the wretched Isaac, piteously.
"Your time has come."
"Mercy, mercy!" gasped Mole.
"Never."
"Give me a little time, Mr. Devil."
"No."
"Oh, do, do, for the sake of my twins," said Mole, in his most
persuasive manner, "and I'll stand any thing you like to--hic--to name.
Don't take me away, but come and liquor up with me."
"Silence!" thundered the irritable devil
"I'm dumb."
"Away with you, and repent."
Mole staggered off.
As soon as he was gone, Matteo assisted his master to change his
garments, and in the space of five minutes at the outside, the devil
disappeared, and was replaced by a gay cavalier, habited in a rich
costume of blue slashed with amber, and a broad-brimmed sombrero.
The excitement occasioned by the impudent robbery of the contessa
Maraviglia's jewels had not by any means subsided, so the confusion
prevailing in consequence was highly favourable to Hunston's new
villany for trapping little Emily.
Nearing the entrance to the ball-room, he came to a conservatory, into
which Mr. Mole had strolled, or let us say staggered, and then dropped
into a seat.
Hunston glided in unperceived by Mole, and concealed himself behind
some thick shrubs close to him.
Mole was bent upon making himself comfortable.
The irrepressible bottle was out again.
"I feel," mumbled Mole, little thinking there was a listener near, "I
feel that I am a devil of a fellow. All the ladies love me, and all the
men fear me. I'm too much for anyone of them, ha, ha, ha! I've taken a
rise out of the devil himself."
Here he had a suck at the bottle.
"I'm getting quite familiar with evil spirits to-night," he said
grinning; "I don't think he will see me again in a hurry--he, he!" He
raised the bottle again to his lips, when a ghostly voice sounded in
his ear--
"Beware!"
He turned pale, and then got very red in the face.
"Who's there?" said Mole, looking nervously round; "come in, don't
knock; what a fool I am."
"Remember!" said the same hollow voice as before.
"Oh, Lor', oh, Lor'!" cried Mole; "I'm gone; he's there again."
"Beware!"
"I'm gone, I'm going," cried Mole; "oh, Lor', oh, Lor'!"
And off he ran, Hunston following closely behind him.
Now Hunston got near enough to him to see that he was really trying to
get little Emily and Paquita to take care of him for a time, and walk
with him in the grounds.
"There will be two of them to take care of," said Hunston, following
them up as closely as was prudent; "that complicates matters. I hope
Matteo has taken his measures carefully."
Matteo had.
They drew near to the entrance of the maze, and then Hunston began to
look anxiously about him for Matteo and the rest of their accomplices.
"I think we had better return," he heard little Emily say.
Suddenly a whistle was blown, and five or six men sprang out from the
maze.
In less time than it takes to record the outrage, the two girls were
seized and borne off in stout, relentless arms, their cries being
stifled by thick wraps thrown over their heads.
"To the small gate," exclaimed Hunston.
Mole recognised the familiar voice of Hunston, and the whole danger
flashed into his mind at once, sobering him most effectually.
"Hunston, you villain, I know you!" he cried. "And I will lose my life
rather than harm should come to these dear girls."
Hunston turned and faced him savagely.
"If you know me, Mole," he said meaningly, "then beware of me."
Mole's only reply was to grapple with him with all his strength.
But the foolish old man was hurled to the ground, and then one of the
brigands fell upon him, brandishing a huge knife.
Hunston here interfered, and gave a command which made the men laugh
very heartily.
A fresh outrage was perpetrated, and in the space of two minutes, Mr.
Mole found himself alone, and on his back.
"Hunston, you black-hearted thief," he cried, "I'll follow you if--"
He tried to rise, but down he went again.
He was lop-sided.
And why?
The brigands had amputated one of his wooden legs.
* * * * *
Leaving them for a moment, let us return to Mathias.
That daring scoundrel was not satisfied with having escaped a great
danger scot free, and made a very rich prize, but he must needs return
to the Palazzo Maraviglia in another dress, in quest of fresh plunder.
The fact was that he was flushed with wine.
Else he would have thought twice of returning.
Mingling with the crowd in the large ball-room, he came to a group
discussing the late robbery in great excitement, and as he was pressing
forward to learn what he could, he became entangled in a lady's lace
flounces.
He turned sharply to apologise, and recognised the figure at once.
"The lovely Marietta," Mathias exclaimed.
She heard him, and made off to the other end of the room, closely
followed by Mathias, who had conceived a violent fancy for her.
"Stay, Senorita," he exclaimed, seizing her hand.
"What do you want with me?" said Marietta.
"Only to plead--"
"Nonsense," she exclaimed, interrupting him abruptly; "you don't know
me."
"Let me plead--"
"Bother!"
"Nay," said the persistent robber, "if you will not hear me speak, hear
me sing."
And then, being an admirable mimic, he imitated her strut before the
looking-glass, and general coquettish behaviour in the dressing-room at
the villa, while he sang in a falsetto voice--
"Sweet Marietta,
Rarely has been
A sweeter or better
Face or form seen.
Dear Marietta!"
"Hah!" cried the girl, starting back as if she had been shot.
Her first impulse was to faint.
But as soon as she gained the cooler air without, she recovered, and
collecting her senses a little, she gave a pretty shrewd guess at the
truth.
She was silly, yet not a bad-natured girl.
She saw her duty plainly enough.
She must make herself known at once to her master.
Harkaway was close at hand, discussing the robbery still with
Jefferson.
The whole of this party were of course known to Marietta; so she made
straight up to Harkaway, and said hurriedly--
"Have that man seized, sir--see, that one who is following me. I am
Marietta. He has just said something to me which convinces me that he
was hiding in the villa to-night."
"Hullo!" exclaimed Harkaway, not a little startled at this sudden
address; "why, what in Heaven's name--"
"Lose no time," interrupted Marietta eagerly, "or he will go--see, he
has taken the alarm."
"The girl's right," said Jefferson, striding off after Mathias.
The latter now began to perceive that he had made a false step, and he
hurried through the crowded room towards the door, and was just passing
out, when a dwarfed and ugly figure leaped upon him.
So sudden was the attack that Mathias was capsized, and together they
rolled upon the floor.
"Let go!" said the Greek fiercely, "or I'll--"
"Not me!" exclaimed Magog Brand--for he was the Greek's assailant. "I
know you, my yellow-feathered devil, even though you have shed your
skin!"
"Let go," hissed the Greek brigand, with compressed lips, "or I'll have
your life!"
"I'll not let go," cried the brave little Brand. "I have got you,
villain, and will hold you. Ah!"
Mathias scrambled up, and tried to fly, but he was met with a blow from
Jefferson's fist which might have felled an ox in the shambles.
He dropped lifeless on the ground beside Magog,
And then a sudden outcry arose, for it was found that in that brief
struggle poor Magog Brand had been cruelly used.
A long-bladed poignard was buried up to the hilt in his side.
Poor Brand.
Death must have been almost instantaneous.
They tore the mask from Mathias' face, and thereupon an agent of the
secret police stepped forward and made known who it was.
"This is the notorious Mathias," he said. "One of the most daring of
the brigands hereabouts; we have been wanting him badly for some time
past."
"You have got him," said Harkaway, "but oh!" he added, glancing at the
lifeless form of Magog Brand, "at what a price for us!"
At this juncture Harvey reached the spot, and taking in the whole scene
at a glance, he dropped on his knees beside the body of Magog Brand,
where Jefferson was already kneeling, seemingly half stupefied by the
catastrophe.
"He has fainted," said he to Harvey.
Harvey shook his head mournfully.
"He'll never faint again, Jefferson."
"What?"
"Never."
"You surely--no, no, Brand, dear old boy, look up."
He faltered and broke down.
"Yes, Jefferson," said Harvey in deep emotion. "Poor Magog Brand is at
the end of his troubles and pleasures alike--he is dead!"
[Illustration: "'MURDER! ABDUCTION! SHOUTED MOLE HUNSTON IS HERE"--ADV
IN GREECE VOL II PAGE 39.]
CHAPTER V.
THE PURSUIT OF THE BRIGANDS--THE BATTLE--VARYING FORTUNES--HOW
HUNSTON AND TORO WERE LAID BY THE HEELS.
Consternation was upon every face.
The catastrophe was so sudden and unlocked for, that the people about
were half stupefied with fear.
On one side lay poor Magog Brand, lately so full of life and animation.
On the other was his assassin, felled by the dead man's best friend,
the doughty Jefferson, and with scarcely more life in him than his
victim.
And while the people were staring hopelessly at each other thus, a
voice was heard giving the alarm hard by.
"Poor Brand, your murderer shall not escape," said Jefferson bitterly.
The noise continued, and presently the voice was recognised.
"It is Mole," cried Harkaway.
He was right.
Just then the poor old gentleman appeared upon the scene.
"Harkaway, Jefferson, Harvey!" he cried.
"What's the matter?"
"Murder!" returned Mole. "Hunston is here."
"By Heaven! I thought it," ejaculated Jefferson.
"He has carried off Emily and Paquita."
"What?"
"I interfered, but they were too many for me. See how they have used
me."
"Was he with the brigands?" demanded Harkaway.
"I suppose so. A whole mob of ruffians."
"Where are they gone?"
"By the small gate."
A hurried explanation ensued with the agent of the secret police, who
gave them a few words of comfort.
"He'll never be able to pass my men at the gate," said the officer,
with great confidence.
This was doubtful.
They knew too well Hunston's boldness and audacity.
But they lost no time in getting up a pursuit.
The contessa's stables were well furnished, and two horses were
speedily saddled for Harkaway and Jefferson.
Harvey, too impatient to wait for a mount, had rushed wildly away in
the direction of the small gate, followed by Mr. Mole.
Here he saw to his dismay that a scramble had taken place, in which the
gendarmes had got decidedly the worst of it.
The two who had been on guard at the gate had got very roughly handled,
one having a broken crown and the other showing an ugly wound in the
side.
"They have gone this way, then?" exclaimed Harvey, eagerly.
"Yes."
"Which way?"
"They made for the right," faltered one of the wounded men.
"Is it long?"
"No; a few moments."
"They can not get far," said the gendarme with the broken pate; "the
two girls were struggling hard with him."
"Hurrah!" cried Harvey. "I'll save my child yet."
"You are not the first in the hunt," said the other gendarme, speaking
with evident pain; "there are two black men after them."
"That must be Sunday and Monday," exclaimed Harvey.
And off he ran.
He bounded over the ground like a deer, and when he got about half a
mile further on, he came suddenly upon two men struggling.
One of them was a negro.
Who, in fact, but our old friend the Prince of Limbi, the faithful
Monday?
The other was one of the Greeks, a face unknown to Harvey, but one who
has already figured in these pages.
Matteo!
And lying on the ground near him was a brigand struck down dead by
brave Monday.
As Harvey came up, it was nearing the end of what had been a precious
tough fight. Monday was uppermost, and Matteo, who had gradually
succumbed to the wiry negro, was by this time in a very queer way
indeed.
Monday held him by the throat, and in spite of his desperate efforts to
set himself free, Matteo had lost his breath.
And there he lay completely at the negro's mercy.
"There, you dam tief!" exclaimed the Prince of Limbi, "take dat, an'
dat, an' dat, an' now, be golly, have dis for a little bit in."
At every word he pressed harder and harder and jerked his adversary
back.
The "little bit in" settled Matteo completely.
Something seemed to crack in the wretched Greek's throat, and he
dropped back.
"Monday, Monday!" said Harvey, eagerly, "where are they?"
"Hullo, Massa Dick!" said faithful Monday; "I'se gwine to give this
fellar toko an' den I'll jine yar."
"He's done for," said Dick, hastily. "Come now."
"He might come too," said Monday, in some doubt.
"No fear."
"Perhaps."
"Why, he'll never trouble anyone more," returned Harvey; "tell me,
where have they gone?"
"They went straight on."
"This road?"
"Yes."
"Good. Come or stay. I'll go," exclaimed Harvey.
And off he ran.
Monday gave his silent enemy a shake to see if it was all over.
"He's a gone coon," he said to himself. "I'll bolt off after Massa
Dick."
Away he ran at a good swinging trot.
In about ten minutes more he came up with him.
And this was under the most alarming circumstances.
Not very long after this a horseman dashed up to the spot, and only
drew rein to give a glance at the lifeless form of the wretched Matteo.
"He's dead," said the horseman, who was none other than Jack Harkaway.
"This looks like some of Dick's handiwork. Dick or some of our party. I
hope Dick is safe." Saying which, he whipped up his horse, and tore on
at a mad gallop.
A very few moments after this he came up with the brigands with their
captives.
Just in the nick of time.
Hunston and Toro were there both with their hands full, while the
Greeks had all their work to do to take care of the two captive girls.
Little Emily and Paquita, having now recovered from their surprise,
were lending assistance to the cause by keeping all the Greeks fully
occupied in looking after them.
And while they were thus occupied, Sunday and Dick Harvey were engaged
with Toro and Hunston.
Dick had rushed so violently upon Hunston that the latter was toppled
over, and it looked as though Harvey was about to make short work with
their old enemy.
But alas for Sunday!
The poor negro was overmatched.
His heart was good, but the weight and enormous strength of the Italian
were too much for him to vanquish.
That he had not as yet succumbed to Toro, was due only to his vastly
superior agility and activity.
It was all in vain for the Italian ruffian to try and close with him.
Sunday would not have this.
He knew that his chance lay in keeping Toro at a respectful distance.
And so he danced round him, dropping in an occasional smart rap which
goaded the Italian to fury.
"Help!" cried Hunston. "Cut him down! cut him down!"
One of the brigands rushed at Harvey knife in hand, and thus created a
momentary diversion in his favour.
Had not Harkaway just then appeared upon the scene it might have gone
hard with his comrade Dick.
Prompt, however, to act at this critical juncture, Harkaway spurred his
horse into the group and rode them down.
Then reining up, he flung himself from his horse, and went into the
melee.
"I'm in it, Dick, old boy," cried Jack; "here's one for Harkaway."
"Hurrah!" shouted Dick, in great excitement. "A Harkaway! a Harkaway to
the rescue!"
Toro turned to Harkaway with a cry of rage.
"Curse you!" he exclaimed; "I'll have your life now, or you shall have
mine."
"By all means," said old Jack, cheerfully.
"Cur!"
"Come, now," said Harkaway, with subdued rage, "I can't stand that;
take this!"
And before Toro knew where he was, he got it.
It was not as pleasant as he could have wished when he did get it.
A devil of a thud it came upon his nose, a fair blow with Harkaway's
fist, and being delivered straight from the shoulder, it seemed to the
Italian like the kick of a donkey.
Toro shook all over.
His eyes flashed fireworks, and he was half stunned for the moment.
Harkaway's triumph was but temporary.
One of the Greeks, who was watching the conflict between these giants
of the combat in great interest, had by now crept up behind Jack, and
seizing him suddenly round the middle, hurled him to the ground.
"Ha, ha!" yelled Toro.
And bounding forward, he fell upon Harkaway, knife in hand.
"At last, at last, your life is in my hands," he cried in fiend-like
joy.
The knife gleamed in the air.
A piercing shriek from little Emily was heard.
A cry of fear from Paquita, and suddenly the latter, disengaging
herself from her captors, bounded forward and seized Toro by the hair.
She dragged him back with all her strength, and little as it was, it
saved the life of Jack Harkaway.
Jack put forth all his strength at this most critical juncture, and
succeeded in grappling once more with his herculean opponent.
Toro lost his balance.
A moment more and he was rolling upon the ground in deadly battle with
brave Jack Harkaway.
So fierce a strife could not last long.
In the heat of the combat cries were heard encouraging Harkaway and
Harvey to fresh exertions, and up dashed the bold Monday, closely
followed by Jefferson and several gentlemen from the contessa's fête.
The Greeks now began to lose heart.
The odds were veering round to the wrong side.
Greeks can fight moderately well when they are three or four to one
Englishman, but when the numbers are equal, they do not care to provoke
hostilities.
And so they blew upon their whistles for assistance, and soon the
answering calls came in every direction, causing the gravest fears to
the Harkaway faction.
"Hah!" ejaculated Jefferson; "they are coming to help you. But at least
I'll make sure of you, Master Toro."
The Italian did not shirk the encounter.
Toro, to do him justice, was, with all his faults, no coward.
He had felt the weight of Jefferson's arm, and he had reason to
remember it.
Yet he met his old adversary boldly.
Jefferson fell upon the huge Italian with tiger-like fury, and in spite
of his prodigious size and weight, he lifted him in his arms, swung him
round, and hurled him to the ground.
The Greeks now, seeing their leaders in such dire peril, thought of
avenging themselves by the most dastardly o| expedients.
"Kill the girls!" cried one of them.
The hint was caught up with avidity.
A savage yell responded to the bloodthirsty suggestion, and the lives
of the two innocent girls were in real peril.
"Look to the girls!" shouted Dick Harvey, who was fully occupied with
two of the Greek brigands who were pressing him closely.
There was a cheer in response to this appeal, and over went two of the
Greeks.
Jefferson too lent a hand at this juncture.
Finding himself free from Toro's attentions, for the huge Italian had
received such a desperate shaking with his fall that he was not fit for
much now, he rushed into the _mêlée_, and dealt out such slogging
blows that there were at least a dozen bleeding noses and black eyes
distributed amongst the bandits in rather less time than it takes to
note the fact.
The Greeks were thoroughly discouraged.
This unpleasant British mode of attack was not at all to their liking.
They could do pretty well with knives or swords, or even with firearms,
but they could only regard men who used their fists in the lights of
savages.
Gradually they retreated before the fierce onslaught of the Britishers
and their gallant Yankee ally.
This was no small triumph.
The brigands mustered at least twenty men.
Their enemies were five.
The five were Harkaway, Harvey, Jefferson, and the two negroes Sunday
and Monday.
The chicken-hearted Greeks, however, did not altogether turn tail, for
ere they could get fairly off this hardly-contested field, they
received considerable reinforcements.
About ten more Greeks put in an appearance.
A ragged, ruffianly crew, and ill armed.
The Harkaway party were not armed at all.
The Greeks fell back and made attempts to re-form in something like
good order.
But Jefferson saw the danger, and he followed them up closely.
Jack and Dick Harvey were at his heels.
Neither of our old friends were inferior to the bold Jefferson in
courage; but they did not possess his great advantages of size and
strength.
Jefferson's right arm went out like a battering ram, and each time he
struck out, down dropped his man.
At all events, the brigands did not give any particular signs of coming
up for a repetition dose.
The huge American dashed into the thick of the enemy.
The assassination of poor little Magog Brand had fired his fury, and
his charge was something terrific.
He dashed into the midst of the half cowed bandits, and swinging his
arms around him like the sails of a windmill, he "grassed" a man at
every stroke.
But this could not last for long.
As the Greeks grew stronger in numbers, they stood upon the defensive.
They were reassured.
They had seven-and-twenty men against the five.
The five, too, large-hearted though they were, had the two girls to
look after.
Amongst the latest comers upon the bandits' side was one man who was a
petty officer of the brigands, and he gave a few hurried commands,
which had the effect of putting Harkaway and his friends into a very
awkward predicament.
"Load and fire," said the brigand, "Shoot them all down."
If they could but succeed in getting a shot or two at the bold
Jefferson, or at any of the party, it would speedily be all over with
them.
But now, when individual bravery could no longer avail them, they had a
rare slice of luck.
Suddenly a rattling volley of musketry was heard, and three of the
Greeks bit the dust, while a number of cries told that several were
hit.
And then a detachment of gendarmes dashed up into the open at a
swinging trot.
And who headed this very welcome party?
Who but two youths that have been heard of before in these pages?
Who indeed but young Jack Harkaway and his friend Harry Girdwood?
CHAPTER VI.
SUNDAY RUBS OFF AN OLD SCORE--THE BRIGANDS--WHAT HAPPENED AT
THE PORTER'S LODGE--A STRANGE BLIND BEGGAR.
"Hurrah!"
"Give them another."
"Load again."
"Another volley."
A rapid, irregular discharge followed, and the Greeks, with cries of
fear and rage, dropped their arms and fled precipitately, panic-stricken.
The gendarmes followed them up, and several were knocked over and
secured; and behind them the brigands had left no less than seven of
their number who had not been able to get off.
Amongst those seven were two men that it was no small gratification to
the Harkaway party to see once more in their power.
These two men were Hunston and Toro the Italian.
Sunday stood over the latter, leathering into his half insensible
carcase in a way that threatened to cover it with bruises; and at every
blow he had something fresh to say.
"Take dat!" he exclaimed, punching into Toro's ribs, "you dam nigger."
Toro, dazed with what he had suffered in his shaking, could offer no
resistance.
"And dere's another, you ugly tief!" said the virtuous Sunday. "I'll
gib you what for; you shall hab what Paddy gib the drum, you 'fernal
black skunk; I show yar what John up the orchard is, you--you Italian
organ-grinding sweep--You chestnut-munching beast!"
Sunday had never forgotten his first acquaintance with Toro.
The reader will doubtless bear it in mind, since with it is connected
one of the most startling episodes of Jack Harkaway's history, in his
voyage round the world with young Jack.
It was at the hotel in New York that the Harkaways first met with
Sunday, too, for here they were the means of rescuing him from the
brutal violence of the ruffian Toro.
It was, in fact, this which led up to that scene of terror--the firing
of the hotel by Hunston and Toro.
Sunday had suffered at Toro's hands, but had never had his whack back.
But now the darkey showed the half insensible Italian the full
signification of "John up de orchard," and likewise of "what for," and
"what Paddy gave the drum."
* * * * *
Hunston and Toro were thrown into prison, with the few brigands
captured and their discomfited chieftain Mathias.
Such was the end of their exploit.
When once they were in prison, however, it required some exertion on
the part of the authorities to keep them there.
The gang were unceasing in their endeavours to release them.
Artifices of every kind were tried to accomplish it, but the Harkaways
had foreseen that no stone would be left unturned by the murderous
friends of the captured robbers; and they knew the good old-fashioned
saying--"forewarned, forearmed.'"
The prison in which they we re confined was situated at the waterside,
and it was approachable by boat, where the entrance was beneath a low,
vaulted archway.
The day after the capture of the notorious robbers, a poor cripple
hobbled up to the porter's lodge, dragging himself painfully along by
the aid of a stick in one hand and a crutch under his other arm.
"Move off," said the porter gruffly; "we have nothing to give away
here."
"I don't ask your charity," replied the cripple humbly; "accept this,
good sir, as a peace offering."
And then, to the porter's surprise, he dropped a coin into his hand.
The porter looked hard at the coin in his hand, and then at the
cripple.
He was a man of no sentiment, this porter, and so he asked the generous
donor bluntly what he wanted for the money.
"I only want you to show some consideration and kindness, if possible,
to some of the unfortunate inmates of this place," was the reply.
"Prisoners?"
"Yes."
"If you expect that," said the porter "you had better take back your
money, for I have nothing to do with the prisoners."
The cripple looked grave, and he muttered to himself--
"This fool is beastly conscientious. If he had only proved a bit of a
rogue, there was a chance--the ass!"
But he did not mean to yield the point yet.
"You are a very good man," he said to the porter, "a worthy honest
fellow, and you will know that I don't mean to offer you any thing like
a bribe."
The porter started.
"A bribe!" he said, with an expletive. "You had better not."
"Ahem!" coughed the cripple. "My friend, I have confined in this prison
my son, a poor misguided boy--"
"They are mostly that," said the porter shortly.
"But he is innocent."
"They are all innocent," said the porter.
"All?"
"According to their own showing."
"But my boy is."
"No doubt"
"And I only want to beg you to do what you can to soften his lot--a
hard lot it is, too."
"I can do nothing, I tell you," said the porter; "I never see the
prisoners."
"I thought--"
"At least, when I say never, I mean only when they are allowed to walk
in the prison yard."
"That is here?"
"Yes."
"When is that?"
"Once a day; sometimes more than that, if the doctor orders it."
"The doctor must order it, then?" said the cripple to himself.
"What is your son in for?" asked the porter.
"For an unfortunate resemblance he bears to a notorious brigand."
"Bah!" exclaimed the porter. "They don't imprison a man for being like
another."
"Yes, they do; my unlucky son has been taken for Mathias the brigand."
"What," ejaculated the doorkeeper, "do you mean that Mathias is not
Mathias?"
"I mean that my son has been taken for Mathias, to whom, indeed, he is
so like that nothing but the capture of the real culprit can save my
son."
The doorkeeper eyed the cripple sharply.
But the latter stood it coolly enough.
"Well," said the door porter, "if that is the case, it is certainly a
very hard job for your son. What do you want me to do for him? I can't
let him out."
"My friend," exclaimed the cripple, "think you I would suggest such a
thing? No, all I would ask of you is to soothe him with a kind word."
"I'll tell him when next he comes out."
"At what time did you say?" asked the cripple, looking on the ground as
though he only put the question casually.
"At twelve."
The cripple's eyes glistened as he heard this.
"Well, well," he said, pressing some more money into the door porter's
hand, "I'll call again, and perhaps you may have seen my boy, and
comforted him with the assurance that I'll save him, in spite of all
the ill these accursed English people can work by the aid of their
money."
"Oh, that's it, is it?" said the porter. "The English are at work in
it, eh?"
"Yes. They owe him some spite, and money, you know, can buy any
thing--any thing." And blessing the gatekeeper, he hobbled off.
* * * * *
Near the prison he overtook a blind man begging by the roadside, and
while stopping to drop a coin in his hat, the cripple contrived to
whisper a few hurried words to this effect--
"I have made a step--almost made a breach in the fortress."
"You have!"
And the blind man turned his head to the right and to the left, almost
as though looking out to see if they were unwatched.
"Yes; the prison yard is only the other side of the gate. Now that gate
is kept by a porter who is already in our interest."
"Good, good, Tomaso!" quoth the blind man.
"Now, listen."
"Go on," returned the blind man, in an eager tone.
"At noon the prisoners are in the yard. If we could but get that gate
open for an instant, and have our men ready hereabouts for a rush--"
"Yes, yes."
"Who can tell what may happen?"
"Good again--good again! ha, ha, ha! that's brave, that is. Why, the
mob of idle sightseers who crowd about the prison gates at noon to
watch the prisoners might all be poor blind wretches or helpless
cripples like you and I."
"Of course."
"And if the gate is left open but one instant--a single inch, no
more--why, worlds might be done."
"A horse ready saddled near at hand might be worth thinking of."
"True."
"And a small keg of gunpowder blown up under the archway by the
waterside entrance would divert attention."
"Tomaso," ejaculated the blind man, "you're born to be a captain of
brigands some day!"
CHAPTER VII.
HOW TOMASO HELPED HIS FRIENDS IN TROUBLE--THE SKIRMISH IN THE
PRISON--MATHIAS THE BRIGAND.
Tomaso, before the day was over, changed his garments and abandoned
crutch and stick, and when he turned out with flaxen-dyed hair and
spectacles, and presented himself at the other great entrance of the
prison, as a German traveller who desired to go over the place, no one
could possibly have imagined it to be the old cripple whose paternal
lamentation had so touched the doorkeeper's heart.
"You have got here a notorious brigand, as I have heard tell," said the
visitor.
"We have, sir," was the governor's reply; "a very remarkable man he is,
too."
"Ah, so I have heard," said the visitor. "He is called Demetrius, I
believe?"
"Nay; his name is Mathias."
The visitor looked surprised at this information.
"Mathias--Mathias!" he repeated to himself. "I was misinformed, then. I
certainly thought that his name was Demetrius."
The governor smiled.
"You may be right, all the same," said he.
"How so?"
"Why, Mathias is but his avowed name; he may be known by a dozen
different _aliases_."
"Is it possible?" ejaculated the sham German traveller.
"Indeed it is. These robbers are mostly adepts at disguise. Would you
like to see this Mathias?" demanded the governor, courteously.
"Vastly."
"Well, sir, I'll only warn you of one thing."
"Indeed! What is it?"
"A disappointment awaits you in this."
"How so?"
"Instead of seeing a ferocious fellow, such as you might expect,
Mathias is really a very pleasant and innocent-looking man."
The governor of the prison then led the visitors through the long stone
corridors of the place where Mathias was confined.
They stopped before a door of great thickness, heavily barred, and
studded with iron bolts and nails.
The governor tapped at a small grated trap in the door, and it was
pulled aside.
At the grating a broad-shouldered fellow appeared, who touched his cap
at the visitors.
"So that is Mathias," said the German gentleman.
"No, no," said the governor; "that is the gaoler who is shut up with
him."
"What for?"
"So that he might be watched night and day; the authorities have doomed
him to--"
"To what?"
"To death," replied the governor, in a low but impressive voice.
"He is young."
"In years, yes," answered the governor, "but old in crime. This man has
been guilty of nearly every crime under the sun--brigandage is one of
his least offences. His last exploit, however, is the worst."
"What is that?"
"Murder."
"Murder!"
And the German traveller looked inexpressibly shocked.
"Murder is a capital crime in every land."
"And rightly too," said the visitor, "rightly, too. But, sir, excuse my
curiosity--"
"Ask all you will," returned the governor.
"This man had, I was told, a bold, dashing fellow to second him in all
his exploits."
"An Italian?"
"No."
"An Englishman?"
"No, no, sir, you mistake; I mean a Greek--a handsome, dashing
fellow--a great favourite with the ladies--brave and daring."
"And how is this Apollo called?"
"Tomaso."
The governor burst into a loud fit of laughter at this,
"You are altogether mistaken about that brigand--that Tomaso. He is a
scrubby and ill-favoured scamp--a sneaking, crawling rascal, capable of
all the villany of his master, but not possessed of his courage."
Had the governor been looking at the visitor's face just then, he might
have had his suspicions aroused.
The sham German philanthropist glared ferociously as this description
was given.
The prisoner, who was seated at a rough deal table at the further end
of the cell, here arose at the gaoler's order, and came to the window.
A single glance sufficed to show that a very noticeable change had
taken place in the appearance of Mathias.
His face was pale and haggard, and the whole of one side of it, the
eye, cheek bone, and forehead were bruised.
This was the mark that Jefferson had set upon him.
This was the bold American's only vengeance for the deathblow which the
brigand had dealt upon his faithful friend and companion Magog Brand.
Jefferson's right arm came down like a steam hammer, and any man who
had felt its full force as the scoundrel Mathias had did not forget it
very readily.
Such a desperate shaking had it given Mathias that he had not yet
recovered.
The bold, defiant bearing of the man was gone, and he looked ten years
older than when Tomaso and he had last met.
It struck the visitor at once.
"Dear, dear me," exclaimed the latter, "is it possible that this can be
the redoubtable Mathias?"
"It is he," said the governor, "yet scarcely so gay as is his wont, eh,
Mathias?"
The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and sighed.
"Laugh on, your excellency," he said, rather bitterly, "it is your turn
now."
"Now!"
"Aye, now. It may not always be."
"Why, surely you never think of getting out of this?"
"Indeed, I think of nothing else morning, noon, and night."
The governor gave a sharp glance about.
He looked toward the gaoler.
Now the gaoler was a huge fellow, over six feet high and broad in
proportion, one who could have tackled Toro himself, as far as weight
and sheer brute strength went.
"Your excellency," replied Mathias, "when I leave this place, my exit
will be due to no violence. Bad as I am, I am not altogether what they
would make out."
"Poor Mathias!" said the governor ironically, "one would almost think
that murder was not his line of business."
"Your excellency," said the prison, drawing near to the grated window,
"I repent sincerely of that poor little gentleman's death; it was no
assassin's stab in the dark, but a most unfortunate blow in a fight,
remember."
"Bravo! Mathias! bravo!" ejaculated the visitor.
The prisoner looked up.
A strange expression flitted across his face.
Mathias was an adept in the art of dissimulation, and his face was
schooled to tell neither more nor less than he wished.
"Now, your excellency," said the visitor, "this rascal appears
strangely self-possessed."
"He does."
"What does it mean?"
"Brag."
"Humph!"
"Ah, you do not know him, sir, as well as I do."
"Perhaps not; but it might just be possible that he is in league with
some of his comrades outside."
The governor smiled incredulously.
"Impossible."
"What if that scoundrel, Tomaso, of whom we were speaking, should be at
work?"
The prisoner's eyes glistened at this word.
A slight flash of intelligence passed between the prisoner and the
visitor.
It was but momentary, and so slight as to be utterly unobserved by
either the gaoler or the governor.
"And if such could be the case, sir, what could he possibly do, eh?
What on earth, that's what I ask."
"There's no saying."
"Indeed you're right."
"Only he ought to be well guarded when you change him from one prison
to another, or--"
"Stop, stop, my dear sir, why change him? He will never leave this
place alive," said the governor.
"Never?"
"Never!"
"But surely you don't keep your prisoners all confined in these
stifling places?"
"We do, though."
"And never let them breathe the air? Why, it is torture."
"They do breathe the air. At noon every day they are allowed to walk
for an hour in the prison yard."
"At noon?"
"At noon."
The visitor fixed his eyes strangely upon the prisoner.
"Very good; if I may be allowed to trespass again, I should like to see
how this fellow bears himself in the yard amongst his fellow-criminals."
"By all means."
"I'll come, then, at noon."
* * * * *
At noon next day the German traveller was as good as his word.
The governor, full of his wonted courtesy, accompanied him to the yard,
where all the prisoners were walking round two and two.
Some of the more desperate men were fastened by a single handcuff to
the wrist of another man--a warder.
Of this category was the brigand Mathias.
His companion was a huge fellow, who topped him by a head and
shoulders, and their wrists were linked securely together by a
strong--if slender--pair of handcuffs.
The visitor's countenance fell when he observed this.
It upset all his plans at one fell swoop.
However, he did not utterly despair, but made an effort to get over the
difficulty.
"Your excellency," said he, "this is indeed cruel."
"What," demanded the governor, "fastening them to the gaoler?"
"Yes."
"I only order it in special cases, such as that of Mathias."
"He is then very dangerous?"
"Well, I scarcely believe that, only such precautions are the
established rules."
"I regret that."
"Why?"
"Partly on the score of humanity," was the reply.
"Ah, you would be too tender-hearted," said the governor.
"No. But I also regret it because I hoped to see the brigand more like
he appears when not under restraint. I suppose you would not like to
set him free?"
The governor shook his head.
"That is against custom, and I should really not like to do it."
The visitor reflected a moment as they walked on.
He could not abandon his scheme now that he had gone so far.
The effort should be made all the same.
They walked up to the porter's lodge beside the gates, where an eager
crowd had assembled for a glimpse of the prisoners.
"And do you open those gates to admit the prisoners?" asked the visitor
innocently.
"No, sir," replied the governor; "this little side door is all we open.
Now watch how it is done. This bar, which is like a lever, stops the
door, and renders it immovable, now--hah!"
The fallacy of his words was shown ere they were fairly uttered.
The visitor whistled in a very peculiar way.
And there was a sudden silent rush at the door in question.
The bar, immovable as it was, fell before that desperate onslaught, and
the door was carried off its hinges.
The ragged and miserable-looking mob turned like magic into a crowd of
armed desperadoes. And in they pressed.
On they came, tearing down the gates and dashing every thing before
them.
The poor gatekeeper was trampled under foot, and the warders and
governor got hustled and cruelly handled.
The mob of armed invaders made for Mathias and his companion, and bore
them bodily outside the gates.
The brigands then wrenched off the handcuffs.
Once outside the gates, a horse was found waiting.
Suddenly there was a loud cry heard.
"The soldiers--the soldiers!"
The whole of the guard-room had turned out.
A charge was made, and it looked as though the rescue of Mathias were
likely to cost them dear.
Cries of defiance and rage were heard.
Just when matters were at the worst for the robber band, a deafening
explosion was heard, that shook the solid building to its base.
The soldiers turned back and re-formed at their officer's command.
Then it was that the brigands, headed by the sham visitor, Tomaso,
found their chance.
Up till now, the retreat had been cut off by the unpleasant appearance
of the military.
"There goes the powder keg under the water gate," cried Tomaso. "Lose
not a moment. Follow me."
A desperate rush was made, and the brigands got clear of the prison.
The soldiers were divided into two lots, one party being sent in
pursuit, the other remaining to guard the prison.
The roll-call of the prisoners made this discovery.
"How many prisoners have escaped?" inquired the governor.
"Three absentees, your excellency," said the head man of the prison.
"One is an Italian, calling himself Toro; another an Englishman,
calling himself Hunston; and the third, the brigand chief Mathias."
CHAPTER VIII.
A DEEP-LAID PLOT.
The news of the escape, or rescue--call it what you will--of the three
desperadoes soon became known.
Emily and Mrs. Harvey were much alarmed.
The dogged obstinacy with which attempt after attempt was made by the
villains made them imagine they were unsafe in such a lonely place.
Accordingly, a grand consultation was held, the result of which was
that the Prince of Limbi was sent into the town to take rooms for the
whole party at one of the two hotels the place could boast of.
And the next day they all quitted the villa.
The hotel in which our friends had secured apartments was a large
straggling building, right at the extremity of the ill-built street
which formed the chief part of the town.
Mr. Mole had been very particular when they went there in his inquiries
about the brigands.
Would the party be quite safe from molestation?
The urbane proprietor, with many low bows, assured his excellency the
Englishman that there was not the slightest possibility of their being
molested.
The other male members of the party really troubled themselves very
little about the brigands.
By ten o'clock, the day after the masquerade, hardly a person was
stirring in the town.
A casual observer would have said there was literally no one to be
seen. But hush!
Soft, cautious footsteps may be heard, and anyone whose eyes are
accustomed to the gloom might have seen three figures creeping quietly
down the street on the side opposite the hotel.
Right over against that building they paused.
"That is the place" said one of the three, a giant almost in size.
"Curse them! they always manage to get comfortable quarters, while I am
an outcast," said another, who spoke like an Englishman.
"Death, gentlemen! what better quarters can you desire than my cave, in
which you have spent several pleasant evenings?"
"Bah! Captain Mathias, you have never tasted the sweets of
civilisation."
"And, Signor Hunstani, how much the better are you through having
tasted those sweets?"
"Peace, peace!" growled the giant. "Let us unite in thought and action,
and to-night obtain our long-sought revenge."
"Well, Toro, I am sure I don't want to quarrel with anyone, except
Harkaway."
"Curse him! and especially that American."
"Hush! let your curses be not loud but deep; you'll awake the town if
you swear so."
"Have I not good cause to? Has he not beaten and put me to shame?"
"And have I not suffered equal pain and shame? Yet I am content to bide
my time; you should have patience, Toro."
"Come, come to business, my friends," said Captain Mathias; "there is
the house where our foe resides. How are we to proceed?"
"Quietly; hush!" said Hunston. "Confound it, how still the air is; the
whole street seems to echo back the lightest whisper."
"Let me get once inside, and I care not if all the street hears,"
muttered Toro.
"Which proves you care not if you are unsuccessful," said the Greek.
"How so?"
"If we are heard, we shall have the whole street in arms against us,
and I fancy these Inglesi, with their boys and the blacks, are quite
sufficient for the three of us."
"Bah!" exclaimed Toro.
"Seriously, though, let us consider how to get into this place," said
Hunston.
"There's the door facing us."
"But have you the key?"
"No, but I could send my foot through that plank as easily as
anything," growled Toro.
"Certainly, and you would undoubtedly alarm the whole household by
doing so, whereas we wish to catch them sleeping."
"Well, then, how about the windows?"
"Too high to reach," said Hunston, "unless we had a ladder."
"And I doubt if such a thing can be found in the town," interposed
Captain Mathias.
"Well, then, let us see what there is at the back of the house.
Captain, you have eyes like a cat or an owl; just glance up and down
the street to see if there is anyone about."
The Greek looked in all directions.
"Not even a mouse is stirring," said he.
So the three villains, drawing their cloaks closely round them, stole
silently away from the shelter of the friendly doorway, where the
foregoing conversation had taken place, and proceeded round to the back
of the hotel.
To reach the point desired, they had, of course, to cross the road,
which was tolerably wide, and then skirt a kind of paddock.
There were few stars to be seen, and the moon--a new one, and perhaps
not yet fully acquainted with her business--was partly hidden behind
some clouds, though not so entirely obscured but that the forms of the
three brigands cast deep shadows on the ground.
But surely that is not a shadow, which as they move, moves also from an
adjoining doorway, and follows them.
Like them, it is wrapped in a cloak; like them, it stalks along slowly
and erect, but unlike them, it makes no noise.
Its footfall is silent as that of the panther lurking in the jungle.
Its very breath, if it has any, seems hushed.
The three villains go slowly, and the shadow, or substance, whatever it
may be, keeps the same pace, till they reach the open field at the back
of the hotel.
Hunston, Toro, and the Greek then stand side by side looking towards
the hotel, but the shadow sinks down out of sight by the side of the
fence.
Another hasty look round, and then the Greek brigand pronounced that
they were safe.
"No fear of being interrupted here."
"Well now let us settle," said Toro; "I am anxious to be at them."
"But see," said Hunston, "there are lights moving; it is not safe yet."
"Not till half-an-hour after midnight."
"And now----"
"It is half-past ten o'clock."
"Two hours," groaned Toro.
"Better wait four than fail," said Hunston.
"Cold-blooded Englishman, what know you of the furious rate at which my
blood boils in my veins? In that house is the man who struck me to the
earth."
"Wait two hours, then you may have a good chance of paying off the
score."
"And I will, too, with greater interest than even usurer charged his
hapless client. I wonder which room the cursed Americano sleeps in."
"The third room on the right-hand side of the first corridor, where you
ascend the great staircase."
Captain Mathias said this as promptly and positively as though he
himself had shown our friends to bed.
After a pause he continued--
"Mr. and Mrs. Harkaway have the first room; Mr. and Mrs. Harvey the
second; the third is a double-bedded apartment, one couch being
occupied by the American, the other by the two boys."
"You seem to have pretty exact information, captain," said Hunston.
"Yes, there is little going on there that does not come to my ears. One
of the porters is a spy in my employ."
"Why did you not get a key from him?"
"I have one; it opens the back door."
Toro had, during the last bit of conversation, been growling to himself
a choice vocabulary of Italian oaths, occasionally shaking his fist at
the building which contained the objects of his hatred.
He now turned to his companions.
"And where do you propose to pass the two hours that must elapse?"
"At the bottom of yonder field is a thicket, where we shall be free
from observation. We can smoke our pipes there. By-the-bye, the patrol
goes round about midnight."
"We must be cautious," said Hunston.
"Come along, then."
The three villains then walked off in the direction of the thicket
where they were to hide.
A minute afterwards a shadow rose from the ditch where he had been
crouching, and stood looking after them long after they had been lost
in the gloom.
"Just in time," muttered the so-called shadow, who was in good truth as
substantial flesh and blood as any in Greece.
"If I had not wandered hither in search of my daughter, probably
half-a-dozen murders would have been committed. However, I'll thwart the
rascals, as sure as my name is Petrus."
For Petrus it was, from Magic Island, who had been playing spy on the
movements of the three conspirators.
He stood there in deep thought for a few minutes.
"I must warn some of the people in the hotel, but I should like to get
this business over without alarming Mrs. Harkaway or the other lady.
The question is, how?"
He reached the front door of the hotel, and pulled at the bell handle.
After an interval of two or three minutes, a light shone through the
keyhole, and a voice asked--
"Who is there?"
"A traveller, in search of food and bed."
"Are you alone?"
"Yes."
Then the door was unbolted, and the traveller entered.
"Is the proprietor of the hotel in bed yet?" he asked.
"I don't know, sir."
"He must be roused at once. I have important news for him from a
distant land."
The porter stared, but did not seem inclined to call the proprietor,
noticing which, Petrus said--
"I shall be sorry to alarm all the house, when I only want one person;
but if you don't quickly bring him, I'll ring half a dozen of these
bells at such a rate that he'll think the house is on fire."
Seeing the stranger was in earnest, the porter went to the proprietor's
room, and soon returned with him to the hall where Petrus was waiting.
"I should like to have a few words with you _in private_, sir,"
said the traveller, with a strong emphasis on the words we have
italicised.
"Certainly. You may go to bed, Theodorus."
The porter somewhat sulkily retired to a kind of pantry, where he
slept, and the proprietor of the hotel, softly following, turned the
key upon him.
"I have my doubts about that fellow," he said as he returned. "But now,
sir, what is your pleasure with me?"
Petrus at once told him what he had heard, and great was the alarm of
the hotel-keeper.
"What shall we do? Send for the police?"
Petrus, after a short silence, said--
"No."
"What then? I cannot allow my guests to be murdered. Why, these
scoundrels have already made one attempt on Mr. Harkaway and his
friends at a masquerade."
Just at that moment a guttural voice was heard singing--
"Ole Ikey Mole
Was a lushy ole soul,
And a lushy ole soul was he."
"Now den, you nigger, be quiet," said another voice.
"Who are these people?" asked Petrus.
"Two black men in attendance on the Harkaway party," said the
proprietor of the hotel.
"Just the men. I know a little of them. I have fought side by side with
them. Now I have a proposal to make, which is that we put these
brigands to flight in a ludicrous manner, which will annoy them more
than being beaten in fight. Myself and the black men will do it with
your assistance and permission."
"Anything, so that there is no bloodshed."
"That I will guarantee. Please call the two worthy dark-skins."
Sunday and Monday, who had been keeping it up in the kitchen, were
called and acquainted with the state of affairs.
"What, Massa Petrus," said Sunday in surprise, "what you do here? Am
you got dat black rascal pirate with you?"
"No; the pirate chief is dead. You will find his bones on the
island--Magic Island, as young Jack Harkaway named it. Yes, my revenge
is complete. The pirate died as my slave; but now to explain to you my
plan to punish the three brigands."
Sunday rolled his eyes fearfully, as he listened to the details of the
plot.
"Gorra, massa, I'd like to tar and feather dat big rascal."
"Tar!" said Petrus. "Ha, ha, ha! that is a good idea. Listen--but first
show me the place where the gentlemen sleep."
The hotel-keeper led the way to the corridor, and pointed out the
sleeping apartments of the Harkaway party.
Petrus then held another short consultation with the two black men and
the hotel-keeper, the result of which was that the latter retired,
leaving Sunday, Monday, and Petrus to work their will with the invaders
when they appeared.
And then, as there was but little time to spare, they set to work with
a will to make all the necessary preparations.
Over each door they screwed into the wall an iron hook, to which was
attached a pulley and a cord.
Then they went into the lower regions and hunted through the store
rooms.
The first place they lighted upon was a kind of paint shop, full of
paints, oils and such-like things.
"Dis is jes de shop for to cook de goose ob dem willins," said Sunday.
"And here's de pots to cook 'em in," said Monday, pointing to some iron
vessels resembling pails, but made so that the bottoms could be
removed.
The pails, as we will call them, were something like sugar loaves, with
the tops cut off and turned base upwards.
When full, the weight of the liquid kept the bottom in its place, but
it was evident that if the bottom was removed, as it easily could be,
the contents would escape.
Petrus, after an inspection, pronounced them "just the thing," adding--
"Now we must fill them with tar."
"No, no," said Monday. "Put tar in one, wery hot; in nodder put dis
here paint, also werry hot; and in de oder put water, bilin' hot."
"Good."
Then the three sat down by the large fireplace in the kitchen, and
deliberately began their cooking.
Monday devoted his attention to the heating of several pounds of mixed
paint.
Sunday boiled a barrel of tar, while Petrus attended to a large
cauldron of water.
Ten minutes before the hands of the clock pointed to half-past twelve,
all the cooks had completed their work.
The paint, tar, and water, all at boiling heat, had been placed in the
iron pails with the movable bottoms, and one of these had been hung
over each bedroom door.
The hot water over Harkaway's door, the paint over Harvey's, and the
tar over that in which the two boys and Jefferson reposed.
A string was attached to each pail, and passed over a pulley, the end
being conveyed to a recess where the three watchers were concealed.
They were armed.
Sunday, Monday, and Petrus each had a six-chambered revolver, loaded.
Then came the clang of the old-fashioned clock as it proclaimed
half-past twelve.
Breathless silence prevailed both inside the house and out.
"Lights out," whispered Petrus, when, after a short pause, a slight
grating noise was heard at the back door.
In an instant all was darkness, except that the moon shone through a
narrow window at the extreme end of the corridor.
A few minutes afterwards Petrus, who was watching, saw three dark
figures come gliding into the long passage.
The first was a tall, bulky figure--Toro.
The second the Greek, and the third was evidently Hunston.
A plan of operations had been agreed upon--that was quite certain; for
Toro, without the least hesitation, proceeded to Jefferson's door, the
Greek placing himself outside Harvey's apartment, while Hunston
stationed himself at the room occupied by Harkaway.
Then they waited for a signal, evidently intending to rush in
simultaneously.
"Now!" said Hunston, in a loud whisper.
"Now!" echoed Petrus.
Before the brigands could rush into the rooms occupied by those they
sought to destroy, Petrus pulled the three strings he held in his hand,
and, good Heaven! what a spluttering and swearing at once commenced.
Hunston was drenched and scalded.
"A million curses!" he roared.
"Help! Look here, Toro."
But Toro could not look.
A deluge of hot tar had streamed over his head, filling eyes, ears,
nose, and mouth, saturating his hair and running down inside his
clothing.
"Furies!" he screamed, "I'll have the life of the villain who has done
this! Mathias, out with your knife, man."
But the poor Greek was utterly cowed; the paint had destroyed all his
senses save that of feeling, which was fully exercised.
Hunston, although severely scalded, managed to keep a certain
proportion of his wits about him.
"Come, lads--quick, as you value your lives!" he exclaimed. "Away! we
must not risk capture."
He endeavoured to drag them away.
At that moment, however, another actor appeared on the scene.
This was Nero.
That wide-awake member of the monkey tribe had been doomed to share
Sunday's apartments, where a neat bed had been made for him in one
corner.
Hearing a noise, and, perhaps missing his companion (brother, Jefferson
said), he came down, carrying in his dexter paw a well-filled pillow.
He seemed to recognise Toro at once.
The valorous ape leaped forward, and gave his Italian foe such a
bolstering as Toro had never before heard of, while the three
spectators laughed and applauded loudly.
Crack!
The ticking of the pillow gave way, and a shower of feathers enveloped
the unhappy son of Italy, whose oaths and execrations were literally
smothered.
"Golly! an't he a downy cove?" said Monday.
At this juncture, Hunston managed to grasp his companions by the hand,
and dragged them downstairs and out at the back door.
Only just in time, however, for Jefferson, hearing the noise, rushed
out, in scanty costume, it is true, but fully armed with pistol and
bowie knife, and eager for the fray.
"What is the matter?" he demanded.
Petrus explained briefly.
Jefferson rushed to the door and fired two shots after the fugitives,
who, however, managed to get away.
Then the door was securely bolted, and after the affair had been
explained to all the alarmed inmates of the house, they retired to bed,
but not before Harkaway and his friends had shaken Petrus warmly by the
hand, with a promise that he should see his beloved daughter in the
morning.
CHAPTER IX.
THE BRIGAND'S CONSPIRACY--THE ARAB ASTROLOGER--HARVEY'S FIRST
APPEARANCE AS A MESMERIST.
"They are making fresh efforts to get Mathias out," said Dick Harvey to
his friend Harkaway.
This was the beginning of a conversation which took place at the
residence of the Harkaway party just three days after the daring and
audacious attack on the hotel.
Mathias had been captured by the patrol while endeavouring to escape,
and thrown in gaol again.
"Hang their impudence!" said Jefferson. "Will nothing daunt them? I
wish one of them had entered my room the other night; I would have held
him faster than it seems the prisons here can."
"These two restless vagabonds are up to their games again," exclaimed
Dick.
"You mean Toro?"
"Aye, and Hunston."
"What have they done now?" demanded Jefferson.
"They have been trying to tamper with the gaolers."
"How was it discovered?"
"The traitor, whoever he may be, let fall a letter that he was carrying
to Mathias."
"That's lucky. Well, did they discover any thing?"
"No; it was written in cypher."
"The cunning rascals!"
"Now, I've got more news for you," Dick went on to say.
"Out with it, then."
"You have heard of the Arab who tells fortunes in the town?"
"Mehemed Sadan, the great necromancer?"
"Yes. Would you be surprised to learn that he is one of Mathias' band?"
"Why, those scoundrels have a finger in every pie."
"True," said Harvey. "Now, I have a notion to offer you. I propose that
we go there and test the truth of what I say."
"How?"
"I'll tell you that as we go. Are you agreed?"
"I'm willing," said Harkaway; "any thing for a little excitement."
Off they went.
Mehemed Sadan, the Arabian magician, carried on his occult practices in
a house in the best part of the town, and all his surroundings tended
to show that the "black art" had proved a most profitable commerce to
him.
When Harkaway, Jefferson, and Harvey arrived there, they were ushered
into the presence of the magician by a negro fancifully attired,
wearing silver bands round his wrists and ankles, from which dangled
chains with small bells attached.
Mehemed Sadan was seated on a high-backed chair, close by a long table,
on which was a long cloth of black velvet, covered with mystic signs
and letters, which were all so much Greek to the visitors.
The room was filled with all kinds of things calculated to impress the
vulgar with superstitious awe.
The effect was altogether lost upon Dick Harvey, for he made a point of
nodding at the Arab astrologer in the most familiar manner.
"Morning to you, old fellow," he said, cheerfully.
"Salaam, sahib," responded the necromancer, gravely.
"Hullo!" said Jefferson, opening his eyes, "why, this Arab talks
Hindustani."
"Leave it to me," said Dick Harvey, in an undertone.
The Arab then said some few words to the company generally, which the
company generally could make rather less of than if they had been
addressed in Chinese.
"He's talking no known language under the sun," said Harkaway. "It's my
opinion he has got the cheek to talk regular right-down gibberish to
us."
It was true.
The words, or sounds, let us say, which the necromancer was uttering,
only sounded but too much like "hokey-pokey kickeraboo abracadabra,"
and the rest of the mysterious sounds with which the conjurer at
juvenile parties seeks to invest his performance with additional
wonder, for the benefit of his youthful audience.
Dick was in a rage.
"Confound his impudence," he exclaimed; "I'll give him one."
So he let out in this wise--
"Chi ki hi-u-thundrinold umbuggo--canardly keep my thievinirons off
your wool--I should like to land you just one on the smeller and tap
your claret."
At which, to the surprise of the magician, the visitors burst out
laughing.
The Arab necromancer now asked them, in very good Greek, the object of
their visit.
"We shall not understand much if we are addressed in Greek," said
Harkaway; "try him in Italian."
And then they found that the conjurer spoke Italian as well, or better,
than any of the party.
"Can you tell me," said Jack Harkaway, by way of beginning business,
"if I shall succeed in the present object of my desires or not?"
The magician bowed his head gravely.
Then he opened a large volume covered with mystic characters.
For a minute or two he appeared to be lost in deep study, and then he
gave his reply.
"Your desires tend to the downfall of some lawless men, I find," he
said, watching them keenly, as if he expected to see them jump up in
surprise at his words.
"They do."
"And you will not succeed."
"Does your art tell you where I shall fail?" asked Jack.
"No; I only see disappointment and trouble for you and yours."
"Dear, dear, how very shocking," exclaimed Harkaway, winking at Harvey.
"Dreadful!" added Dick, with a terrified look, and putting his tongue
out at the magician.
"What else does your art tell you?" demanded Jefferson, who was anxious
to know how far the necromancer would venture to try and humbug them.
"I see here," said the conjurer, drawing his finger along a line of
something on an open "book of fate," that looked like Arabic, "I see
here that your lives are menaced, one and all, through the keeping of a
wretched man under restraint."
The visitors looked at each other and exchanged a smile.
"Your art is at fault," said Jefferson; "we have no one under
restraint."
"You are in some way connected with it."
"Wrong again."
The wizard looked uncomfortable at this.
"Strange," he said, "and yet I read it here as clearly as you might
yourself if it were written in a book."
"You are mistaken," said Jefferson; "we are in no way concerned in any
thing of the kind."
The wizard pored over the mystic tome again.
"I can say no more then," he said, "for here you are clearly indicated.
You especially are mentioned as being the immediate cause of his
downfall."
"How am I indicated?" demanded Jefferson.
"By the letter J."
"Which you take for?"
"Your initial."
"Humph! not far out. What an audacious humbug the fellow is," said
Jefferson to Jack.
Now, during the foregoing scene, young Jack and Harry Girdwood had
joined the party, and Dick Harvey was observed to be in close
conversation with them.
At this point Harvey turned from the two lads towards Jefferson.
"The astrologer is right," he said, gravely.
"What the devil do you mean?" exclaimed Jefferson.
"You are right, sir," added Dick to the magician himself.
The latter bowed.
"I doubt it not," he said; "the stars do not speak falsely."
"No, no."
"And so you may convince your friend that I say no more nor less than
the truth."
"I can," said Dick, in a voice as solemn as that of the necromancer
himself, "for I am a mesmerist, and I have here with me a clairvoyant
of great power."
The conjurer started.
"Where?"
"Here."
He held out his hand to young Jack and led him forward.
Harkaway and Jefferson stared again.
"Hullo!" ejaculated old Jack; "what the deuce is madcap Dick up to
now?"
"Can't hazard a guess," said Jefferson.
"Mesmerism can not read the future as my art does," said the
necromancer.
"It can," said Dick; "it corroborates all you have said. I'll give you
a proof of it before our friends here."
And then, before he could object, Dick made a mesmeric pass or two
across young Jack's face, and immediately it appeared to take effect.
Young Jack's eyes were closed, and for a moment there played about his
mouth a merry smile of mischief, and then he appeared to be in a state
of coma.
Never was mesmerism effected with such little trouble.
"Now tell me," said Dick, with all the tricks of manner of the
professional mesmerist, "tell me to what this person alludes?"
"He speaks of Mathias, the brigand chief."
"True," said Dick; "and will Mathias escape?"
"No."
"You hear," said Dick, turning towards the necromancer.
"I do."
"And therefore it is useless to try and effect the liberation of this
Mathias?"
"Quite," returned young Jack. "The wizard here is trying all he can
himself, but he will be discovered by the police and thrown into
prison."
"Hah!" exclaimed Dick, "do you hear that?"
"I do," returned the necromancer, "but it is false."
"It is true," said Dick. "So beware."
[Illustration: 'SPEAK,' SAID DICK, MAKING MESMERIC PASSES ACROSS
JACK'S FACE"--ADV. IN GREECE, VOL. II PAGE 64.]
"Ask him more," said the wizard, eagerly. "Ask him more."
"What shall I ask?" demanded Dick.
"Ask him--yet, mark me, I don't believe a word of it--ask him, for
curiosity, what follows."
"Follows what?"
"What he said last."
"You mean what follows being thrown into prison?" he said,
deliberately.
"Yes."
"Do you hear?" said Dick.
"Yes, master," responded young Jack.
"Speak, then."
By this time Harkaway the elder and Jefferson began of course to see
what they were driving at, and they became just as much interested as
the wizard himself in what young Jack was going to say.
"What follows," said young Jack, "is too dreadful to look at."
"Speak," said Dick, with a furious pass across the lad's face. "Speak,
I command you. What follows?"
"I see the wizard hanging by the neck--there," and young Jack pointed
straight before him.
The necromancer looked as unhappy as possible when he heard young
Jack's words.
"Do you know enough," asked Dick Harvey, "or would you learn more yet?"
The wizard essayed to smile, but it was a sickly attempt, and it died
away in a ghastly manner.
"I can not believe a word of what you say, but still let him speak on."
Dick frowned.
"If you are a scoffer," he said, sternly, "my clairvoyant will not
speak."
"I am no scoffer," returned the necromancer; "speak on."
"What would you know?"
"When is my danger to begin? Let him say that."
"Speak," said Dick, making mesmeric passes across Jack's face.
"He need fear nothing at present," said young Jack.
The wizard drew a long breath of relief.
"The police are below," continued young Jack, "but for ten minutes
there is no danger."
"Ten minutes!"
"Yes."
"And after?" gasped the wizard, breathlessly.
"Then he is doomed," said young Jack, in sepulchral tones. "The wizard
will be numbered with the dead."
Thereupon, the necromancer was taken suddenly queer, and he retreated
with a few confused words of excuse.
"He's gone," said Dick, laughing.
They pushed aside the curtains where the magician had disappeared, and
found that there was a back staircase.
"There he goes, there he goes!" cried Harry Girdwood, excitedly.
"Yes, and he has left his skin," said young Jack.
Upon the stairs was the long black velvet robe covered with tin-foil
ornaments, with which the necromancer was wont to frighten the ignorant
and superstitious peasants who came to consult him out of their wits.
"I'll frighten old Mole with this," said young Jack.
"I don't suppose that they'll try to frighten us again into helping
Mathias, the brigand chief, out of prison," said Harkaway, laughing.
"He shall hang as high as Haman," said Jefferson, sternly. "Of that I
am so determined, that if there were no one else, I would willingly fix
the noose myself. But hang he shall for murdering my poor and noble
friend Brand."
CHAPTER X.
THE CONDEMNED CELL--MATHIAS ESCAPED--WHERE HAS HE GONE?--THE
BLOOD ON THE HEARTH--A TALE OF TERROR.
The schemes set on foot by the friends of Mathias for his release were
so many and so unceasing that the greatest precautions had to be taken
to keep him in safety.
Rules were made, and for awhile most rigidly enforced, that not a soul
was to be permitted to visit the prisoner; but the exception proves the
rule, and there was an exception made in favour of a lady who came and
pleaded so earnestly to the governor of the prison that he could not
find the courage to refuse her.
The lady was shown into the cell which Mathias had lately occupied.
Lately? Yes.
The bird had flown.
But how had he got free?
Where had he gone?
Not a soul in the prison had the vaguest notion.
The gaoler stared and gaped like one in a dream.
"Where is Mathias?" demanded the woman.
"That's more than I can guess," responded the gaoler, rubbing his eyes
as though he could not believe their evidence.
"Have you mistaken the cell?"
"Not I."
"Has he been removed?"
"No."
She stared him straight in the face for a moment or two, and then she
burst out into a fit of laughter.
"Ha, ha, ha! Why, he has escaped. He has escaped. He has beaten your
vigilance--baffled you all in spite of locks, bolts and bars, and all
your watching."
The gaoler scratched his head.
"Let us look."
"Look! why, you can see everything here at a glance--everything. There
are four walls. There is the bedstead; you can see under it. There is
not room for a man to creep under there. There is the fireplace, and
there is the window."
"Ha!" ejaculated the gaoler, "the window."
"What then?"
"There is no other way; he must have escaped that way, undoubtedly."
"Nonsense," said the woman; "don't you see that is too high up from the
ground."
"He has found a way to climb up there, then."
"But the iron bars are all in their places still."
"True," said the gaoler, thoroughly puzzled, "true. Where can he have
got to?"
"It is simple enough."
"How so?"
"He never attempted the window. He has walked out through the door
being left open."
"Never!"
"Money can do more than that, and I rejoice at his freedom."
She moved to the door.
But the gaoler held her back rather roughly.
"Stop you here," he said, rudely; "I shall have to report this to the
governor, and you had better remain until the job has been
investigated."
And before the startled woman could divine his intention, he swung to
the door and shot the bolt.
Then pushing back the trap in the door, he added a few words through
the grating.
"You'll be safer there," said he, "unless you can manage to get out as
Mathias did. But the devil himself must have a compact with Mathias!"
"At least leave me the light," she said, imploringly.
"Against orders," was all the answer vouchsafed.
The trap was shut.
The woman was left a prisoner, in total darkness.
* * * * *
There is always something unpleasant in darkness, and this woman was by
no means iron-nerved.
No sooner was she alone, than a painful sensation of uneasiness stole
over her.
"They can not keep me long here," she kept murmuring to herself; "I
have done nothing; I am accused of no offence. The governor will set me
at liberty as soon as he knows. Could any thing be more unfortunate?
Mathias was a prisoner, and I was at liberty. Now Mathias is free, and
I am a prisoner. Cruel fate to separate us. We are destined to be
parted."
The gloom grew oppressive now.
She stood still, listening in painful silence for five minutes
together--five minutes that appeared to be as many hours.
A silence so solemn, so death-like, that she could hear the very
beating of her heart. This grew unbearable.
She groped her way around the cell to find the bed, and approaching the
fireplace, she was suddenly startled by a sound.
A very faint noise, as of something dripping on the flagstones by her
feet.
In the tomb-like silence then reigning, the faintest sound caused her
to feel uncomfortable.
She listened awhile intently, asking herself what it could mean.
Drip, drip, drip.
It was strange.
When the light was there, she had not noticed it at all.
What could it be then, that was only to be heard in the dark?
Was it fancy?
No.
It was too real.
There was no mistaking it.
If the oppressive gloom of the cell started strange sounds or strange
fancies in her head, why should it take such a shape as that?
Why, indeed?
"Would to Heaven they were back with the light," she said. "Will they
never come?"
Just then, as though her earnest wish were heard and answered, a faint
thin streak of light was shot into the cell through the grated window
above.
This was reflected from a chamber in the prison whose window was close
by the window of this cell, and where a lamp had just been lighted.
The welcome ray shot straight across the cell where she stood by the
fireplace, and she remarked that the dripping did not cease.
Drip, drip, drip!
She looked down.
"I see, I see," she shudderingly exclaimed, "it is raining, and the
rain is falling down the chimney. How foolish of me to get alarmed
about nothing."
Now the light, we have said, shot across the hearth, and here it was
that the drip, drip, drip, fell.
"Same as I thought."
As she muttered this to herself, she stretched forth her hand under the
chimney, and the next drop fell upon it. It was not water.
No, imperfect as was the light then, it sufficed to show her that upon
her hand was a curiously dark stain.
Raising it nearer to her eyes, she examined it eagerly.
Then she shuddered, and exclaimed in a voice of terror--"Blood!"
Yes, it was blood.
Pen can not describe the terror of that wretched woman upon making this
alarming discovery.
"Blood! Whose? Hah! whose blood? Whose but his--whose but the blood of
my darling--my own Mathias?"
For a moment the thought completely unnerved her, and it was little
short of a miracle that she kept from fainting.
But she fought bravely with the deathly horror stealing over her.
And kneeling on the hearth, she called up, yet in gentle voice, lest
she should give the alarm--
"Mathias! Mathias, my own! Do you not know me? Mathias, I say!"
She listened--listened eagerly for a reply.
And presently it came--a dull, hollow moan, a cry of anguish that
chilled the blood in her heart, that froze the very marrow in her
bones.
"Mathias, darling Mathias! answer me for the love of mercy; I shall die
else."
Another moan was heard.
Fainter and fainter even than the first.
Yet full of pent-up suffering.
A sound that told a whole tale of anguish.
"Mathias, come to me," she called again.
"Oh-h-h!"
A fearfully prolonged groan came down to her, louder than before, as if
the sufferer had put all his remaining strength into the effort.
Then all was silent.
Eagerly she listened, straining forward to catch the faintest breath.
But the voice above was stilled for ever.
And yet the drip, drip, drip continued, and as she stretched forward
beneath the chimney, she caught the drops upon her face.
Then she could no longer thrust back conviction.
With a wild cry of terror she drew back, and groped her way round the
room towards the door.
Her hand rested upon the grated trap, and she pushed it back with all
her force, crying aloud for help as she did so.
"Help, help!" she shouted with the energy of despair; "Mathias is
dying."
But that wretched man would not trouble the authorities more--His last
breath had been drawn as she stood there listening to those awesome
sounds.
What could be the solution of this mystery!
This would be known soon now, for the sounds of footsteps were
distinctly heard now in the long stone corridors of the prison.
The gaolers had given the alarm at once of the prisoner's escape, and
the outlets of the prison were guarded in all directions, while a party
was sent to the cell to investigate the matter thoroughly.
At the head of this party was the governor himself.
The time had appeared ten times as long to the unhappy woman as it was
in reality.
"Help, help! oh, help!" she cried.
At each effort she grew weaker and weaker. Her voice died away, and
when they reached the door of the cell, they found her hanging by the
bars of the grated window or trap more dead than alive.
"Show the light," ejaculated the governor.
And then, as the rays fell upon that face, pallid as the flesh of a
corpse, save where the dark blood stains had settled, there was an
involuntary exclamation of horror from all the beholders.
"Father of mercy," cried one of the men; "she has destroyed herself."
Such was the general idea.
She had committed suicide.
In this, however, they were speedily undeceived.
To burst open the door and rush into the cell was but the work of a
moment.
At this the woman rallied a little and recovered herself.
"What is the matter?" asked the governor.
"The chimney!" gasped the woman faintly.
"The chimney! Speak--explain."
"His blood--Mathias's," she said; "see the chimney. I dare not look."
Two of the men by now had approached the chimney, and lowering the
light they carried, one of them discovered a dark ominous pool upon the
hearth.
"Call the doctor; there is something more than meets the eye in this."
This order was promptly obeyed, and a surgeon was speedily in
attendance. A mere cursory glance convinced the man of skill that the
blood upon the woman's face was not her own, and just as he arrived at
the decision, drip, drip, drip it began again upon the hearth.
The men looked at each other half scared, and the governor himself was
scarcely more self-possessed.
The surgeon alone retained his presence of mind.
Snatching a lamp from one of the men, he thrust it as far as his arm
could reach up the chimney and looked earnestly up.
"As I thought!" he exclaimed.
"What?" demanded the governor, eagerly.
"He is there."
"Who?"
"Who but the prisoner? Mathias is there--hopelessly stuck--wedged in.
He has been trying to escape and has hurt himself."
The woman looked up at these words.
"Is it no worse?" she asked. "Is he badly hurt?"
"I can not say yet," said the surgeon; "we must get him down first."
This proved a very difficult matter indeed.
The flue was so narrow that it was sheer madness to attempt climbing
it.
Eagerly Mathias had pushed on, and finally got himself wedged
inextricably.
He could neither move up nor down.
It was when he made this alarming discovery that his struggles became
desperate, and in his wild efforts to free himself from his self-set
trap, he tore and mutilated his flesh most cruelly.
The wounds and the want of air had done their work.
An hour's hard work succeeded in setting the prisoner free--or rather
his body, for it was found that life had been extinct, according to the
surgeon's report, before they had entered the cell.
And when they came to examine the clothes, they made a discovery which
threw a light upon the whole affair.
A small scrap of paper, dirty and crumpled was found in his pocket,
upon which was some writing that was with great difficulty construed in
this wise--
"The only hope is from the waterside. If you can but reach the roof,
and have the courage to make the plunge, freedom will be your reward."
How this note came there was never discovered.
With this dire catastrophe ended the efforts of the brigands to free
their unhappy leader.
CHAPTER XI.
MR. MOLE VISITS THE WIZARD--THE MAGIC MIRROR AND THE LIFE-LIKE
VISION--THE INCANTATION--THE CHARMED WIG.
"In point of fact, sir," said young Jack to his tutor one morning, "it
is about the only thing worth seeing here."
"What is, Jack?"
"The wizard."
Mr. Mole looked very straight at his pupil upon this.
"What wizard, sir?" he said, severely. "What do you mean?"
"I mean the conjuror that Mr. Jefferson, and dad, and Uncle Dick went
to see."
"When?"
"The other day. Didn't they tell you about it?"
"No, sir."
When Mr. Mole addressed his pupil as "sir," young Jack knew pretty well
that he thought he was being humbugged.
There is an old saying--"Jack was as good as his master."
Putting on a look of injured innocence, he called his comrade Harry to
corroborate what he had said.
"That's quite true, Mr. Mole."
"That Mr. Jefferson went with Mr. Harkaway and Harvey to see a
necromancer?"
"Yes."
"Preposterous!" quoth Mr. Mole. "Why, whatever is the world coming to
next? We shall have them spirit-rapping and table-turning and such-like
muck, I suppose."
Jack looked serious.
"Then you don't believe in necromancy--that they can tell the past and
the future by the aid of astrology?"
"Pickles!"
It would have astonished Messieurs Crosse and Blackwell themselves,
could they have heard what a deal that one word could convey when
uttered by an Isaac Mole.
"Well, sir," said Harry Girdwood, seriously, "the wizard told us some
very remarkable things indeed."
"What did he tell you?"
"Many things, many very wonderful things; but one of the most wonderful
was about you, sir."
Mr. Mole started.
"Don't you try to come the old soldier over me," said Mole.
Harry Girdwood protested that he held Mr. Mole in far too much respect
to essay any thing like coming the ancient military, or indeed anything
else which might be construed into want of proper feeling.
Mr. Mole looked hard at him.
"And what did he say about me?"
"He said that all the intelligence of our party was centred in one
person."
"Well?"
"And that the initials of the person in question were I. M."
"Now, Jack."
"Sir."
"You two boys are conspiring against me."
"You are rather hard upon us, sir," said Harry Girdwood, with an
injured look.
"Was I? Dear me, I didn't mean that," said poor Mole. "But I'll go and
see this wizard, as you call him."
"It might startle you, sir."
"Stuff and nonsense, Harry; my nerves are iron--iron, I tell you."
"They had need be of steel, if you really mean to go."
"I'll go, and you shall go with me, Harry," said Mr. Mole; "and I'll
unmask this wretched impostor before you."
And down came his clenched fist upon the table, with a fierceness and
energy which made all the things leap up.
* * * * *
The chamber of mystery was arranged with a keen eye to effect.
The present possessors of the place had preserved all the adjuncts
which had looked so effective during the career of the necromancer, who
had fled ignominiously.
A huge stuffed alligator swung from the ceiling, and the lighting of
the room was effected by means of two or three swinging lamps, that
burnt dimly blue, and made the place look sepulchral enough to satisfy
the most morbid cravings for the horrible.
At the further end of the room was a "charmed circle," drawn with
chalk, and set around it was a row of hideous grinning skulls, which
suggested that a hint had been borrowed from Zamiel, in "Der
Freyschutz."
Besides these matters, there were several skeletons stuck up in the
most alarming attitudes.
Beside the chair was a large oval frame.
Upon the other side of the necromancer's chair was a heavy curtain, or
_portière_ of cloth, covered with fantastic figures, and this was
drawn aside a minute or so after Mr. Mole and Harry Girdwood appeared.
Then, through the dark aperture thus disclosed, the wizard hobbled in.
Not the wizard that we have seen before, but a little old man bent half
double with age, and of whom little was to be seen save a long white
beard and an appropriate robe.
He leant heavily upon a staff, and sank into his chair with evident
pain and difficulty.
"What would ye with me?" said the necromancer, in feeble, querulous
tones. "If ye have come to scoff again, begone ere I summon an evil
spirit to blight ye."
Mr. Mole said nothing.
But when Harry Girdwood placed his hand nervously upon the old
gentleman's arm, as if for protection, he felt that he was trembling
slightly.
"He knows that we are English, you see," whispered Harry.
"Ye-es--ahem!--ye-es."
"Do you hear me?" said the wizard.
"Ye-es, oh, yes, sir," said Mr. Mole, who could not, for the life of
him, get his voice above a whisper.
"Then answer."
"By all means! decidedly--quite so, I assure you."
"What? Beware! Do you mean to doubt and mock?"
"Oh, dear; yes."
"Hah!"
"That is, no. I really don't know what I am saying."
"Silence, or the fiends will have your ber-lud ber-lud--Do you hear
me?" shrieked the old wizard.
"Quite so. Dear, dear me, Harry," said Mr. Mole in an undertone, "what
a very remarkable person, and I don't want to lose my ber-lud."
"What do you say now, sir? Do you feel sure that he is a humbug?"
"Of course not, but--"
At this juncture their conversation was cut short by a low, rumbling
noise, that sounded like distant thunder.
As it continued, it increased in strength, until it became absolutely
deafening.
Then suddenly upon a sign from the necromancer, it ceased, and the man
of mystery arose and pointed menacingly with his wand at Mole.
"Ye have thought well to neglect my warning," he said, in a voice which
thrilled poor Mole strangely; "the secrets of your inmost heart are
known to me as to my familiar, and the penalty must be enacted."
Mole bounced up.
"Goodness me!"
Harry Girdwood laid a trembling hand upon the unhappy old gentleman,
and played the part of Job's comforter once again with considerable
effect.
"We are lost."
"Don't, Harry, don't! Pray consider Mrs. Mole and the two babes."
"Try and melt him with a very humble apology."
"I will, I do!" exclaimed Mr. Mole in great excitement. "I really did
not mean it, Mr. Conjuror; 'pon my soul, I did not; and pray do not let
your vampires take my her-lud."
"Enough," said the wizard, sternly; "for once your ignorance shall
excuse you. Now say what you would have with me and begone."
"I think I should like to go," Mole whispered to Harry,
"What for?"
"We have been a long while here," said Mr. Mole in the same tone; "Mrs.
M, will be looking for me."
"Perhaps you don't feel quite comfortable here."
"Comfortable," said Mr. Mole with a sickly smile; "oh, dear me, yes, I
never was jollier."
"A little nervous perhaps, sir."
"My dear boy," said Mole, positively, "I have nerves of iron, literally
iron. Ha! what noise is that?"
"Only the magician's evil spirit, or his familiar, as he calls it."
"Strange," said Mole; "but sheer humbug of course."
"Humbug?"
"Hush!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, very anxiously.
Bang went that deafening thunder again, and Mr. Mole hopped towards the
door.
Harry Girdwood followed him closely up.
"You are uncomfortable, Mr. Mole."
"Not at all; nerves of adamant, Harry."
The latter laughed.
Never was there such an audacious humbug as Isaac Mole.
"You see that frame, sir, beside the wizard's chair?" said Girdwood.
"Yes," replied Mr. Mole; "what of it?"
"He showed us some marvels there last time."
"What is it?"
"A magic mirror."
"You must have been thoroughly well cheated; now, what could he have
shown you there?"
"Wonders," replied Harry impressively; "you, amongst other marvels."
"Me?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, sir, that you appeared before us as plainly as I see you now."
Mr. Mole certainly looked serious at this.
"He can show you anyone you may want to see," said Harry.
"Never!"
"Try him."
"I will," said Mr. Mole, with a show of determination, but shaking all
over.
"Now, O sceptic, what proof of my lore would ye have? Would ye know
something of yourself?"
"No."
"Yes," said Harry Girdwood for him promptly.
The wizard inclined his head gravely, and opened a large volume before
him upon the table.
After poring over this for a time, he said the following doggrel in a
deep bass voice--
"The doom of Mole is understood,
For ever more to walk on wood;
Though upon macadam or stone
Yet he shall walk on wood alone.
"Let him march out on asphalte--tile,
In orange groves his thoughts beguile;
Where'er he be, the fate of Mole's
To scud through life upon bare poles"
This peculiar incantation had its effect somewhat increased by soft
music.
"Ahem!" said Mr. Mole, "it didn't want a wizard to tell me that."
"What, sir?" demanded Harry, innocently.
"About my wooden legs; my infirmity is visible to every body."
"But how could he know?"
"By looking."
"Still sceptical," said the wizard, who had very sharp ears; "shall I
consult my book again?"
"No, no," said Mr. Mole, uneasily.
But Harry Girdwood said "Yes."
He did not want to end the scene yet.
"What would you?" demanded the magician sternly.
Harry commenced to whisper to Mr. Mole.
"Come, sir, pluck up your courage, and find out something about
yourself. You know the past--why not ask him about the future?"
"He might be rude enough to say something unpleasant, Harry. However,
I'll try him."
Then, with a very polite bow, Mr. Mole asked--
"Can you tell me, Mr. Magician, what my ultimate fate is?"
The necromancer took two steps forward and seized Mr. Mole's hand.
"I find that the line of life is tinged with the hue of blood," said
he, in solemn tones, after a lengthened inspection of the palm.
"Dear me, how unpleasant--I washed my hands not long ago."
"Man! do you think you can wash away the decrees of fate or sponge out
the solemn words written by the stars? You are an Englishman?"
"Certainly."
"Already six Englishman have sought me, and each of the six died a
terrible death. What says the book?--
"A terrible death on this green earth,
With never the slightest chance of heaven;
Let him curse the day--the hour of his birth,
The English victim numbered seven."
"And you are _Number Seven,_ Mr. Mole. May all the powers of
heaven and earth preserve me from such a terrible doom as yours."
Mr. Mole almost fainted when the magician uttered such fearful words
respecting his (Mole's) fate.
Harry Girdwood, however, handed him a rum flask, and a good pull at
that restored his nerves.
"Pooh!" said he, "I don't believe a word he uttered."
"Still sceptical?" said the magician. "But to convince you of my power,
I will show you any thing you like in my magic mirror."
"Very well, then, I should like to see Harkaway and Harvey at this
present moment--just to ascertain what they are doing--that will be a
test."
He chuckled as he said this.
But as he spoke the magic mirror grew light, and two figures were seen,
set, as it were, in a frame.
Jack Harkaway the elder, was seated in an arm-chair reading; beside him
stood his constant companion, Dick Harvey.
The latter's figure was the more remarkable of the two, and the
attitude was not merely characteristic, but it was startlingly like
life.
One hand was in his pocket; the other was at his face, the thumb
pointing at his nose, the fingers outstretched towards the audience.
"What do you think of that?" asked Harry Girdwood, in low tones.
"Marvellous!" cried Mole; "that is Harkaway and Harvey, sure enough.
Harvey has got something the matter with his nose."
"No," whispered Harry, "he's taking a sight at you."
"So he is. Just like Harvey. Harvey!" he called out.
The mirror darkened, and the figures faded away from the sight upon the
instant.
"Do you desire still another proof of my skill?" asked the wizard.
"Well you can, if you like, tell me something more about myself; but
don't put yourself to any trouble."
The wizard leant over his book earnestly for a consider able time.
"I see here," said he, "that you have contrived to keep one important
matter secret from your friends."
"What?"
"The hairs of your head are numbered," continued the wizard.
Mr. Mole changed colour.
"How--what?"
"By the barber; you wear a wig."
"Oh, no--no!" exclaimed Harry Girdwood, positively, "You are wrong
there, sir, I assure you. Is he not, Mr. Mole?"
"Of course he is."
"Will you see for yourself, unbelieving boy?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"Where--say, where shall my familiar take it?"
"Up to the ceiling."
Mr. Mole groaned.
At the self-same instant out went the lights; a heavy hand was placed
upon Mr. Mole's head, and hey, presto! his wig was seen dancing about
at the ceiling, glittering with a phosphorescent light upon it.
Mr. Mole looked up, gave one awful yell, then made for the door, and
flew away as fast as his wooden legs would carry him.
And his yells continued, for all along his route young Jack had
sprinkled a plentiful supply of crackers, which exploded as he ran.
An unearthly chorus, sounding like the discordant laughter of invisible
fiends greeted his retreat, and he never stopped until he had got home,
panting and gasping for breath.
As soon as he was out of the room Harry Girdwood locked the door.
"Come forth, my merry devils!" he shouted. "Old Mole's gone."
The curtain was drawn back, and in came Dick Harvey and Jack Harkaway,
carrying lights.
The wizard threw back his head dress and long horsehair wig, and showed
the grinning face of young Jack himself.
"Bravo, Jack," said his comrade, Harry; "you did it ever so much better
than the other conjuror did."
"Was he frightened?" inquired young Jack.
"Poor old Mole! I never saw him so alarmed before."
Harvey and old Jack enjoyed the fun every bit as much as the boys.
"My opinion is," said the elder Harkaway, laughing, "that the triumph
of the whole job was in the dancing wig."
"It was beautifully done," said Harvey.
"I nearly missed it," said Harry Girdwood laughing, "for you put out
the lights so suddenly that I couldn't find the string, and then I
nearly dug the hook into his head as well as his wig; and as for the
phosphorus, I gave him a dab with it upon the nose."
"Ha, ha, ha!"
Every thing had been carefully arranged beforehand, it need hardly be
said, and a cord, with a fish-hook at the end of it, was run over a
small wheel fixed in the ceiling.
Harry held the other end of the cord, and as soon as the darkness and
confusion came, he drove the hook into poor old Mole's wig, while he
rubbed it dexterously with phosphorus, and then with a jerk he hauled
it up to the ceiling, where he set it dancing about, to the
indescribable horror of Mole.
CHAPTER XII.
WHEREIN MR. MOLE IS CRUELLY USED--THE GARDEN FETE--SUNDAY AND
MONDAY GIVE AN ENTERTAINMENT--ANOTHER LOOK INTO THE MAGIC
MIRROR--STUDIES OF NATURAL HISTORY--AN INVOLUNTARY PERFORMER.
When Isaac Mole had time to reflect coolly upon what had occurred,
doubts arose in his mind.
In spite of the seemingly inexplicable nature of the phenomena which he
had witnessed, he felt that Harkaway, father or son, must know
something of it.
Dick Harvey, he was morally sure, was in it.
If any thing fell, Harkaway would start up, on which Harvey or young
Jack would immediately inquire anxiously if he were startled, solely
for the purpose of leading up to Mole's words at the wizard's house.
"Startled--nervous! Never; iron nerves, sir--adamant!"
Upon these occasions, Mr. Mole would glide away from Harkaway's room
without a word, leaving his tormentors to have their grin out all to
themselves.
All they could do they could not make him drop a word of allusion to
the events just narrated.
On that topic he was utterly dumb. Day and night the worthy Isaac Mole
brooded over one solitary topic.
Revenge.
"I'll teach 'em," he said; "I'll let them know what it is to play
practical jokes with a man like me."
The last straw breaks the camel's back. The last indignity on his wig
proved too much for Isaac Mole, for he had until that fatal day at the
magician's, been fondly hugging himself in the delusion that the secret
was all his own.
The talk was tortured and twisted about so as to make it bear upon the
sorest subject for the poor old gentleman.
"Dash my wig, Mr. Mole!" Harvey would say; "let's take a short country
excursion. You know the advantages of change of _hair."_
If a suggestion were wanting for the dinner of the day, a voice was
ready to advocate "jugged hare."
"That's very well," said Harkaway, "but where can you get one in these
parts?"
"That's it," chimed in Harvey; "as Mrs. Glasse says, first catch your
_hair,_ eh, Mr. Mole?"
Mole winced.
"It's not always easy to catch it, is it, Mr. Mole?" said Harry
Girdwood, slyly.
"Not if it flies too high," said young Jack.
This chaff goaded poor old Mole to fury, coming as it did from the
boys.
"Really," he said, with a lofty sneer, "I don't see what you have to
laugh at in the idle nonsense of these children."
This made them grin more than ever.
"The wit of the rising generation," sneered Mole.
"Mr. Mole would like the young generation never to rise, I think," said
Harry Girdwood.
"That's it," laughed Harkaway; "Mr. Mole was always so conservative in
his ideas."
"Let me see, dad," said young Jack, looking puzzled; "Conservative,
why, that means a Tory."
"Yes."
"But, Mr. Mole, I thought that you always were a Whig."
Such a storm of laughter greeted this sally, that Mr. Mole could not
stand up against it.
Looking daggers at every body, he trudged out of the room, digging his
walking stick fiercely as he went.
Now at the door, who should he meet but Sunday, grinning from ear to
ear?
"I'm not going to be fooled by you, you infernal black pudding," cried
Mole, exasperated beyond measure.
"Yah, yah," grinned the mirthful Caesar Augustus, holding his sides.
"Take that," cried Mole.
Sunday did take it.
It was not a pleasant dose, for "that," in this instance, meant a
severe crack across the head with old Mole's walking stick.
Sunday rubbed his poll.
Happily the thick wool with which it was garnished saved the skull from
much danger, and a nigger's head is proverbially tough.
But yet Sunday did not relish the indignity.
"You dam wooden-legged ole tief," he shouted out; "I'll gib it to yar
for dis hyar."
And so, full of revengeful thoughts, the darkey sought his friend
Monday.
And they set to work plotting, with what result the next day
showed--much to the old gentleman's disgust.
* * * * *
They mustered a good round dinner-party upon the following day.
In front of the summer house was an object which excited Mr. Mole's
curiosity considerably.
One of the ladies asked what it was there for.
"I don't know exactly what it is," replied Harkaway; "something of
Monday's, I think, Dick."
"I believe so," replied Harvey, carelessly.
"They are going to give us an entertainment of some kind," said young
Jack.
The cloth having been cleared, Monday came forward, and bowing gravely,
addressed the company.
"Ladies and gentlemen--"
"Hear, hear!" from Mole, who, thinking himself free from attack,
determined to try a bit of chaff upon his own account.
"Thank you, sar," said Monday, bowing gracefully to Mole.
"Ladies and gentlemen--"
"Bravo, bravo!" shouted Mole; "exceedingly bravo."
"Folks generally--sane and insane"--here he bowed in a very marked
manner at Mr. Mole.
"Hear, hear!" cried Dick.
"My entertainment is just a-gwine to begin, and as it is of a
scientific natur dat asks for all your attention, I must ax them to go
at once who don't wish to stay and see it all through, so as not to
interrupt me."
"No one wishes to go."
The most eager person to remain was Mr. Mole.
Poor old Mole.
Monday went on--
"The first that I'se gwine to show you, ladies and gentlemen, is some
speciminks of what is known as the occult art, that is, the black art,
or magic."
Mole winced.
"Go on."
"Hear, hear!" said Dick.
"Bravo, Monday," from Jack Harkaway.
Mole was silent.
He had not another "bravo" in him, so to speak.
Monday bowed in acknowledgment of the plaudits.
"In the first place, den, ladies and gentlemen," he went on to say, "I
mean to show you my magic mirror."
Mole glanced nervously at Dick, and from him to Jack Harkaway.
But both looked as stolid as Dutchmen.
Monday drew back the curtain from the easel, disclosing a frame, on
which was fitted a plain black board.
"In this frame," said the professor of the black art, "I can show you
any persons you may ask for, dat is, persons who are known to you."
Mr. Mole had heard enough to convince him that he was in danger of
being once more sacrificed to the insatiable passion of his two old
pupils for chaffing and practical joking.
"Well, sar," said Monday, "just you try um."
"We will," said Dick.
"Well, then, sar, who shall be the first person I must bring before
you?"
No reply.
"Well, Mr. Mole, name somebody," said Monday, in his most insinuating
manner.
Mole's only reply was a dissenting growl.
"No."
"Will you, Mr. Harkaway, sar?" he said.
"Well, I will if you like--suppose that we call upon your friend,
Sunday?"
"Very good, sar."
And then he set to work.
A walking stick served him as a wand, and this he waved three times
slowly and majestically, while he repeated in solemn tones this
singular legend--
"Hokus-pokus, popalorum,
Stickstun, stickstun, cockalorum jig."
Thereupon the curtain went back, and lo! Sunday appeared sitting upon a
throne of state, robed in a long crimson mantle, which made him look
like an emperor.
It was a most dignified tableau, or it would have been, but for the
long clay pipe the darkey held in his mouth and the pewter pot he
carried in his hand.
"Ladies and gemmen," said Monday, "dat is our ole friend, dressed as de
Empyroar Charleymane."
"Bravo, bravo!"
Even Mr. Mole laughed.
The curtain closed over this dignified and historical representation.
"Now," said Dick Harvey, "let us see some of our live Stock."
"Yes, yes," said young Jack; "show us Nero."
"And Mike."
Monday bowed.
Then back went the curtain, and there sat Nero, the monkey, on the
throne just vacated by the emperor "Charleymane," and at his feet stood
the bold poodle Mike wagging his tail.
Nero appeared to understand what was required of him, and he sat
motionless as a statue for a while, but before long the peculiar
nervous irritation to which monkeys appear to be subject attacked him,
and he began a series of spasmodic researches in natural history all
over his ribs.
"Nero's making up for lost time," said young Jack; "look how he is
getting to work."
Nero was indeed scratching away furiously.
"There's diligence," laughed young Jack; "now he's busy."
And then he broke off into the following appropriate snatch--
"He'll catch the flee--he'll catch the flee--
He'll catch the fleeting hour."
Down went the curtain.
There was a general laugh at this.
"When we asked you to show us the live stock," said Dick Harvey, "you
took us too literally, Monday."
"Yah, yah!"
"You must learn to draw the line somewhere."
Monday here rapped the ground with his wand to secure attention.
Silence having been gained, he addressed them thus--
"Before we leave dis part of de entertainment," he said, "I conclude de
exhibition of one more animal. For reasons dat I need not mention, I
shall leave you to guess at de name of dis animal. It is a small animal
dat lives on wums."
"Wums?"
"Yes."
"What are they?"
"On wums, scriggley wums and insects, and burrows in the earth."
"Why, dear me," said young Jack, innocently, "that must be a mole."
Before a word could be said, back went the curtain, and Nero was
discovered walking upon a pair of wooden stilts.
He staggered about like a man in liquor, and made everyone yell again
at the quaint manner in which he had hit off Mr. Mole's movements.
"Whatever has he got on his head?" said someone.
Mole shivered.
He guessed.
Guessed; alas, he was but too sure.
Nero put all his doubts at rest by making a graceful bow and removing
his wig instead of a hat.
The wig!
Yea; the identical wig which Mr. Mole had left behind him in his
precipitate flight from the conjuror's.
This was too much.
Losing his dignity completely, Mr. Mole jumped up and burst through the
group of spectators, dashing out of the place in a perfect fury, young
Jack's voice ringing in his ears as he shouted--
"A wig! a wig! My kingdom for a wig!"
CHAPTER XIII.
THE BRIGANDS' CAMP--A MOUNTAIN BIVOUAC--AN ALARM--THE SOLDIERS--A
CHALLENGE--THE BRIGANDS' WIDOW--FATAL NEWS.
We change the scene.
And now we find ourselves in a mountain pass, where a number of
rough-looking men are grouped about a camp fire.
A short distance from this group stands a tall man, leaning moodily
upon the muzzle of his musket, while he watches the zig-zag paths up
the mountain side.
Upon this man one can see the whole safety of the party depends.
He is on sentry.
A prolonged silence was suddenly broken by the sentinel looking up and
grasping his musket nervously, while he turned a warning gesture to the
camp.
"What is it?" exclaimed one of the party, jumping up.
"Hush!"
The sentry turned with his finger on his lips, and motioned him to
silence.
At a sign from one of the men--evidently a superior--the whole party
sprang to their feet.
A hurried examination of their musket-locks and arms generally showed
that they expected danger, and only waited a word from the sentinel to
be "up and doing."
The leader stepped up to the sentry, drawn sword in hand.
"What is it?"
"The patrol."
"Soldiers?"
The sentry nodded.
"The Carbonari?"
"Yes."
The leader grasped his sword nervously, and made a step forward as
though he would have dashed through the ravine and charge the military
alone and unaided.
But if such were his intentions, he speedily altered his mind. "Perish
them!" he muttered; "and curse their spying!"
"We could pick them all off from here," said one of the men--a huge,
burly fellow, who had climbed up to a projecting rock commanding an
extensive view. "All down to the last man."
And as he spoke, he brought his gun up to his shoulder with an ominous
gesture.
"Hold, Toro!" ejaculated an English voice. "Your hasty imprudence will
spoil us."
"Bah!" said Toro, replying in the same tongue. "You are over prudent,
Hunston. Why should we not destroy them while they are in our power?"
"What if one escapes?"
"One should not," retorted the Italian savagely; "no, nor half a one."
"And where is the good if we succeeded, as you say?"
"Good!" reiterated Toro, passionately. "Are they not our sworn foes?
Are they not here in pursuit of us? Good!--why, will it not lessen the
number of our enemies by their number at least?"
"Yes, perhaps," replied Hunston. "And if successful, it would so
thoroughly alarm the country, that it would cause a whole army to be
sent after us, and make the end a mere question of time. Let one escape
to tell the tale and it would bring them down to this spot, our safest
place in the mountains, and hitherto undiscovered by our enemies."
Toro grumbled.
Yet there was so much truth in what Hunston said that he could urge
nothing further in favour of violent measures.
The sentry, who was still on the watch at the fissure in the rocks,
here turned round and motioned them to silence.
"Not so loud," he exclaimed, in a whisper; "they can hear something;
they are looking our way."
"Hah!"
In fact, the military were so near, that they could be heard plainly
enough giving their words of command.
"Halt! Ground arms!"
The rattle of their rifles was heard distinctly.
The officer then could be seen taking observations through a short
telescope which he carried suspended by a strap to his side.
He glanced all about the place and fixed for some little time upon the
fissures and rocky passes, resting longer below the very one at which
the sentry was posted than elsewhere.
But although it would seem to have aroused his suspicions, it was
evident that he could see nothing, for, after a few minutes, he lowered
his glass and shut it up.
The reason of this was, that where the sentry stood was completely
shadowed by the overhanging rocks, so that he was invisible to them,
although they could be distinctly seen by the sentry.
The scrutiny appeared to satisfy the officer.
"Shoulder arms! Left wheel! March!"
The measured tramp of the soldiers was distinctly heard.
Fainter and fainter it grew until it died away.
The sentry watched them in silence for several minutes before he spoke.
Presently he turned round to his comrades and nodded.
"Safe," he said. "They have turned by the crossroads; the last man is
out of sight."
"That's prime," said our old friend Tomaso. "Then now to dinner."
The sentry was not lost sight of--indeed, he was not the man to allow
himself to be forgotten, for before the meal had been long in progress
he reminded them that he had such a thing as an appetite about him by a
very rough address.
"Gluttons," he said to the party generally, "do you think only of
yourselves? Am I to mount guard for ever?"
They only laughed at this.
"Right, Ymeniz," said Toro; "turn and turn about is but fair. Matteo."
"Present," returned one of the men, jumping up and saluting with a
stiff military action, which told that he had once served in the army.
"Relieve guard, and let Ymeniz take your place here."
Matteo picked up his musket and marched up to the rocky pass, while the
late sentry joined the feast.
Now while the guard was changed, without any particular demonstration
of reluctance upon the part of the new sentry himself, Tomaso made a
very wry face.
"Our comrade Toro gives his commands as naturally as though he were our
leader."
Toro flushed up at this.
"And why not?" he said, almost fiercely.
"Why not?" echoed Tomaso, with a sneer. "Oh, I could give several
reasons."
"Give them."
"Nay, one will suffice."
"Well."
"Our only chieftain is the gallant Mathias."
"And he is in prison."
"True; but that doesn't prove you to be our leader while poor Mathias
is in the hands of the Philistines."
"Bah!" replied Toro, impatiently. "Someone must command while Mathias
is away."
"Then there are others who should command here in his absence in
preference to those who are new comers."
"Who are they?"
"You haven't far to look," returned Tomaso, drawing himself up
haughtily; "myself, for instance."
Toro burst into a loud and derisive laugh.
"You?" he said, contemptuously.
"Yes, I."
"Why, I have led a band of gallant fellows years ago--a band of thrice
our strength; aye, and what is more, I have led them to victory again
and again--to victory and fortune."
"Your lucky star has not been in the ascendant since you have deigned
to honour us with your company," said Tomaso.
The covert sneer conveyed in this speech made the peppery Italian fire
up.
"What do you mean by that?" he demanded, fiercely.
"I mean that your gallant followers must have missed so distinguished a
leader; pity you could not return to lead them to fresh triumphs,
greatly as we should deplore your loss."
Toro boiled over at this.
"Do you want to fix a quarrel on me?" he asked, in a voice of
suppressed passion.
"No," replied Tomaso, insolently. "When I want to quarrel, I go
straight to my point; I don't beat about the bush. I only want to
remind you of your proper place here so fall back, Signor Italiano, and
learn to be more respectful in your bearing."
Stung to the quick by this, Toro plucked out his sword, and would have
rushed upon the other, had not several of the men interposed.
"Come, come," they said, "none of that. We have plenty of enemies; we
can cut their throats, not our own, when we want to spill blood."
"Besides," said an old man, "it is profitless quarrelling about the
leadership--we have a leader. Poor Mathias!"
"Right," echoed several voices together, "right. Sit down; no
quarrelling."
"Here," exclaimed an old brigand, "let us drink to Mathias."
"And his speedy return," added another.
"Aye, aye, his speedy release."
Horn goblets were handed round and filled with ruddy wine from a skin,
which the old brigand himself produced from his own mysterious larder.
"To Mathias!"
"To Mathias!"
A ringing cheer was heard, and the goblets were drained to the very
dregs.
* * * * *
"Who goes there?"
"A friend."
"The word."
"Mathias."
"Advance, friend, and give the countersign."
This challenge was replied to, and a woman appeared at the narrow
entrance to the mountain pass.
Slowly she walked through, her head drooping and her eyes fixed upon
the ground.
They recognised her now.
It was the wife of their chieftain, the bold Mathias.
"I scarcely knew you," said the sentry, apologetically.
She looked up and smiled in a strangely vacant manner.
The other said nothing.
Her manner impressed them with ugly feelings.
Instinctively they felt that some fresh calamity had happened to them.
In fear and trembling they anticipated the evil tidings which she
brought, although, of course, they could not guess at its exact nature.
"Did you succeed!" demanded the old man.
She nodded gravely.
"You saw Mathias?"
"Yes."
Her answer was given in the same vacant manner, and staring fixedly
into the very midst of them, she appeared to see nothing.
"Did you tell our brave captain how eagerly we look forward to his
release--how anxiously we long for the moment when he shall be again
here amongst us--at our head?"
It was the old brigand who spoke.
She gave him a strange look, from which they could gather absolutely
nothing, and her eyes dropped again to the ground.
The heavy, unpleasant feeling deepened.
Scarcely one of them had the courage to address her again.
An oppressive silence fell upon them all.
They looked at each other in silent, awkward expectation, all, bold
desperadoes as they were, cowed into silence by her manner.
"You succeeded in seeing him?" said Hunston.
"Yes," she said, quietly.
"And you bade him be of good heart?--you told him that we were making a
plan in his behalf--a plan which could not fail of success? You said--"
The woman looked up.
"Nothing!"
"What!"
"Nothing," she slowly repeated, "nothing. I saw him, but it was too
late to speak those words of comfort."
"Too late?" iterated Hunston, eagerly, "too late?"
"Ah, too late for words of comfort, for menaces, or for any thing."
"Surely you do not mean--"
He could not complete the sentence, but she helped him out--
"I do," she said, in a hollow voice, and nodding her head gravely, "I
do mean that he, Mathias, the brigand chief is dead!"
The brigands, one and all, leaped to their feet, snatching up their
carbines, while from their throats issued a deep cry of revenge.
Dead! The word thrilled them one and all with horror.
The bold Mathias dead!
Prepared as they had been by her manner for some dire Calamity, it came
upon them like a thunderclap. The awful calm manner of the chieftain's
widow impressed them more than if she had thrown up her hands in wild
despair and given way to the noisiest demonstrations of woe.
After some few minutes, one ventured to break the awesome silence.
"How did he die?"
The brigand's wife turned from her questioner with a shudder.
"Ask me nothing yet. I am not able to speak of that at present; give me
time to conquer this weakness."
"If I ask, it is that I may seek vengeance upon his destroyer," said
Tomaso, the speaker.
Her eyes sparkled, and the colour rushed into her pale cheek at the
word. "Vengeance--aye, vengeance. Well spoken, my bold Tomaso;
vengeance is something to live for, after all; vengeance we'll have
too. We'll glut ourselves with it; a feast of vengeance we'll have."
"We will, we will!" shouted the brigands, as though with one single
voice.
"These English and these Americans shall die."
"They shall!"
"We'll exterminate them, root and branch."
"Aye, aye."
"Firstly, these Harkaways shall fall, then--"
"They die."
"Does Mathias owe his death to Harkaway's band?" demanded Hunston.
"Was not this Harkaway the prime mover in all our disasters?"
"Curse him!"
"Aye, curse him!"
Toro here stepped forward in the centre of the circle which the
brigands had formed.
"If Harkaway is to be dealt with," he said, "I will undertake to lead
you to triumph within three days."
Cheers greeted this speech until Tomaso stepped forward.
"If we want a leader," said he, "we can elect one; we are not in need
of any man to elect himself."
"Stand back," said Toro angrily.
"Fall back yourself," retorted Tomaso, "and obey your superior."
"My superior? Ha, ha! He does not live here," ejaculated Toro fiercely.
The old brigand here once more stepped between the disputants and
interfered.
"Why quarrel over a dead man's shoes while his widow is still in
sight?"
Tomaso fell back at the rebuke, but Toro, less thin-skinned, stuck
boldly to his text.
"If I offer to lead you against the enemy," he said, "it is solely for
our interest generally, not for mine alone."
"Oho!"
"Aye, and I can prove it."
"Do so."
"I will."
"Hear him," said Tomaso derisively: "hear our general benefactor speak
up for us all."
Toro turned upon the speaker savagely. "I can speak to you presently,"
he said significantly, tapping his sword hilt.
"You'll find me ready to answer you in any way," retorted Tomaso
boldly, also tapping his sword.
"I doubt not; meanwhile, I offer myself as the leader, for several
reasons: firstly, I know these Harkaways well, and am more fit to cope
with them than those who have never met them."
Tomaso laughed.
"I doubt that," he said; "why, by your own showing, you have never
gained any signal successes with them."
"No, but I start where you would have to begin; I am armed by
experience, which you lack."
"True, true," exclaimed several of the brigands.
"That sounds fairly enough," replied Tomaso, "but you have ever met
with such signal discomfiture that I, for one, should have small
confidence in your leadership. I don't speak to uphold myself; let any
other leader be chosen--let one of ourselves to wit, not an Italian, or
any other foreigner. Why should not a Greek lead Greeks?"
"Hurrah!"
A general cheer greeted this speech. "Tomaso! Tomaso!" they cried;
"Tomaso for leader!"
Toro's face flushed blood red.
"Hearken to me," he exclaimed, in a voice now hoarse with passion;
"Mathias was a great leader, and I felt it no shame to serve under him,
but I have been in command of as bold and brave a band as this, one far
stronger in point of numbers, and if I am not elected for the command I
shall withdraw altogether. Have me or not, you have the choice; only
this is my determination; I will accept orders from no man here."
"Go, then," said Tomaso; "leave us. You came unbidden, and you may
depart when you please."
A general silence succeeded this speech.
Toro's aid was not to be despised.
His huge body and his muscular arm had gained him the consideration of
most of those lawless men, who literally revered brute strength.
"Wait, wait," said a brigand, stepping forward. "Let us not be too
hasty. Some are for Toro, and some are for Tomaso."
"Well?"
"Say on."
"Let us put it to the vote, and let each of the disputants pledge
himself to abide by the decision."
"Good."
"What says Toro?"
"Agreed."
"And so am I," returned Tomaso, promptly.
"Hands up, then, for Toro."
Half the hands were uplifted and counted over.
"Now for Tomaso."
Up went the hands of the other side, and when they came to tell them
off, it was discovered that the brigands were equally divided in their
choice.
"We cannot have two leaders," said the brigand Ymeniz.
"No, no."
"Then we must have neither, as the matter stands."
"Unless one gives way."
"No," ejaculated the Italian, fiercely, "unless Tomaso likes to decide
by the sword which of us shall have the lead."
"I'm agreed to that," retorted Tomaso, promptly. "Let us fight for it,
and may the best man win."
"Agreed."
"Hurrah, hurrah!"
A ring was formed, and preparations made for the deadly encounter.
As they were not agreed about the choice of weapons, a coin was thrown
up, and Toro won.
Tomaso would have chosen pistols, for he was an excellent shot, and it
gave him the superiority; whereas, although not altogether unskilled in
fence, Toro's superior weight and size gave him a great advantage with
the sword.
However, there was nothing for it now but to fight.
The combatants stripped to the waist, and each received his weapon from
his second.
They were long, heavy swords, cut and thrust, like the heavy cavalry
carry, and with these there could be but one result.
Death!
There were no half measures with these weapons.
"Now, then," exclaimed the Italian, impatiently, "why this dallying? On
guard."
"I am ready," cried Tomaso, gripping his sword firmly.
The swords met with a clash which sent forth a shower of sparks, and
both men recoiled with the force of the shock.
Recovering themselves quickly, however, they went to work in real
savage style, and chopped away at each other with vicious earnestness.
Now Tomaso, it was clear, could not hold his own in a battle wherein
mere brute force was to have the best of it, and feeling himself at a
disadvantage in this respect, he dodged about his adversary as nimbly
as Harlequin himself.
Being very quick-sighted, he saw what sort of a blow was coming ere it
was fairly dealt, and so he shaped his defence.
If it was a desperate stroke, he jumped out of its reach.
If a light one, he turned it off upon the edge of his own weapon.
In this way he worked upon Toro to such an extent that the Italian's
temper got the mastery of him.
Tomaso was attacking him so closely that the Italian looked like losing
the battle.
Toro was bleeding from a dozen small flesh wounds.
Tomaso was, up to this moment, almost unscathed.
Presently he grew over bold, and incautiously trusting himself within
reach, Toro lunged so sharply out that it was only by the merest shave
he escaped being spitted on the Italian's long sword like a lark on a
skewer.
As it was the sword pierced the waistband of his nether garments.
Tomaso stumbled, and so nearly lost his balance that it took him all
his time to parry the next stroke, which was put in with equal
smartness and vigour. One blow, that might have brought down an
elephant, sent Tomaso on to his knees.
The same stroke made a notch in the Greek's weapon half an inch deep.
Had he caught the blow upon the flat of his sword, it would have been
shivered to atoms beyond all doubt.
Toro saw his chance.
Nor was he at all slow to avail himself of it.
Quick as thought, another blow fell, and out of his grasp flew the
Greek's blade.
He lay prostrate at the mercy of his adversary.
"Beg your life," cried Toro, planting his heavy foot firmly upon his
adversary's chest.
"Never,"
"Then die!"
He raised his sword.
But he paused.
Was it the action of a brave man to take the life of a defenceless foe?
Well, it was not the thought of such romantic notions which troubled
Toro; it was simply because there were spectators.
These spectators, he knew, would judge it harshly.
He thirsted for Tomaso's blood.
Yet he dared not indulge in his brutal passion.
Therefore, making a virtue of the necessity, he lowered his sword, and
spurning his beaten adversary with his foot, bade him rise.
"Then take your life unasked," he said coarsely, "and in future learn
to know and to respect your superiors."
Toro's speech was received with cheers by the brigands.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE NEW CAPTAIN--HUNSTON'S TROUBLE--THE ARM AND ITS LEGEND--HOW
EMMERSON'S VENGEANCE WORKS STEALTHILY ON.
"What do you say, men, now?" demanded the huge Italian, as he wiped his
sword.
"Huzza for Toro!"
"Have I fairly earned my right to take the lead here?"
"Yes, yes."
"I want you to be unanimous," he persisted.
"We are."
Toro fixed his eyes upon one or two of the disappointed supporters of
Tomaso, who had not uttered a word since the discomfiture of their
champion, and said to them especially--
"If any of you object to me as a leader, let them come forward now and
speak up."
There were one or two murmuring voices.
"Look," cried the giant Toro, "men all, if any here still denies my
power, let them step forward, and this sword shall prove my right."
This was final.
After the manner in which Toro had just dealt with their friend Tomaso,
they were not encouraged to provoke a quarrel. And so, by his daring
audacity and brute strength, Toro the Italian raised himself to the
leadership of the Greek brigands.
None dared to dispute his sway from that moment.
Some had a difficulty to swallow the bitter pill, but the alternative
was so very unpleasant that they got over it.
* * * * *
And Harkaway's enemy Hunston?
Why has he fallen so into the background of late?
His sole thoughts have been engrossed by the fearful sufferings to
which he is subject.
That dreadful arm--the legacy of vengeance of the murdered Emmerson.
Where the evil was it baffled all his skill to discover.
Slowly yet surely this horrible piece of mechanism was eating away its
wearer's life.
"It seems almost as though some subtle poison were slowly injected into
my body through this arm," thought Hunston, "and yet I can not work
without it."
Never was vengeance more terrible than that of the dead Robert
Emmerson.
The wonder was that Hunston lived through it.
His constitution must have been of iron.
The arm was removed, but only with infinite trouble and suffering; and
then, after some considerable time, Hunston began to experience a faint
sense of relief.
The sufferings slowly diminished.
This convinced Hunston that he had been correct in supposing that the
poison was concealed in the mechanical arm.
He laid bare as much of it as he could without permanently damaging it,
and pored over it for hours at a stretch.
To what good?
None.
Now this limb was the work of no common artificer.
It was the work of a hand of rare cunning.
A master spirit had invented it, and its mystery was far too deep to be
penetrated by a common bungler.
Hunston was at last so tortured that, disguising himself, he one day
left the mountains, and sought the advice of a surgeon.
"The man who planned this arm," said the surgeon to whom Hunston
submitted it for examination, "must have devoted a lifetime to the
manufacture and perfecting of this mechanical limb."
Hunston smiled.
He knew too well how little time the wretched man Emmerson gave to any
thing like industrial pursuits.
"What is this?" asked this same surgeon, pointing to the flat of the
arm, where the engraved legend was almost obscured with a dark stain.
Hunston changed colour and fidgeted about.
"I don't know."
"There is something written."
"Yes, yes, so I believe, but it is obscured by that stain--a stain--"
He peered closer into the arm yet, and looked serious, as turning to
Hunston, he said--
"Why, it is a blood-stain."
"No, no!" replied Hunston, hurriedly; "impossible. It can not be."
"Impossible or not," said the surgeon, "blood it is, and nothing but
blood. Yet I see that, in spite of this stain, the reading is clear
enough."
"Scarcely," said Hunston.
"It is, though, and it is in English, I should say, too."
"Yes."
"Can't you read it?"
"No."
"Strange. Yet you are English."
"Yes."
"Well, I have some English friends here to whom I will show it, and--"
Hunston broke in impatiently at this.
"English here!" he exclaimed. "Where do they live?"
"At the villa--"
"What, the Harkaway family, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"And you would take it there?"
"Why not? Mr. Harkaway is a clever man. He is surrounded also by clever
people; there is a curious old gentleman there, too, an old gentleman
of great learning, and he might be enabled to throw some light upon the
secret, which even the closest scrutiny can not penetrate."
Hunston listened to the end, but not without having to exercise a
certain amount of self-control.
"How is this old gentleman called--this clever, learned old gentleman?"
"You seem to say that with a sneer, sir," said the surgeon; "but you
may rely upon it he is a very great _savant_--a man of great
accomplishments--and a warrior who has--"
"Who has lost two legs!"
"Yes. You know him?"
"Slightly; his name is Mole."
"It is."
"And you would take my arm to these people for them to stare and gape
at. No, sir; I am foolish enough to seek to conceal my affliction from
the world, and by the aid of this wonderful arm I have been hitherto
successful."
The doctor bowed.
"So I beg you will keep my secret."
"Rely upon it."
Hunston showed all his old cunning in this speech. Yet all his
inquiries, all his researches, availed him nothing.
The work of the dead Robert Emmerson remained as before, an inscrutable
mystery. It remained the silent executor of its creator's vengeance.
Slowly, yet surely fulfilling the blood-stained legend on the steel
arm.
CHAPTER XV.
HUNSTON AGAIN AT WORK-THE DANCING GARDEN--MARIETTA AND HER
GOSSIP-GREAT NEWS--THE ARREST--WHAT CHARGE?--MURDER.
Hunston's infirmity had told in many ways.
He had sunk to be a mere nonentity in the band.
Now he was but too pleased to be left at peace when in his great
suffering; yet no sooner did he recover health and spirits a little
than his old interest revived, and with his interest all the old
jealousies.
He bitterly resented Toro's assumption of the command.
"Let the blustering bully fool impose upon them if he will," he said to
himself again and again; "he never could take me in. It shall be my
task to show them who can render the most real service to the band."
Their programme suited Hunston well.
What could better have accorded with his humour than the devotion of
all their time, thought, and energies to the persecution--perhaps to
the entire destruction, of the Harkaway family?
It was all gone on with avowedly to avenge the death of Mathias.
Little cared Hunston about the dead brigand chief.
Indeed, but for the presence of his widow in their midst, and the
occasional mention of his name, Hunston would, in all probability, have
forgotten that he had ever existed.
As it was, he made it his especial task to hang about the parts of the
town where the Harkaways were most likely to be met. And never did he
appear twice in the same dress.
One evening, strolling into a dancing garden, he chanced to come upon a
smart young lady, whose appearance attracted his attention at once.
"I know her well," he said to himself, "though where I have seen her is
a puzzle to me for a moment."
The merry antics of one of the dancers caused her to laugh, and then he
recognised the sound of her voice immediately.
"Marietta!"
Surely he should not so soon have forgotten her.
Was it not upon the occasion of her memorable exploits at the gardens
of the Contessa Maraviglia that he had last seen her--that night when
poor Magog Brand met his fate?
As soon as he recognised her, he made up his mind to escort her.
So first (to assure himself of the excellence of his disguise) catching
a cursory glance of his shadow in a mirror, he crossed the garden, and
stepping up to her side, he addressed her.
"Do you not join the dance, signorina?" he said.
The waiting maid in reply only cocked her chin haughtily and moved
away.
"You are proud, Marietta, to-night," said Hunston.
She turned upon hearing her name mentioned.
"I do not know you, sir."
"But you see I know you, Marietta, and what is more, if you were to ask
your master Mr. Harkaway or Mrs. Harkaway about their friend Saville, I
dare say they would not say any thing very bad about him."
Marietta curtseyed in some confusion.
"I don't remember seeing you at the villa, signor," she said, "so pray
excuse me."
"No excuses, pretty Marietta; I am not a very constant visitor, yet I
have seen you, and yours is a face once seen not easily forgotten."
Marietta, like a true daughter of Eve, did not object to this sort of
thing.
And so she fell into the trap which he set for her with so little
pains.
That is, she grew gossipy and communicative.
"And does Master Jack come here sometimes?" asked the sham Mr. Saville.
She shook her head.
"Never."
"Mamma would object, of course," he said lightly; "this is such a
wicked place for her good, mild, innocent boy to come to."
Marietta laughed a good deal at hearing young Jack spoken of thus.
"Neither of the young gentlemen are too innocent," she said; "but yet
they don't come here."
"Possibly they have no taste for this sort of thing," suggested
Hunston.
Marietta shrugged her shoulders.
"They are forbidden to go about alone."
"Why?"
"I don't know--some fancy of the ladies. They think that the brigands
are always lurking about, ready to drop upon their boys."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Hunston; "a very good joke."
"Is it not? Although I must tell you that there is some reason for
fear, for I have twice come across the--"
"Across who?"
"The brigands."
"Impossible."
"It is true."
"The miscreants. Did they steal any thing?"
"Well, only a few--a few kisses."
"Hum!" said Hunston, "that was excusable. It is a sort of pilfering
which I would willingly indulge in myself."
"I dare say," answered Marietta saucily, "but I have discovered how to
use my weapons in self-defence."
"What weapons?"
"These."
She held up her ten pretty little claws. A tiny hand they were mounted
on, too.
Hunston surveyed it with the eye of a connoisseur, and looked the
admiration he wished to convey quite extravagantly enough for a vain
woman to understand his meaning.
"Exquisite," he said. "It would be flattery even to be scratched by
such models."
She laughed.
He resumed.
"And so they never go forth for fear of the brigands?"
"Never."
"Their lives must be wretched, so confined to the house."
"Aye, but they go out to sea."
"To sea?"
"Yes, in their sailing boat; the two boys are always out fishing,
sailing, and what not."
Hunston pricked up his ears at these tidings.
"Yes, on the water they are allowed full liberty, for brigands and
cats, according to Signor Harvey, are the two animals that fear the
water most."
"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Hunston, "very good indeed, but I never knew that
brigands so feared the water."
"So Signor Harvey says," replied Marietta. "Indeed he says that a bar
of soap and a bowl of water would frighten a brigand more than a whole
armoury of firearms."
This was true.
Brigands may look picturesque when seen from a distance.
At close quarters they are, to put it mildly, objectionable.
If they do not hold soap and water in absolute fear, as Dick Harvey
said, they at least look upon them as vanities and effeminacies
unworthy of desperadoes.
* * * * *
"So, so," muttered Hunston, as he walked away, "I shall secure them
yet. For through the boys I can get at the father and at Harvey. Hah!"
At this precise moment a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder.
There was a professional touch in it, which once felt could never be
forgotten.
Hunston had felt such a clutch once in England, and the recollection
was likely to last him as long as he lived.
He forgot where he was, every thing, and instinctively he faltered this
inquiry--
"On what charge?"
"Murder!"
He knew the voice.
He had no need to look round; the voice was not one easily forgotten.
It was our old friend Pike, the English detective.
"Yes, Hunston," replied the officer coolly. "You have been giving me a
lot of trouble, but it was only a question of time and patience, I
knew. Come along; you are my prisoner."
CHAPTER XVI.
A GREAT DANGER--OFF AND AWAY!--POOR PIKE.
Hunston quailed. He was lost.
So suddenly--so unexpectedly had this come, that he was utterly
powerless to help himself.
Had he been wearing the mechanical arm, he might have able to tackle
the wiry officer Pike.
Bitterly did he curse his unlucky fate.
Recovering himself, however, in some slight degree, he endeavoured to
shake off the detective's hold.
"Quiet, now, quiet, Master Hunston," said Pike, "or I shall have to try
means for tranquilising you which you won't find agree with you."
"Show me your warrant for this outrage," said Hunston.
"Outrage! Hoity, toity! that's a good word."
"I shall call the police to my assistance if you attempt to molest me,"
said Hunston, putting on a lofty air.
This tickled Pike mightily.
"Call the police, will you?" he said. "Well, I shan't, for I flatter
myself that I don't want much assistance to walk off with such a man as
you--even if you were not lopsided."
Hunston turned savagely upon the detective at this allusion to his
crippled state and made an attempt at using his one arm upon him.
But Pike was--to put it vulgarly--all there.
He dexterously dodged the blow, and whirling round secured a hold upon
Hunston's collar--that peculiar grip which is the specialty of men who
have been in the force.
Hunston struggled desperately to get free. In vain.
Do what he would, he found himself being trotted along to save himself
from strangulation.
Not only was it physically painful.
Hunston had an overweening sense of his own importance and dignity, and
this being run in just like some paltry pickpocket in a crowd, was
galling to his vanity beyond all description.
What could he do?
He was powerless.
The wondering people stared at this singular exhibition, but they
parted their ranks as Pike and his prisoner came along, and never
offered to interfere.
Now, during this brief but painful business, Hunston's thoughts ran
right ahead of the present dilemma.
He endeavoured to realise some of the possible consequences of it.
The arrest was, he felt assured, illegal.
What then?
What could result from such a proceeding?
Would they detain him?
Could they?--that was the question.
The British ambassador might be influenced by people of the rank and
position of the Harkaways.
This granted, it was easy enough for his excellency to waive legal
forms and ceremonies there, and get Hunston transferred to the safe
keeping of the English authorities.
At this point Hunston could not repress a shudder.
And why? He thought of what must necessarily follow.
His fevered fancy flew ahead, and he saw himself in the dock, faced by
the stony-faced judge, and put through the torture of cross-examination
which laid bare the innermost recesses of his black heart in spite of
himself.
He saw further on yet.
He shut his eyes as he went on and heard the tramp of the twelve jurors
re-entering the court in the midst of a profound and awesome silence.
He heard the solemn formula; he heard the hollow voice of the foreman
give the verdict--
"Guilty!"
All that he heard and saw in his mind's eye, in that brief but
unpleasant hustling he had to go through at the hands of the ungenerous
and indefatigable officer Daniel Pike.
And Hunston now, being half cowed by his captor, was being driven
through the streets like a lamb to the slaughter, when a sudden and
startling incident changed the whole spirit of the scene, even in the
twinkling of an eye.
A musket, grasped in a strong hand by the barrel, was swung over their
heads, and down it came with an awful crack upon poor Pike's head.
Down he dropped like a bullock under the butcher's pole-axe.
And Hunston was free.
For a few seconds he could not realise his release, so sudden and
unexpected it had been.
"Come along," said a voice in his ear; "away with you, or we shall get
into trouble here."
This aroused him.
He recognised the voice of Tomaso the brigand, and it brought him to
his presence of mind.
Off he started at a good brisk run in the direction that his preserver
had taken.
And soon was out of danger.
But Tomaso was not so fortunate.
Following Hunston at a more leisurely pace, he had not gone many yards,
when a firm grip was placed upon his shoulder.
"Halt!" said a voice.
The brigand turned hastily, and found himself in the firm clutch of the
detective.
"I have caught you at last, villain!" exclaimed Pike the detective, as
he twisted his hand into the collar of the garment Tomaso wore instead
of a shirt.
Then, before the astonished brigand had time either to remonstrate or
resist, the Englishman exhibited to him that particular form of
wrestling known as the "cross buttock," and stretched him at full
length on the ground.
Another moment and a pair of real Bow Street handcuffs snapped on
Tomaso's wrists.
"Neatly done; don't you think so?" said Pike.
Tomaso's answer was a tremendous Greek oath.
"You're swearing, I believe. Now that is a bad habit at all times, and
very foolish just now, because you see it don't hurt me, inasmuch as I
don't understand it," said Pike, who, after a brief, stern survey of
his captive, added--
"If you cursed me in English, though, I don't know but what I might be
tempted to punch your ugly head."
Tomaso remained silent, and Pike, after pausing some seconds, helped
him to his feet.
"Now you are all right, and will come back quietly with me. But how do
the bracelets fit? I've got another pair in my pocket."
"You had better release me," observed Tomaso.
"Now that is very ridiculous, my friend. Why should I take the trouble
of capturing you, if I let you run again directly?"
"It will be much to your disadvantage to imprison me, Signor
Englishman. An injured Greek is always avenged in some way."
"Just so; however, I'll risk that"
Pike's coolness added to the rage of the brigand, whose passion fairly
boiled over.
"May all the infernal gods my forefathers worshipped--may the fiend I--"
"Serve," suggested Pike.
"The fiend I would willingly serve, or sell my soul to, for vengeance,
visit you with his direst displeasure, and may all the plagues of Egypt
blight you!"
"Thank ye, that's a very pleasant speech; something like what I used to
hear at the theatre. But, old friend, you made one little blunder."
"You will see if I have blundered."
"One little blunder, when you spoke of selling your soul. Lor' bless
you, Old Scratch isn't such a fool as to buy nowadays, whatever he may
have done years ago."
Another angry exclamation from Tomaso.
"You see, the old gentleman has gained some experience as a trader, and
he knows well enough that if he waits a little time, he'll get you all
free-gratis for nothing at all."
"You are a devil, Englishman."
"And you are not exactly an angel. However, if I am a devil, you may
consider you are regularly sold to me. So now come along; keep your
hands under your cloak, and no one will notice the little decorations
on your wrists."
"You are a devil, Signor Englishman; but you will die for this."
"Pshaw! I've collared scores of desperate villains, and they all said
something of the same kind, yet here I am."
"You will die," repeated Tomaso.
"Some clay, of course; but we have a proverb in England; would you like
to hear it?"
Tomaso tossed his head with lofty indifference.
"The proverb," continued Pike, "is that 'Threatened men live long.'"
He then took Tomaso by the arm, and led him on.
"But stop," said he, "those pistols in your girdle are very heavy. I'll
carry them for you, and the knife as well."
CHAPTER XVII.
THE DECOY--A THROW OF THE DICE--THE EXECUTION.
Before Pike and his captive had gone far on their return journey,
Harkaway and Harvey, with two or three of the gendarmes, and a minute
after Jefferson, came up.
"You have caught him then. Hurrah!" said Dick Harvey.
"But this is not Hunston," said Harkaway.
"No, sir; he managed to get clean away. But we'll have him yet."
An old goatherd, who had scrambled down near to the place where the
captor and prisoner stood, might have been seen to indulge in a
contemptuous smile.
We say might, because the fact is that all were so much elated at the
capture of Tomaso that the very presence of the old stranger had
hitherto remained unnoticed.
Nor did he seem to court attention, but remained behind a bush, in a
spot, however, where he could hear all that passed.
"Well, we must take this fellow back to the town, and hand him over to
the authorities," said Harvey.
"And then hunt down Master Hunston," remarked old Jack. "I wish we knew
where to look for him."
"He took this direction," remarked Pike.
"True."
"And, therefore, it is in this direction that we must look for him."
"Right again," remarked Dick Harvey.
"But as he is associated with some desperate fellows, it would be as
well to place this gentleman in the hands of the authorities before we
seek him. It is not good to go into action with prisoners on our
hands."
As all agreed on this point, they walked back with the prisoner, and
had the pleasure of seeing him put into a cell from which, apparently,
there was no way of escape, even the fire-place having been bricked up
since the attempt of Mathias to gain freedom that way. By the time that
was done it was too late to think of starting that day, so our friends
retired to hold a council of war.
Pike, however, took no part in the consultation.
That astute detective had formed in his own mind a resolution that, if
it were possible, he would capture Hunston single-handed, thus covering
himself with glory, and at the same time keeping the Harkaways and
Harvey out of danger.
Pike knew that it was a difficult thing to keep them out of danger, and
that if they heard any thing about the brigands, they would be the very
ones to lead an attack.
Pike walked up and down, smoking and reflecting on the difficulties
which surrounded his task.
He had not thoroughly matured his plans when the sun went down and the
moon rose.
Few people were abroad.
The audacity the brigands had recently displayed had convinced most
people that they were safer indoors than out.
As Pike walked up and down the quiet street, he noticed an old man
crouched up in a corner, wrapped in a tattered cloak, and apparently
intending to pass the night there.
"Hilloa, my friend, what are you? Are you one of the brigands?"
Pike uttered the words in a jocular manner, but the old man felt deeply
offended.
"Sir Englishman, you insult me."
"I apologise. I had no intention of doing so."
"A brigand! Signor, I am here--houseless and penniless in my old age
through those accursed villains! May Sathanas fly away with their
souls."
"Well, old man, perchance you will be avenged before long."
"It is what I pray for. They burnt my hut, cut down my two fine olive
trees, and drove off my little flock of goats."
The old man covered his face, and appeared to sob violently.
"When was this?" asked Pike.
"Scarce three hours since."
"Was there with them a foreigner--one of my country?"
"I know not what country they were of, but besides the Greeks, there
were two men who seemed leaders; one was called Signor Toro, the other
was named Hunston."
"How many were there in all?"
"Three Greeks besides the two foreigners."
"Do you know any thing of the haunts of these brigands, friend
goatherd?"
"Aye, well. But till now I have never dreamt of betraying them, for
they never before molested me."
"Lead me to their den."
"You, signer? Why, they are at least five in number, and you are but--"
"But an Englishman! that makes all the difference, friend goatherd, so
pray lead on. Here, take a drink from my flask first."
The old man accepted the proffered drink, and then said--
"Well, signor, it is a desperate and dangerous undertaking; but I know
you English can do almost any thing, so I will show you the way. And if
it comes to a fight, I shall be at your elbow, signor."
"True."
Without mentioning his intentions, or saying a word to any of his
friends, the detective passed his arm through that of the goatherd and
walked away.
Little conversation passed.
The detective was full of hopeful anxiety about the capture of Hunston;
and as for the goatherd, it may be presumed that the loss of his goats
afforded him plenty of food for silent reflection.
They passed the place where Tomaso was captured, and then turned aside
out of the road into a dense wood which covered the side of a rocky
hill.
It appeared as though the old goatherd was "out of condition," as the
athletes say; at all events, the scramble up the rough path brought on
a loud and distressing cough.
"Be quiet," said Pike; "you will alarm them."
"No fear of that, signor; we are more than a mile from the den of the
villains."
So they scrambled and climbed away, till at length they reached a place
where Pike found it necessary to use hands as well as feet to make
progress.
He had just put up both hands to grasp a boulder over which it was
necessary to climb, when, to his intense astonishment, each wrist was
grasped by a couple of strong hands, and in another moment he was
forcibly dragged up.
"The tables are turned now, Mr. Pike," said a voices "You will remain
our prisoner till Tomaso is released."
It was so dark that Pike could not see the speaker, but he had no doubt
that it was Hunston.
The impression was confirmed in an instant by the goatherd, who said in
a jeering manner--
"Ha, ha, ha! Why don't you capture him? You were so very brave to talk,
yet you do nothing."
Pike, by a sudden jerk, wrenched himself from his captors, and dealt
the mocking brigand--for he was nothing more--a blow that doubled him
up among the rocks.
But before the detective could escape, he was thrown down himself, and
bound hand and foot.
Half-a-dozen Greek brigands then raised him and bore him away.
How far he could not tell, but it seemed, as far as he could guess,
five or six miles.
At length they reached a little open glade in the forest where at least
a score of brigands were assembled.
"You have him, then?" said a huge fellow, who spoke with an Italian
accent.
"Yes."
"Tie him to that tree."
It was done.
"Now listen," said Toro--for he it was who had given the command. "If
Tomaso is not at liberty and here among us at noon, you shall die."
"I can not set him at liberty."
"You can do a great deal towards it. Unfasten one of his arms--his
right arm."
Pike's right arm was then released, and, in obedience to Toro's
command, a small table was placed close to him.
On this table were pens, ink and paper.
"Now write to your friend Harkaway, and tell him that unless Tomaso is
released by noon, as I have told you, death is your doom."
So Pike wrote--
"I am in the hands of the brigands, and unless Tomaso is released by
noon, I shall be killed. But I am not afraid to die; hold your captive
fast."
Having signed it, he held it out to Toro, who read it, and then called
a messenger, to whom he entrusted it for delivery.
Then the brigands sat down to breakfast, and Pike was left to his
contemplations. These, as may be imagined, were not of the most
pleasant kind.
Hour after hour passed.
The brigands were some sleeping, some playing cards, and all enjoying
themselves in some way, but no one took any notice of the prisoner.
The sun rode high in the heavens, and it was evidently approaching
noon, when the messenger returned from the town with a letter.
It was addressed to Pike, but Toro opened it.
It was not from Harkaway, but from the chief of the police, informing
the unfortunate detective that the Greek government declined to make
any terms or drive any bargain with brigands, but that any ill usage
Mr. Pike might suffer would be most effectually avenged.
"You hear this?" said Toro.
"I do."
"Then say what prayers you remember, and make your peace with Heaven,
for at noon you die."
"Let me be the executioner," said a brigand who stood by.
"Not so," exclaimed another; "the task is mine by right."
"Peace!" said Toro. "The dice shall decide his fate. The highest
thrower shall have the pleasure of shooting him."
The brigands, in obedience to a signal from the chief, gathered round
him, a short distance from the prisoner.
Dice were produced and the game began.
"Double four," cried the first thrower.
"That man stands a good chance of being my executioner," thought Pike.
"To fancy that I, who have been the terror of evil-doers in England,
should be the sport of these dirty brigands. Why, I could well thrash
half-a-dozen of them in a fair stand-up fight."
At this moment a loud peal of laughter greeted the second dicer.
"Ace--two."
"My chance is worthless," said the man.
"Worthless!" muttered Pike to himself. "Aye, you are indeed worthless,
compared with some of the English villains I have hunted down and
fought for life or death. I could die like a man if I only had to die
in a fair hand-to-hand fight with such a man as Birmingham Bill, the
very first murderer I ever coped with; but I'll show them how an
Englishman can die."
"Double six!" shouted one of the brigands, as he threw the dice.
The man was the smallest and ugliest of the lot, but it seemed very
probable that he would be Pike's executioner. At all events, he
carefully loaded his carbine.
"To be shot by such a villain as that!" thought Pike. "It would have
been better if one of the shots fired by that burglar fellow they call
the 'Whitechapel, Devil' had taken effect; six times he fired, and then
we had a good ten minutes' tussle before I could secure him."
At length all the brigands had thrown with the exception of Toro.
"Double six again!"
As it was a tie between the two, each had another throw. The little
ugly brigand threw.
"Two--three."
Toro then took up the dice, shook them well in the box and made his
cast.
"Five--four!"
And Toro was hailed the winner.
"Prisoner, I give you two minutes to prepare."
"Brigand, I am prepared. Such sins as I have committed, I have repented
of, so do your worst; but rest assured that vengeance will some day
overtake you. To Heaven I commend my soul!"
With as much composure as if he had been practising at an inanimate
target, Toro raised his gun, and counted--
"One!"
"Two!"
"Three!"
At the word three, he pulled the trigger. The report echoed from rock
to rock, and the head and body of poor Pike fell forward, as far as the
ropes that secured him to the tree would permit.
He was dead, the bullet having penetrated the brain.
* * * * *
That evening, as Harkaway, Harvey, and Jefferson returned from an
unsuccessful attempt to rouse the authorities, they found that two men
had left a heavy package at the house.
On opening it, they were horrified to find it a section of a hollow
tree, nearly every portion of the wood having crumbled away, leaving
the bark intact.
And in the hollow was the body of the poor detective and a brief note.
"The fate of all brigand hunters. Beware!--TORO."
"Vengeance for this, at all events," exclaimed Harkaway.
"Poor Pike! We should be unworthy of the name of Englishmen did we not
punish thy murderers."
He wrote a note to the mayor.
"SIR,--In the huge package that accompanies this note, you will find
the body of an Englishman, who has this day been murdered by brigands;
I call upon you, in the name of Heaven, to rout these murderers out of
their dens, and bring them to justice. Should you show any backwardness
in so doing, I shall deem it necessary to appeal to the English
ambassador.
"Your obedient servant,
"J. HARKAWAY."
Having despatched a couple of messengers with the body and letter, they
sat down with sorrowful hearts and small appetites to their evening
meal.
CHAPTER XVIII.
HUNSTON IN THE CAMP AGAIN--RETROSPECTION--A DEVILISH PLOT--DARK
CLOUDS GATHER OVER THE HARKAWAYS.
"Who goes there?"
"A friend."
"The word?"
"Mathias."
"Stand; advance a step, and I fire. Ha! I see you now. I did not
recognise your voice, Hunston."
"I thought not; but why all this precaution?"
"Fear has induced us to change the countersign. We believe there is
mischief abroad, and so extra precautions are needed."
"Right, Ymeniz," said Hunston, who had been out scouting for a few
hours after the execution of Pike, "although it is to be feared that
the blindness which prevents your recognition of a friend and comrade
may mislead you as to the real character of an enemy, should one dare
to penetrate thus far."
The sentry laughed.
"Fear nothing on that score, Hunston," he said.
"Indeed I do."
"My carefulness may turn even friends into enemies, but fear, or over
carefulness--"
"It is much the same thing," suggested Hunston.
"Right; but it is not likely to make me take foes for friends."
"I doubt it."
"You have a cunning tongue, friend Hunston," said the sentry, who was
just a little bit nettled, "but I don't believe that you could prove
that to my satisfaction."
"I might do it to the one or the other," returned Hunston, caustically;
"but certainly not to both, the two are so opposed."
This was just a dash too subtle for the sentry, and so Hunston passed
on without further remark.
A few steps further on he came to a group formed of the brigands,
gathered around Pedro, a brigand who had been of some little assistance
in the rescue of Hunston, but who unlike Tomaso, had managed to escape.
He was recounting the late adventures--from his own episode in the
tale--of Hunston.
Hunston walked up to the centre of the group.
"Pedro," he said, "you rescued me, and perhaps saved my life; accept my
hand, and with it my eternal gratitude." Pedro stepped back. He winced
instead of taking the proffered hand, and his countenance fell.
"Pardon me Hunston," he said; "I'm very glad to have been of service to
you, to have been able to save a comrade, but--"
He paused.
Hunston frowned.
"But what?"
"Don't be too grateful."
The tone, no less than the nature of the request, sounded just a little
bit comical, and it made the bystanders, Hunston included, smile.
"What do you mean by that, my preserver? Why should I not be grateful?"
"Because I have heard it said that your gratitude brought bad luck to
anyone who had really befriended you."
Hunston started.
He thought of Robert Emmerson.
That arm did its inventor's work well, indeed.
Not a day passed but Hunston realised the truth of the legend inscribed
on the mechanical arm.
Not a day passed, but that he saw how fearfully was the legacy of
vengeance bequeathed by the murdered Protean Bob being carried out.
Dropping his glance in some confusion for a moment, he turned sharply
upon the brigand after a little reflection.
Pedro could know nothing of the death of Emmerson.
Nay, it was more than probable that the very name was utterly unknown
to these men.
"You wish to insult me, Pedro," he said, "and so cancel the obligation
I am under to you. But beware of going too far, for you may leave a
balance upon the wrong side, and I am as quick to avenge an insult as
to--"
Pedro interrupted him with a laugh.
"What did I say? I have only just rendered you a great service--at
least, so you say--"
"And mean."
"And mean, perhaps; and yet you are already threatening me. When I said
that your gratitude is said to bring bad luck to anyone, I was only
repeating an idle saying--as I thought--but it seems like the truth,
after all."
Hunston was moving thoughtfully away, when the brigand's words stopped
him.
"Forgive me, Pedro," he said, turning round; "I am a bad, ungrateful
man, but I'm not utterly wanting in decent feeling. You touch me on a
very sore spot."
So saying he walked on, leaving Pedro staring after him.
"That's a queer lot," muttered the brigand to himself, "a very queer
lot. I think I would sooner have the murder of a priest on my
conscience than be weighted with the deeds that he'll have to answer
for."
Pedro was no fool.
His observations were pretty well to the point.
Hunston felt the pangs of remorse.
Daily, hourly, in fact, he looked back and thought of what he was, and
what he might have been had not his vicious propensities got the upper
hand of him at the critical turn in his career.
And so the demon remorse played havoc with him already.
The mechanical arm was responsible for all. Its mysterious
disorganisation had been the direct cause of his forced inactivity.
What gives ugly thoughts such power over one as bodily inactivity?
Nothing.
Robert Emmerson, your vengeance is as terrible as it is unceasing in
its action.
* * * * *
Hunston sought the widow of Mathias.
"I have made good progress, Diana," he said, "for I have learnt enough
about the enemy to make sure of getting some of them at least into our
power."
The listener's eyes glistened at the words.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"What do you propose to do, then? Tell me."
"Harkaway has a son--a mere youth."
"I know it."
"Well, this boy is a dare-devil, bold and fearless lad; nothing can
daunt him. He is, in fact, what his hated father was when first I knew
him, years and years ago."
A faint and half-suppressed sigh escaped him as he uttered this.
"What of this boy?"
"This boy has a companion called Harry Girdwood."
"Well."
"Well, these two boys are to be trapped, if it be gone about
carefully--very carefully, mark you."
"That can be done, of course."
"It can--by you."
Diana stared again at this.
"By me?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"Listen. They pay a certain respect to us--hold us in some fear, in
fact--and the boys, who are regular rovers, like their parents and
friends, have only permission to cruise about in their little yacht."
"How did you learn this?"
"From Marietta, the servant of the Harkaways."
"Hah!"
"Now, with care, the boys might be lured, perhaps, away from the part
of the coast which they know, and let them once touch the shore out of
sight and hearing of their friends--"
"I see, I see," ejaculated the widow of Mathias. "I can entrap them, I
believe. But tell me first, what is the object of securing these two
boys?"
"The object!" ejaculated Hunston. "Why, surely that is clear enough.
Let us once get hold of them, and we can make any terms we like with
the father and friends. We shall have to dictate the conditions, and
Harkaway will have no choice but to accept them."
"I see, I see," cried Diana, excitedly. "Leave the rest to me; I'll
undertake to get them into our power."
"How?"
"No matter how; you have done your share of the business. Be mine the
task to secure the rest."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Good!" said Hunston, gleefully, "good! I feel a presentiment of luck.
I'm not superstitious, but I feel as certain now that we shall
succeed--as certain as if the boys were already in our power."
"They shall be," returned the woman, solemnly, "they shall be. I swear
it!"
CHAPTER XIX.
JACK AND HARRY GIRDWOOD AFLOAT--THE SQUALL--THE SHIPWRECKED
BOY--DEEDS OF HEROISM--THEIR REWARD--A DEADLY PERIL.
"Down with sail, Jack; we shall be over if we are not sprightly," said
Harry.
Young Jack laughed.
The thought of danger actually made him merry, and so proved that he
was every inch a Harkaway--a thorough chip of the old block.
"There's no fear, old fellow," he said.
A sudden gust of wind caught the sail, and caused the boat to give such
a lurch at this very moment that both the boys were sent flying.
They got some hard knocks.
But neither was afraid of a little rough usage, and so they only
scrambled to their feet, laughing boisterously, as if there was great
fun in barked shins and bruised arms.
"I told you so, Jack," said Harry Girdwood.
"No harm done," retorted Jack, rubbing a damaged part and grinning.
"No, but don't let us be too foolish; we might get into trouble."
Young Jack roared at this.
"Soho-ho!" he cried. "Shipped another passenger, Harry, have you?"
"What do you mean?"
"Why, you've got Captain Funk aboard."
"Not I," returned Harry, "only if we get into any foolish scrape, they
won't let us come out for a sail again, and as this is the only jaunt
left us, we may as well keep ourselves quiet."
"There's something in that," said young Jack,
So saying, he set about reefing the sail with all possible despatch.
Now it was barely accomplished when a violent gust of wind drove the
little craft along at a furious rate.
It was only just in time.
A moment more and the sail would have been shredded, or, what was still
worse, the boat would have been capsized for a certainty.
Harry Girdwood lowered the oars and pulled sharply along before the
fury of the gale, while young Jack baled out a little water that had
been shipped in the first heavy lurch, before the youthful mariners had
been fully prepared for such violent treatment, and steered at the same
time.
In this way they contrived to elude the violence of the gale for the
present, at least.
But the danger was by no means overcome.
They had not got through the worst of their trouble as yet, little as
they anticipated any serious danger.
The gale had come on with strange suddenness, and the truth was that
they could hardly realize the extent of their danger.
It was great.
There was, perhaps, a special providence in their ignorance of their
real peril, for their coolness alone gave them any chance in the
present emergency.
They were brave boys both--never were there braver--yet it is no
disparagement of them to say that there was very great probability of
their losing their _sang froid_ if they had known how very
critical their position actually was.
As it happened, they did the very best thing to do under the
circumstances.
They kept their boat before the wind, and by vigorous rowing, they
contrived to drive along at a rate which was literally tremendous.
And so on they scudded for about ten miles, when the wind dropped a
little, and the pace began to tell upon them both.
"Keep her off shore, Jack," cried Harry Girdwood.
"Right."
The wind and rain had half blinded young Jack, and although he had said
"Right," he steered decidedly wrong.
He could not see where they were going.
"Look out!"
Harry Girdwood only just spoke in time for young Jack to take heed of
the warning, for a minute later and they shot past some sharp, jagged
rocks, into which they would inevitably have dashed but for a lucky tug
at the rudder at the very last moment.
Now the roar of the wind and waters had just begun to lull a little,
when a loud cry for help was heard.
And then, for the first time, they perceived that a boat had just been
launched by a boy at not more than thirty yards along the beach, and
being carried out to sea by a huge receding wave, had become
unmanageable.
They could see with half an eye that the boy had no skill in handling a
boat.
"Help, help!" cried the strange lad, waving his hand in distress
towards their boat.
"All right," shouted young Jack. "We're there."
Harry Girdwood pulled vigorously towards the venturesome youth.
A few strokes brought them within twenty feet of the imperilled youth,
and he would have been got away in safety but for his own folly and
imprudence.
"Sit still," shouted young Jack. "Sit still."
"He'll be overboard," ejaculated Harry, glancing over his shoulder.
The words of the latter proved but too prophetic
A cry from young Jack--a piercing shriek from the other boat.
When Harry Girdwood glanced over his shoulder again, he saw the other
boat, keel upwards, floating away.
The unfortunate youth, its late occupant, was nowhere to be seen.
"He's gone!"
"He has," cried young Jack, starting up, "and by all that's unlucky, he
can't swim. Pull on, pull hard. Pull for mercy's sake."
And young Jack stood up in the boat, tearing off his jacket and
waistcoat.
"What are you after?"
"I'm in after him."
"Jack, Jack, you'll never live in this heavy sea."
"Never fear, old boy, I'll try."
"You shall not, I say. You--"
"Here goes," cried young Jack.
And before Harry Girdwood could interfere, over he went, head first,
into the boiling waves.
Harry Girdwood held his breath in sheer fright.
He shipped his oars and peered over the boat's side.
Where was he?
Would he never come up?
Oh, Heaven! what a fearful time it seemed that the intrepid boy was
under water.
It seemed an age.
In reality it was but a minute, no more, before young Jack struck up to
the surface.
He struck out with one hand--the other grasped something.
"Harry."
"Yes, Jack."
"I've got him."
"Hold tight."
"I mean to," responded young Jack, with great coolness, all things
considered.
And now Harry could see that Jack's left hand was twined in the black
flowing hair of the half senseless boy.
The latter had no sooner reached the air and gulped down a breath or
two greedily, than consciousness came partly back, and he threw his
arms about his preserver and struggled desperately.
"Leave go," cried young Jack. "Let go, or we shall both go down
together."
But it is not easy to reason with a drowning man.
Young Jack found himself now in a desperate strait indeed.
The frantic efforts of the rescued boy impeded his movements, entirely
baffling the heroic Jack's best efforts.
Harry Girdwood saw it all, and his terror increased every moment.
Well it might.
The mad struggles of the stranger imperilled both.
"Dive, Jack, dive," cried Harry Girdwood, frantically; "dive with him,
or it is all up with both of you."
Jack heard him.
Twisting like an eel in the embrace of the boy he would save, he dived
down, dragging the stranger with him.
In the space of a few seconds he reappeared again upon the surface,
observing his former tactics.
Striking out with his right arm, while with his left hand he grasped
the stranger's long black hair.
"Catch hold of him," gasped young Jack; "never mind me."
Harry Girdwood leant over the boat's side and caught at the stranger by
the collar.
"There; hold on like that," said young Jack.
The weight coming all upon one side of the boat, however, threatened to
capsize it, and so they had to act with the greatest precaution.
Young Jack, however, struck out and swam round the boat, so that his
weight, clinging upon the further side of the boat, served to steady it
while Harry Girdwood completed the rescue of the stranger.
"Bravo!" cried young Jack.
"It was a tough job," said Harry.
"And a narrow squeak for all of us."
"Right; but let's look after this poor fellow. He's alive."
"Yes."
"I'm glad of that; it would have been precious hard after all the work,
not to mention the risk run, to have let him slip his cable in spite of
us."
"Well, it is not his fault that he's alive now."
"Alive." quoth young Jack, "by George! He looks more dead than alive as
it is."
"Don't fear for him, Jack; he's as good as twenty dead men so far, but
how are you getting on?"
"Hearty. Rather damp outside, nothing more."
"And inside?"
"Damp too. Why, I shipped a bellyful of salt water last drop down;
enough to salt a barrel of junk."
Harry turned his attention to the stranger.
"He keeps insensible a very long time," he said to young Jack; "it
begins to look serious."
"Move the scat," said young Jack, "and let us lay him flat down upon
his back at the bottom of the boat. I have always heard that that is
the proper thing to do."
No sooner said than done.
Presently they were rewarded for their pains by detecting a faint
breathing.
"How white his neck is," said Harry Girdwood.
"And how small and delicate his hands," said young Jack.
"One would almost take him for a woman."
"He'd pass very well for one if he wore petticoats."
"I'm almost inclined as it is to think that--"
"Ha! He's coming round."
The youth opened his eyes and stared about him.
He looked half scared at first one and then the other.
"You are better now," said young Jack, taking his hand.
He stared.
Jack had spoken in English in his anxiety.
He put the same sentiment into the best Greek he could muster.
"Yes, yes," replied the stranger, "better, better," and then he
appeared to grow more and more confused; "but what is this? Have I been
ill?"
"Yes."
"Ah!"
"Not very; it is all well now. Don't you remember--"
The rocking of the boat furnished the missing link in the chain of
memory, and the rescued boy showed, by a ray of intelligence in his
bright face, that it had all come back to him.
A smile of grateful acknowledgment of their services shot over his
countenance.
Then suddenly his expression changed.
"Where are we going?" he demanded, with the most extraordinary
eagerness.
"Ashore."
"Oh, no, no, no!" he exclaimed; "not ashore here."
"Why not?"
"You must not go ashore here," said the youth, eagerly, "not for
worlds."
"Why?"
Jack was questioning the stranger while Harry Girdwood shot the boat
into a favourable creek.
Harry jumped out.
"Come along," he said cheerfully.
"Safe on shore."
"And precious glad of it," added young Jack.
The stranger looked upon him in anxious expectation, and finding they
were alone, he turned eagerly to his young preservers.
"Put off again," he said; "put out to sea, I tell you."
"Why?"
"You have disarmed me; you have saved my life and shown me tenderness
and care--aye, brotherly love. Oh," he added earnestly, "pray go now;
at once, while you are free."
"Well," quoth young Jack, with a long whistle, "this is a rum go."
Before another word could be spoken, there was heard a whistle, which
sounded like the echo of young Jack's note; an answer came from another
direction, and half-a-dozen men sprang forward from no one could see
where, and pounced upon our two bold boys, Jack and Harry Girdwood.
"Bravo, Theodora!" cried a familiar voice in English, "you play the
part of decoy to perfection. We have got them at last."
Young Jack started.
He turned pale and haggard, looking in a moment to Harry.
"Do you know that voice?"
"I do," replied Harry Girdwood.
"We are sold, undone. It is the villain Hunston."
* * * * *
It was but a little while after young Jack and Harry Girdwood had been
entrapped, when a strange scene took place.
Evening was coming on.
Brigand sentinels had been posted at each path by which their haunt
could be approached, and one was perched high above on a flat rock,
which overlooked everything, without having seen himself except by the
very sharpest of eyes.
Hunston, after visiting the outposts and seeing that everything was
safe for the night, climbed up to this spot, and seated himself on a
large stone.
He felt feverish, and at that elevation he might feel something of the
breeze, a thing unknown down below at the bivouac, which was closely
surrounded by thick bushes.
Strange dreads and doubts filled Hunston's mind, dread of the future,
dread of a lingering illness through his arm, which daily grew worse,
dread of death, which he felt convinced must be the end, and doubts
whether eventually his enemy Harkaway would not triumph.
For Hunston's hatred of Harkaway knew no abatement; living or dying,
the same fierce, unquenchable thirst after vengeance would fill his
soul.
But what troubled him most now was his health.
The shoulder to which the mechanical arm was attached was so painful,
it could scarcely bear the pressure of the clothing he wore; the blood
in his veins, after flowing through that part of the system, seemed to
return to his heart heated almost to boiling point, but that heat did
not stimulate him to exertion.
On the contrary, he felt languid and scarcely able to do the duties
that devolved upon him as Toro's lieutenant.
Nor was his brain so clear as in former days.
Ideas he had in plenty, but they seemed to jostle and confuse each
other in their endeavours to settle down into a connected train of
thought.
Emmerson's vengeance was working.
As he sat there, the sentinel remained motionless, leaning on his
carbine and peering over the edge of the precipice.
Presently Diana, the widow of Mathias, came up the rock, and Hunston
rose to greet her.
"Your husband is to a certain extent avenged," said he.
"How?"
"Harkaway's boy is in our power,"
"That is something, at all events. That girl Theodora, the niece of
Tomaso, has done her work well. Vengeance has commenced."
"Yes, but--"
"But what?"
"There is a hitch in the proceedings. The girl is softhearted, and
begged hard for their lives."
"She is a fool! By Heaven, I am half inclined to do the deed myself
with this dagger."
"In which case Toro would probably do for you."
"What, is he turned craven?"
"No; but he is sweet on Theodora, and for her sake is inclined to spare
them."
Hunston knew well enough that all this was false, as, unless certain
conditions were promptly complied with, Toro would certainly kill both
of them without the slightest hesitation or compunction.
But he did not tell Diana.
"But," he continued, "what is your idea of vengeance?"
"I would wring other hearts as mine has been wrung. I would cause
blinding tears to dim the brightness of other eyes besides mine. I
would cause the stern judge Death to pass a decree of divorce upon
others besides myself and Mathias. When Harkaway is a widower, or his
wife a widow, then I shall consider my vengeance partly accomplished."
"Humph! for a woman you are tolerably moderate. I shall not be
satisfied till the Harkaways and the Harveys are destroyed root and
branch-till the other accursed detective, Nabley, his American friend
Jefferson, the negroes, the wooden-legged ass Mole, till every one of
the party is swept away out of my path. Harkaway taught me to hate, and
I swear by all the eternal powers of earth, heaven, and hell, he shall
see how I have profited by the lesson."
Diana was silent for a few moments; then, with something like a sneer,
said--
"You are a brave man--in words, Signor Hunston."
"My acts speak for themselves."
"And little have they said for some time past. But listen; I have sworn
a deep and deadly revenge."
"Well."
"This evening I depart."
"Good."
"When I return again, you may expect to hear that Harkaway is dead or
his wife."
The excited woman glided away, and Hunston, after smoking a cigarette,
followed her.
"Good?" chuckled Hunston to himself, "I could not have a better ally
than that woman; for she can go where I dare not show myself, and will
find opportunities for carrying out her plans unsuspected. Beware,
Harkaway! for though I have waited years for revenge, it is now within
my grasp."
CHAPTER XX.
THE HARKAWAYS LEARN ALL--MR. MOLE EXPLAINS AND GETS INTO
TROUBLE IN CONSEQUENCE.
Words cannot describe the trouble of the Harkaway family at the loss of
young Jack and his stout-hearted comrade, Harry Girdwood.
At first their indignation had been so great, that their first impulse
was to use violent means to effect the recovery of the boys.
But the first person to oppose this was Jack Harkaway himself.
"If we were to attack them in force," he said, "it would be imprudent
upon every hand. In the first place they would have the advantage of
us, of course, in a mountain skirmish."
"I don't know that they would get the best of it," said Harvey.
"Nor I," said Jefferson.
"We can do nothing at present as far as I can see," said Harkaway.
"Only wait."
"To what end?"
"Their object must be plunder--money--ransom."
"Supposing that they demand a sum?"
"I shall pay it as soon as ever I can rake it up. If it is more than I
possess in the world," said Jack Harkaway, seriously, "then I shall
borrow of my friends to make it up."
The poor fellow turned away to hide his emotion.
"What guarantee have you that they would give up the boys for the
ransom?"
"None. But I should not send the money first. They would have to send
the boys here first."
"They might doubt you."
"Why, yes. But Hunston and Toro are with them, and they know that Jack
Harkaway's word is his bond, no matter with whom he is dealing, let
them be the veriest scum on the face of the earth."
"Which they are."
"Which they are, as you say."
"Very good," said Jefferson. "Now I don't want to play the part of the
wet blanket, and to dash your hopes to the ground before they are half
formed, but I wish to guard against running away upon a false track."
"In what way?"
"All your hopes of ransoming the boys rest now upon the fact of Hunston
and Toro being with the brigands."
"Yes."
"Well," added Jefferson, "how do you know that Hunston and Toro are
really in the band? You only suppose that."
"I can answer positively for that," said a voice at the door.
They turned.
There stood Nabley, the detective.
"Nabley!"
"Nabley here!"
"Himself," said the indefatigable officer, coming forward. "Hunston is
with the brigands, very much with them, in fact."
"That we know," said Harkaway, who then related the death of Pike, and
the supposed abduction of young Jack.
"I have been very ill," said Nabley. "I fainted in the street, and, in
falling, severely injured my head. But do you know how that Hunston
finds out all about you and your doings?"
"No."
"Well, it is through one of your own household."
"Explain," said Harkaway.
"What do you mean?" asked Harvey.
"I can't talk much; Mr. Mole will tell you perhaps better. Here, Mr.
Mole."
Mr. Mole stepped forward, looking just a little sheepish.
"Mr. Mole!"
"Mr. Mole!" exclaimed a dozen voices in chorus.
"Yes, my friends," said the old gentleman, stepping forward with his
well-known modesty, "it is even so; your much-wronged Mole."
"Tell us how it occurred," said Harkaway.
"I was down in the dancing garden, seated in a species of small summer
house, taking a glass of--I mean a cup of tea--ahem!--when I fell
asleep--I dozed, in fact."
"You would," said Harvey. "I've often noticed that you doze after a
glass of--I mean a cup of tea."
Mole glared at the speaker.
"The heat of the day quite overcame me."
"It would," said Dick, in the same compassionate manner.
"When I woke up, I heard two persons conversing close by the green
arbour where I sat."
"Yes."
"Two familiar voices."
"Ha!" exclaimed Harkaway, eagerly.
"Now guess," said Mole, "who the two familiar voices belonged to?"
"Can't."
"Out with it."
"One of the voices," said Mr. Mole, "was Hunston's, the other was--"
"Toro's?"
"No."
"No! Whose then?"
"Marietta's."
"Marietta--what, the maid here?"
"Yes."
"Impossible."
"Was it, egad? I thought so, but I am not easily mistaken."
"Unless you dreamt."
"Bah!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, with ineffable contempt; "fiddlesticks!"
"But did you suppose she was in league with Hunston?" demanded Emily
with great eagerness.
"No."
"What then?"
"He was bamboozling her, twisting her round his finger, as one might
say. He had got up a casual chat, persuading her that he was a private
friend of yours, so he pumped and pumped her about the boys, where they
went, and so forth."
"And did she say any thing that could serve him in his vile purpose?"
asked Mrs. Harkaway.
"Plenty to help them, the miscreants, I suppose."
"The girl must be a downright idiot to get into conversation with a
strange man after all that has taken place, and after all the danger
which she knows they ran."
"Not far short of it," said Jefferson.
"He spoke particularly about the boys not venturing out to the
mountains, that they were permitted only to sail about in their boat,
and--"
Harkaway broke in here with an exclamation that startled them all.
"That explains all," he said. "All, all, I see it now."
"Do you? Explain."
"They have put out to sea and taken the boys, perhaps by stealth,
perhaps by violence."
"Likely enough."
"Poor boys, poor boys!"
"And where did all this take place?" demanded Jefferson; "in one of the
public promenades, did you say?"
"Mr. Jefferson," replied old Mole saucily, "you want your nose filed. I
said in the dancing garden."
"Oh, de dancing garden, was it, Massa Ikey?" said a voice in his ear,
which caused him to palpitate nervously.
It was Mrs. Mole.
When he had spoken of the dancing garden, he had not noticed his better
half's presence.
"Yes, my dear," he said timidly, trying to look dignified the while
before the company.
"And what was you--doing in such a place as a dancing garding, Mister
Mole, sar?" demanded his dusky rib, in a voice which sounded dangerous.
"I went, my dear, to study character," said Mr. Mole timidly....
"What?" thundered Mrs. Mole.
He trembled, and faltered something almost inaudibly.
"Studyin' character," said the lady with great contempt; "losing your
character, you silly old pump--"
"My dear," remonstrated the old gentleman.
"Don't 'my dear' me," said Mrs. Mole; "you're gwine off your silly old
cokernut, you bald-headed old coon."
"Mrs. Mole!"
"You go to dat dancin' garding for to see dem gals jump about and dance
and make fools ob demselves, ignorant critters."
"No such thing, I tell you," said Mole, indignantly.
"Oh, yes, it is," said his better half, "and you's a bushel more
indelicate dan dey is, you silly old possum."
This started the company off generally in a noisy fit of laughter,
before which poor Mole was forced to beat a retreat, followed by his
irate partner.
"Poor Mole," said Jefferson, laughing heartily, "it is an unlucky
admission for him. Chloe will give it to him sorely for this, I'm
afraid."
* * * * *
They went deeply into the question of ransoming the boys, for they were
convinced that they had really fallen into the hands of the brigands.
But do what they would, say what they would, they could only come back
to one result.
They must wait.
Patience was difficult under the circumstances, but there was no help
for it.
"Wait till to-morrow," said Jefferson; "it is a hard job, I know, but I
feel certain that if the boys are with the brigands, to-morrow morning
will bring a message from them."
"But can nothing be done meanwhile?" said Emily.
"No."
"Nothing."
"Stay; you may get some papers printed and circulated everywhere,
offering a heavy reward for the recovery of the boys."
"To what end?"
"It can do no harm, and may do good. At any rate, it will show the
brigands that we are ready to pay the piper for our boys' sake."
"That's true," said Jefferson.
"Let's do it," said Harkaway, who was pacing up and down impatiently;
"at any rate, any thing is better than remaining inactive."
CHAPTER XXI.
A HOUSE OF MOURNING--THE LETTER FROM THE ENEMY--A STRANGE
CORRESPONDENCE--THE INCIDENT AT THE OPEN WINDOW--HUNSTON'S
REVENGE--DESPAIR.
It was as Jefferson had predicted.
The notices were printed and circulated everywhere by well-chosen and
energetic agents.
Early next morning, a letter was found fastened to the garden gate.
It was brought to Harkaway, who was already up and busy.
He tore it eagerly open, and found the following written in a disguised
handwriting and in English--
"TO Mr. JOHN HARKAWAY:
"If you would save the lives of your son and your _protégé_, his
companion, the only way to do it is to bring the sum of five hundred
pounds sterling to the stone cross by the old well at two o'clock this
afternoon. Those who have the two boys in their keeping will be on the
watch. Come along, as you value your happiness and their safety."
"Not very likely," said Jack Harkaway.
Instead of complying with this very shallow request, he wrote an answer
in these terms:
"TO HUNSTON AND HIS FELLOW-VILLAINS:
"Send the lads back here. Within half-an-hour of their return, the
money shall be sent to where you will and when you will. This I
promise, and swear upon my honour. None knows better than yourself that
this may be implicitly relied upon.
"HARKAWAY."
This letter he sent by a trusty messenger to the spot appointed for the
meeting place, and they waited impatiently for the further result.
It was not long coming.
Before two o'clock, Marietta discovered another letter tied to the
garden gate, but how it came there they were unable to decide.
Be that as it may, it was soon discovered to be of the highest
importance to them in the present state of affairs.
It was brief and startling, and ran as follows--
"We do not bandy words with you. We offer our conditions. You refuse.
Well and good. The consequences be upon your own head. If the money be
not paid by four to-day, at six the boys will lose an ear each."
"The villains!" cried poor Harkaway. "Oh, villains!"
But he was powerless to help them.
He knew well enough that, do what he would, he could not hope to get
the boys back without paying, and paying through the nose too.
Nor indeed did he desire to try to achieve this.
The only question was, would they deliver up their prisoners, once they
had received the five hundred pounds?
Perhaps.
Perhaps not.
If not, they would be in as much peril as they were already.
Nay, more.
He guessed shrewdly enough that once they had received such a handsome
sum as five hundred pounds, they would think that they had drained him
dry, or as nearly so as it was possible to arrive at, and so might make
short work of young Jack and Harry Girdwood.
What was to be done?
He could not say.
He would gladly have risked all that he possessed in the world for the
chance of having his boys back.
Aye, his boys, for Harry Girdwood was second only in Harkaway's
affection to young Jack.
But he did not wish to reward the miscreants for ill-treating the
unfortunate lads.
At length he came to the conclusion that he would persist in his
resolve to have the boys back before he parted with any money at all.
Accordingly he wrote another note to the brigands.
This he dispatched by the same means as the former note.
"Release the two lads. Restore them to us, and the ransom of a king
shall be yours. Fix upon any sum, however great, provided that it be
within my means to pay it, and you shall not ask twice. Moreover, I
shall do nothing more to molest you or interfere with you in any way.
Play false, or harm a hair of my boys' heads, and beware. You may know
that Jack Harkaway is not the man to make an enemy of."
The answer to this was not long in coming.
An ugly scrawl upon a dirty piece of paper, and with it was a small
parcel.
"We despise your threats, and laugh you to scorn. That you may know how
little we are to be trifled with, we send you their ears in proof that
we have kept our word. By this hour to-morrow the two boys die, unless
you pay down the sum as fixed upon by us, both in manner and in
amount."
Jack Harkaway turned faint and sick.
He dared nor open the parcel which accompanied the letter.
He sent for Jefferson and Harvey, and unable to trust himself to speak,
he placed the letter in the latter's hands.
"Read, read," he said, with a horror-stricken look.
Harvey glanced down the letter, and his countenance fell as he passed
it on to Jefferson.
"What is to be done?"
"I don't know," replied Jefferson; "I am at a loss. This is too
horrible."
"What do you say, Dick?"
Harvey hung his head.
"Speak, Dick. Tell me, old, friend, what I ought to do," said Harkaway,
imploringly. "I am bewildered--dazed--at my wits' end. What ought I to
do?"
"Pay the money."
Accordingly the money, all in gold, was placed in a bag in the spot
which they had indicated in the first note addressed by the brigands to
Jack Harkaway.
This done, they awaited the result.
It soon came.
Too soon for the latter's peace of mind.
As the family and their friends were seated in moody silence and in
sorrow around the dinner-table, so strong was the sense of oppression
upon everyone that they only conversed in whispers.
"The heat is really overpowering," said Mrs. Harkaway.
"Shall I open the window?"
"If you please."
He hastened to comply with her request, when at that very instant
something shot past him into the room.
It fell with a clatter upon the table, and cannoned off a dish on to
Jack Harkaway, striking him a rather sharp blow in the chest.
"What's that?"
"Hullo!"
"A stone."
"Yes, a stone with a paper wrapped round it."
"So it is."
"A letter, I should think," suggested Dick.
"If so," said Harkaway, smiling sadly, "it is evidently meant for me."
"You have a striking proof of that," said Dick.
Harkaway undid the paper and scanned it through.
His countenance fell as he read on.
His pale face grew pallid, and rising from his seat, he ran, or rather
staggered, to the window.
"Gone!"
"What is the matter?" demanded Dick, jumping up.
"See after the man who threw this letter in," exclaimed Harkaway. "Come
with me--come, come immediately!"
And with this somewhat wild exhortation, he tottered out of the room,
followed by Dick.
Everybody arose from the table in confusion.
Dismay, alarm, was depicted in every face.
"What can it be?" ejaculated Mrs. Harkaway. "Oh, Mr. Jefferson, go and
see, and bring me the news."
"I will. Calm yourself, my dear Mrs. Harkaway; it is very likely to be
good news which thus agitates poor Jack."
Away he went.
"I fear it is the reverse," said Emily, shaking her head.
Jefferson overtook Harkaway and Dick Harvey in the gardens, where an
active search was going forward after the man, or individual of either
sex, who could have thrown the stone with its strange letter.
"Let me see the letter, Jack."
The latter placed it in his hand, and then, to Jefferson's horror and
dismay, he found it contained the following words--
"TO HATED HARKAWAY.
"I have had years and years of patience, and my turn has come at last.
As your eyes glance at these lines, your boy is vainly supplicating for
mercy. Before you reach the signature at foot, your accursed brat will
be dead--mark that--dead! No power on earth can save him. Had you sent
the money demanded as his ransom more promptly, you could have saved
him. May the knowledge of this wring your heart as you have wrung mine
in bygone years.
"HUNSTON."
CHAPTER XXII.
A HOUSE OF MOURNING--HARVEY'S RESOLVE--A TIME OF
TROUBLE.
"Horrible!" cried Jefferson; "horrible!"
Dismay and terror were on every face.
The dreadful news paralysed their movements, and rendered them
momentarily helpless.
Dick Harvey was the first to break the silence.
He sprang to his feet, and made for the grounds, motioning the others
to follow him.
"Let us try and catch the postman," he exclaimed; "if we get hold of
him, we may learn something worth knowing."
"Bravo!" responded Jefferson; "a capital idea."
They were flying all over the grounds immediately.
But the result may be guessed in advance.
Not a sign was there of the bearer of this alarming letter.
They gave up the search only when there was not the faintest vestige of
a hope left, and crestfallen and disappointed, they returned to the
house.
"Come," said Dick to the bold American; "we must move; we must be
stirring."
"What for?"
"For several reasons," replied Dick, "but firstly for the purpose of
giving Jack something to do. It will never do to let a man in his
condition brood."
They sought poor Harkaway again, and led him off to hold a
consultation.
"Jack," said Harvey, brusquely, "you must not give way to despondency.
I say positively, must not. You will certainly undermine your health."
"Do not fear for me, Dick," returned Harkaway, "I shall be better for a
little quiet."
"Indeed you'll not. Besides, it is not just to the boys."
Harkaway's lips quivered, and a big lump rose in his throat.
He swallowed it with considerable difficulty, and silently wrung Dick's
hand.
"Don't, don't, old friend," he faltered, in a broken-hearted voice. "I
can't bear the mention of their names. Poor boys! poor boys!"
"But you must," insisted Harvey. "I don't mean to leave them in the
lurch."
"What do you mean?"
"What I say. We must not give up the search."
"Ah, Dick, you would persuade me, if you can't persuade yourself."
"You are wrong," replied Harvey. "I have the deepest conviction on the
point."
"To what effect?"
"That they live--both live."
Jack Harkaway looked positively frightened at this reply.
"Dick, Dick," he exclaimed, mournfully, "what are you saying, old
friend?"
"What I mean. They yet live," returned Harvey boldly.
"No, no."
"But I say, yes, yes."
"I should rather say that they were murdered long before we received
their last message."
"Come, come, Jack," he said; "rouse yourself, man. Whatever can make
you believe this to be true?"
"The letter."
Dick laughed at this.
"That is the very first thing to raise my doubts," replied Dick. "Why,
we have known Hunston all his life, and never found him any thing but
the most notorious liar."
"True; but--"
"He told lies as a boy--lies as a youth--lies as a man. His life has
been one long lie, and yet you choose to make yourself wretched and all
of us too upon the strength of such a vagabond's word. Bah!"
Harkaway hung his head and sighed.
"That is not all, Dick," he said; "I have the direst presentiment upon
me--"
"Presentiment!" ejaculated Dick, interrupting him.
"Well, Jack, I will not quarrel with you about presentiments, since I
am urged on to what I am about to say and do by presentiments--only my
presentiments are of the most hopeful description."
"Dick," said Harkaway, looking him straight in the face, "you are
trying to deceive me."
"I swear I am not," retorted Harvey, with warmth. "And you shall soon
see whether or not I am in earnest."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that I am going to fetch the boys."
"What wildness are you talking, Dick? What is this?"
"Simply that to-morrow at daybreak I shall start off on the search."
"Whither?"
"To the mountains."
Harkaway looked frightened at this.
"Not to trust yourself in the brigands' clutches?"
"I mean to beard the tigers in their lair," echoed Dick firmly; "not a
word, Jack," he added, as he saw Harkaway about to interrupt him, "not
a word; the worthy Richard Harvey will not go, but his spirit in
another skin will go."
"You are never going to trust yourself in a disguise."
"I am."
"Why, Dick, old friend, were you that unhappy man Protean Bob himself,
Hunston would penetrate your disguise; the eye of hate--"
"Nonsense. If I were Protean Bob, Hunston would be too glad not to
recognise me."
"Perhaps."
"Now, Jack, you must listen to me, and not give advice. My
determination is taken; nothing can shake it. Hilda and the family
generally must suppose that I have gone to the port to arrange about
our departure, since they all appear to be so thoroughly bent upon
leaving here."
"But they will never believe a word about it."
"That I can not help, but at all events I leave here to-morrow, at
daybreak, and may the shade of one of their victims aid me to throw
dust in the eyes of Hunston and the Italian villain Toro."
"Amen," said Harkaway, seriously.
* * * * *
Surely enough, at daybreak, someone set forth from the villa, but
although we who are behind the scenes can give a shrewd guess at who it
was, the early wanderer looked about as unlike Dick as you could well
imagine.
Was it indeed Dick?
CHAPTER XXII.
THE SILK DRESS--MURDER!
The morning after the interview between Hunston and the widow of
Mathias, that woman was missing from the camp.
No one doubted that she had gone on her errand of vengeance, for
Hunston had told Toro and one or two others of her threats against the
Harkaways; but the question was how and when she did so?
No one knew.
The sentinels who all night long had guarded each known path leading to
or from the bivouac were questioned, but neither of them had seen her
depart.
Toro was rather annoyed at this; not that he had any great objection to
her slaughtering the whole of the Harkaway family, although he
certainly would prefer to perform that task himself. But he could not
help thinking that a secret path might admit foes, as well as permit
the exit of friends.
However, we must leave Toro to his reflections, and follow the
brigand's widow.
It was between one and two in the morning when she quitted the bivouac
without being observed, and walked slowly towards the town where the
Harkaways were located.
There was no occasion for hurry.
At that hour of the morning she could not hope to gain admittance to
the house where her foes were located.
A day must pass, and evening come again, before any thing could be
done.
Diana's brain was in a whirl.
Deep-seated, poignant grief for the loss of one whom she had loved with
all the passion her impetuous nature was capable of, made the thought
and hope of revenge grow stronger and stronger.
Vengeance! aye, and a terrible one was what her soul craved.
Let once the deadly blow be stricken, and what matter then even if she
fell into the hands of the authorities? What matter even if her life
was pronounced a forfeit to the law? for life now had little charm for
her.
As the sun rose, she sat down a little way out of the road and tried to
form some connected plan for carrying out her purpose.
But no! her brain was too confused for deep thought, and after a brief
interval she resolved to act upon no plan whatever, but simply do as
the course of events might dictate.
At about the hour when she thought the inhabitants of the town would
begin to stir, Diana walked into the place.
She knew the residence of the Harkaways well, but scarcely glanced at
it as she passed and proceeded to a little house not far from it,
where, according to an inscription over the door, one might obtain
food, drink and lodging.
Entering this place, Diana made a slender meal, and then, telling the
ancient dame who kept the house that she was fatigued, demanded to be
shown where she could repose for an hour or two.
The old woman ushered her into a small, meanly-furnished apartment at
the front of the house.
"Do not disturb me. I will rest till noon if not later," said Diana.
"You shall not be interrupted," was the response, and Diana was left
alone.
She tried to sleep, so that she might be stronger and cooler for the
business she had in hand; but the excitement under which she laboured
effectually chased away drowsiness.
A little after noon the woman of the house looked in, and finding her
lodger awake, entered into conversation, commencing by suggesting some
refreshment.
Diana shook her head.
"Ah, my food is very plain and humble," said the old woman. "I can't
give you such dainties as the people over yonder eat."
She jerked her thumb in the direction of the Harkaway residence.
"What people are they?" asked Diana, with an assumed indifference she
was far from feeling.
"Some English."
"Do they, then, eat and drink the best?"
"The very best; oh, they are rich."
"What do they want here?"
"They have come to destroy the brigands; is it not droll?"
"Ha! have they succeeded?"
"No; but if they are not careful, the brigands will destroy them. They
are so careless."
Diana was afraid to exhibit too much interest in the doings of the
Harkaways, lest she should arouse suspicion.
So she simply nodded, and listened most anxiously to what the garrulous
old woman would say next.
"So very careless; anyone might get into their house by the side door,"
said the ancient dame.
"Well, it is their own fault if they are robbed."
"True. But it would be little credit to the robber; they think the
brigands are afraid to enter the town, so they don't take many
precautions."
Diana treasured up every word of this.
Presently the old woman, finding her guest was not conversationally
inclined, went out again, and Diana was left alone.
The sun set, and darkness began to gather rapidly when she went out,
and after going a little way down the street, returned, and sought the
side door of Harkaway's house.
She turned the handle softly and entered.
There was no one in the kitchen where she found herself, but the
subdued noise of knives and forks in another apartment convinced her
that they were at dinner or some other meal.
Diana, as soon as she had ascertained that fact, glided like a spectre
up the stairs, and noiselessly examined various bedchambers.
At length she decided on hiding herself in one which seemed better
furnished than the others.
"This must be it," she thought.
And she was right.
It was the apartment of Mrs. Harkaway.
On the dressing-table was a folded paper.
Diana opened it, and found that it was a milliner's bill against Mrs.
Harkaway.
"For making a pearl-grey silk dress, etc., etc."
To hide herself was Diana's next move.
Clutching her sharp dagger firmly in her hand, the vengeful woman
concealed herself behind some tapestry and waited.
Nor had she long to wait.
A light foot was heard without.
The door was opened, and a second afterwards, a graceful female form
was seated before the mirror, with its back towards Diana.
And a female voice said--
"This pearl-grey silk suits my complexion far better than I thought it
would. But it fits me badly. These Greek milliners are not to be
compared with those of London or Paris."
Then the wearer of the pearl-grey silk heaved a deep sigh, and Diana
softly moved the curtain aside a little to get a view of the person who
had spoken.
The face was not visible, but from the figure generally, Diana had not
the slightest doubt it was Mrs. Harkaway.
"I want some new jewellery sadly," continued "pearl-grey silk;" "but
yet, after all, it would be scarcely safe to wear it here, while the
brigands are in the neighbourhood. But they will soon be done for."
The widow glided out from her hiding-place as the wearer of the silk
dress continued--
"We have one villain safe enough, and another, Mathias, was smothered
in a chimney--ha, ha, ha, ha--oh!"
The laugh ended in a deep groan, and never more came the slightest
sound from those lips that a moment before had been so merry.
Diana had struck so hard and surely that no second blow was needed, for
the first pierced a human heart.
"That laugh was an insult to the memory of my dead husband," she said.
"Let none dare scoff at Mathias."
Like a shadow, she glided away, leaving the wearer of the pearl-grey
silk sitting motionless before the mirror. Dead!
The silk dress soaked with her heart's blood.
A few minutes later, some one entered Mrs. Harkaway's apartment, and
then arose the fearful cry--
"Help! murder!"