Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigand's of Greece / Hemyng, Bracebridge

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Title: Jack Harkaway and his son's Escape From the Brigand's of Greece

Author: Bracebridge Hemyng

Release Date: January, 2005 [EBook #7335]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on April 15, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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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 masque_ 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 _fete_ 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 Notre
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 beheaviour.

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 senorita 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 fete 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 _fete_ 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 fete.

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 _melee_, 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