"They take me for a pasha of three tails, don't you think so?" he delightedly asked his companions.

"Half a dozen tails at least, I should say," returned Jack, "and of course they take us for a couple of your confidential attendants."

"In that case, I must walk before you, and adopt a proud demeanour, to show my superiority," said Mole.

So whilst Jack and Harry dropped humbly in the rear, he strode forward with a haughty stiffness of dignity, which his two cork legs rather enhanced than otherwise.

"Holloa!" exclaimed Harry, suddenly; "who's this black chap coming up to us, bowing and scraping like a mandarin?"

He alluded to a tall dark man, apparently of the Arab race, but dressed in the full costume of a Turkish officer, who, dismounting his horse, approached Mole with the most elaborate Oriental obeisances, and held out to him a folded parchment.

Mole took the document with a stiff bow, opened it and found it to be a missive in Turkish, which, notwithstanding his studies in that direction, he could not for the world make out.



But unembarrassed by this, he turned to Harry Girdwood, and making a gesture, indicating his own inability to read it without his spectacles, motioned him to do so for him.

"Good Heavens!" exclaimed Harry, in amazement. "It is the imperial seal of the Sultan. Mole, old man, you have been mistaken for a pasha."

"Is it possible?" cried Mole; "but what does it say?"

"Imperial Palace, Stamboul. "In the name of Allah and the Prophet. "To his Excellency Moley Pasha.

"This is to certify that, in consequence of the lamented death of Youssouf Bey, Pasha of Alla-hissar, I am commanded by our sublime master to appoint and instal you into the said government of the city and province of Alla-hissar. Therefore you are commanded at once to proceed thither, under an escort which will be in readiness at the door of your hotel at five o'clock in the morning, after you receive this. Given at the Sublime Porte by Ali Hussein Pasha, Grand Vizier to His Imperial Majesty the Padishah."

* * * *

Mr. Mole turned pale with anxiety.

"This is very serious," he exclaimed; "but I fully expect to become a king before I die, but in this case, what shall I do?"

"Why, become a pasha," said Jack; "it will be worth your while. We'll give you our assistance."

"But how am I to answer the messenger?" asked Mole.

"No necessity to answer him; make signs that you obey the sultan's mandate; you know how they do it."

Mole accordingly folded the firman again, placed it to his forehead, and then to his heart, bowing all the time with the most profound respect.

The messenger evidently quite understood, for he bowed too, and rode away rapidly.

"That's what you call having greatness thrust upon you, eh, Mole?" said Jack.

"I don't much care about it," answered the tutor. "I don't believe I shall be able to carry out the character of a pasha. It's a dangerous game."

"Nonsense," said our hero; "if they choose to make a mistake, it's their lookout."

"I shall find it a mistake when I come to be bowstringed, or hanged, or shot, or something of that kind," said the tutor; "but, Jack, my dear boy, I depend upon you to pull me through."

"No fear," answered Jack; "you're a great man, Mr. Mole, and no doubt the authorities, becoming aware of your merits, have really made choice of you as the governor of the pashalik."

"But they must know that I'm not a Turk," objected Mole.

"That doesn't matter," said Jack; "not only Turks, but Greeks, Americans, Italians, French, all sorts of people are in power in this country."

The excitement of the moment and the influence of some spirituous liquid he had taken before starting, so far bewildered Mr. Mole's intellect, that he actually accepted Jack's explanation.

"Hang it, I will be pasha," he cried; "and risk all. Haven't I got the sultan's own firman?" and he flourished that important document round his head in the most defiant manner.

"That's right," said Jack; "keep up that spirit, and you'll make your fortune. Remember, first thing to-morrow you are to be conducted to your seat of government; the guard of honour will be at the door of your hotel at five o'clock, you will reach Alla-hissar about ten, and to-morrow morning you'll begin your public duties."

"What will your father say, Jack, when he hears of this? But I hope you won't desert me, my dear boys," said Mole, imploringly.

"We'll go with you," answered Harry.

"Rather!" acquiesced Jack. "We'll never leave you, old boy."

The remainder of the day was spent by Mole in the further study of Turkish.

These exertions were fatiguing, and Mr. Mole was tired when he retired, as he expressed it.

He was not long falling asleep, and dreams of glory, power, and magnificence filled his slumbers.

He was just dreaming he had been elected sultan when he was suddenly and rudely awakened by a terrible knocking at the door.

Mole started up, and was told that he must prepare in a great hurry, for the escort had already arrived.

The tutor, still half asleep, looked out of the window, and in the day dawn he discerned a small body of horsemen at the door of the hotel.

Mole felt that he could never get into those elaborate Turkish robes without assistance; luckily at this juncture young Jack put in an opportune appearance, and offered to help him.

"You'll have to make haste, pasha," said our hero; "strikes me you've rather overslept yourself. Where is your beard?"

"Here it is," returned Mole; "but why didn't some of you wake me before? I was so busy dreaming that I was sultan, and—that's right, my boy, help me on with the cork legs and boots, that's the worst difficulty, and then all these things, and lastly the turban and beard."

"I'll get Harry to help me," pursued Jack; "you'll have proper attendants when you are installed in the palace. Remember what we agreed upon last night; we are to pass off as your two sons, under the names of Yakoob and Haroun Pasha."

"Just so," said Mole; "but I expected a larger escort than those half a dozen men there. I would not go through this, my boy, if I thought future history would not give me a glorious page."

"Oh, don't fear, sir, this will be something grand for you; at the gate of the town you will be met by a regular guard of honour."

With the combined assistance of Jack and Harry, Mole was fully invested with his Oriental robes, with which he stumped downstairs as gracefully as a moving bundle of clothes.

His escort consisted of six spahis, most of them black, and headed by the messenger of the day before.

"Jack, my dear boy," said Mole, "at last my time has arrived to become a great man in the eyes of the world."

"Right you are, sir," replied Jack. "On you go, my noble pasha."

As soon as Mole was mounted, the chief spahi gave the word, and the imposing cavalcade set off at a quick trot.

In two hours they had arrived at the primitive and sequestered town of Alla-hissar.



CHAPTER LXXV.

THE GREAT MOLEY MOLE PASHA.

Such an important event as the arrival of a new governor naturally caused a great deal of excitement among the worthy inhabitants of the remote town.

They came out in crowds to greet him, headed by all the inferior functionaries, and a military guard of honour conducted him to the old castle, which had been fitted up as a sumptuous official residence.

Two things puzzled his new subjects; the fact of his arrival being two days before the appointed time, and the circumstance of the new pasha, who was apparently a Turk, returning their greetings through an interpreter.

However, none had any doubt of the reality of his appointment, and the production of the sultan's firman at once made the old cadi, or magistrate, who had been temporarily put in command, give way to his superior.

Briefly let us explain these circumstances.

It was another hoax, and a most daring and gigantic one, on the part of Jack and his friends, upon their long-suffering tutor.

Having ascertained that the town of Alla-hissar was actually waiting for its new governor, the real pasha, who was to arrive from Constantinople in two days' time, Jack and the others hit upon the idea of making the situation the basis of a grand practical joke.

The firman was of course a forged document, written by the old interpreter, who was in the plot, and the Turkish officer who had presented it to Mole was no other than our friend the diver.

The waiter, the orphan, and the two nigger boys had also effectually disguised themselves, and became members of Mole's escort.

A skilful combination enabled them to carry out the details of their plan with such success as to deceive not only Mole himself, but the simple pastoral folks of Alla-hissar itself.

Moley Pasha, as he now styled himself, was in all his glory.

"This is a proud day," he observed to Jack, as he gazed round on the handsome residence provided for him. "Little did I imagine that old Isaac would ever live to come out in all the glories of an Oriental magnate. Jack, we must let your dear father know of this."

"We will, sir; but now let us congratulate you," answered our hero. "The more especially as you've promoted us to such high positions."

Moley, the pasha, now retired to his private apartments to rest until the hour arrived for his first council.

During this time, he was coached up by the old interpreter, and by his aid, Moley Pasha found himself able to receive the reports and congratulations of subordinates in the government, and to try several cases brought before him.

After three hours of arduous public duties, the pasha and his friends retired to his private apartments, which were fitted up with every Oriental luxury.

"By Jove!—I mean by the Prophet!" exclaimed the new potentate, "I am getting on like a house on fire; but I am still mortal, and need refreshment, not having had anything to speak of to-day, beyond a cup of coffee with a dash of brandy in it."

Dinner being served up (in the Turkish style) the pasha grew still more enthusiastic.

"Yes, this is a delightful life," he said; "it only wants the presence of lovely woman to render it perfect. Now, if Mrs. Mole Number One or Number Two or Three were here——"

"Oh, I forgot," suddenly broke in Jack, looking very serious. "That reminds me, there was one most important subject I had to speak to you about. The late pasha had thirteen wives."

"How awful," exclaimed Mole. "But what is that to do with me?"

"A good deal; they are now left, by his sudden death, desolate widows, and it is expected that you, as his sucessor, should take them under your protection. They go with the premises, like the stock and fixtures of a business."

"Heaven above! you don't mean that?" exclaimed Moley Pasha, becoming much agitated, and pausing ere he quaffed a goblet of champagne, which he drank under the name of sparkling French sherbet.

"It's quite true, though, isn't it, Abdullah?" turning to the dragoman.

"It's true as the Koran, itself," returned Jack. "Every pasha of Alla-hissar must have thirteen wives."

"Good heaven! what'll Mrs. Mole say?" exclaimed Mole, in great agitation; "hang it, you know, this will never do—Isaac Mole with thirteen wives. I always thought I was very much married already, quite as much as I want to be."

"Unless your excellency agrees," continued the interpreter, "I won't answer for the consequences."

"I have had three wives already, and now you wish me to take thirteen. I'd sooner resign my government at once," exclaimed Mole.

"Impossible!" returned the dragoman; "it is death to resist the sultan's firman."

"Powers above! what a situation am I in!" exclaimed Mole, in increasing dismay. "I find it's not all roses after all, being a pasha; but thorns, stinging nettles, and torturing brambles. But about these thirteen widows, Abdullah? Who and where are they, and what are they like?"

"They are at present in a house not far off from here," was the reply; "five of them, it seems, have been the widows of the pasha before last, and they are rather old; six belonged only to Youssouf Pasha, and are middle-aged."

Mr. Mole responded with a deep groan.

"The other two," proceeded Abdullah, "are fair Circassians in the very summer of youth and beauty."

Moley Pasha uttered a profound sigh.

"Ah, that's much better."

"I expect they will be here soon, at least some of them," said Abdullah, the interpreter.

The subject then dropped for a time, and the great Moley also dropped—asleep, from the combined effects of the pipe, the coffee, and the wine.

He was suddenly awakened by Abdullah shouting in his ear—

"May it please your excellency, they've come."

"Who—who?" gasped Mole, in fearful terror; for he had just been dreaming of the rack and the bowstring.

"The noble Ladies Alme and Hannifar, widows of the late lamented Youssouf-Pasha," was the reply.

"Gracious mercy!" exclaimed the persecuted Mole; "they've come to claim me, perhaps to bear me off by main force."

"Ho, there, guards; stand round; not without a struggle will Isaac Mole surrender his liberty as a single man, that is as a married man, but not—Heaven, my brain is growing utterly confused in this terrible position. Where's that boy Jack?"

"Their excellencies Yakoob and Haroun Pasha are both gone out," was the response.

"Then, Abdullah, I command you to stand up in my defence. Come here."

The old interpreter approached with a low bow.

"Write on two pieces of card the words—'Admire Moley Pasha, but touch not him.'"

"In Turkish?"

"Turkish and English, too."

"Pasha, to hear is to obey."

At this moment a young negro attendant announced—

"The Ladies Alme and Hannifar are impatient to be admitted to your sublime presence."

"Let them wait; it will do them good," cried Mole, desperately. "Have you written it, Abdullah?"

"One moment, your highness," was the reply. "There," he added, finishing up with an elaborate flourish; "all will understand that. And now what am I to do with them?"

"Fasten one notice on my back, and the other on my chest," answered Mole, "so that the ladies may understand and keep at a respectful distance. That's right. Be still, my trembling heart. Now you can admit them."

The negro drew aside the curtains of the chamber, and two female forms of majestic height and proportions, in gorgeous Oriental costumes, but closely veiled, entered.

They made a very graceful salute to the pasha, and were walking straight up to him, when he sprang backwards, and leaping upon a high sofa, turned his back to them, not in contempt, but in order that they might read the Turkish inscription thereon inscribed.

Then he turned and pointed to it on his breast in English.

Far, however, from being struck with awe and covered with confusion, the ladies were highly amused and laughed consumedly.

"What are they smiling at?" asked Mole, somewhat indignantly.

"Only at the felicitous ingenuity of your highness's idea," answered the interpreter, pointing to the placard.

"Well, I hope they understand, and will abide by it," said Mole, venturing to step off the sofa.

But the moment he did so, the foremost, who, he understood was the Lady Alme, and was certainly of an impulsive disposition, sprang forward as if to embrace Mole.

"Save me!" he cried. "To the rescue, guards, attendants, Jack, Harry. Where can they have got to? Help, help! Mrs. Mole, come to the rescue of your poor Mole."

The old interpreter, with some dexterity, flung himself between them, just in the nick of time to avert from Mole the fair Circassian's effusive greeting.

"'Tis our Eastern custom," explained the dragoman. "Her ladyship is only expressing her delight at beholding her new lord and master."

"Tell them I am nothing of the kind, and I have got a wife in England," answered the pasha.

Abdullah did so, whereupon the ladies set up a series of piercing shrieks and lamentations.

"What in the world's the matter with them?" asked Mole, greatly dismayed.

"They are desolated at the thought of having incurred your sublimity's displeasure."

"Tell them that they had no business to come unless I sent for them," said Mole.

"They say, O magnificent pasha, that, hearing of your arrival, they have come thither in the name of themselves, and the other eleven ladies of his late highness's harem, to know when it will be your princely pleasure to bid them cast aside the sombre weeds of widowhood, and——"

"There, cut it short, dragoman; do you mean that they really expect me to marry the whole lot of them?"

"Precisely so, your eminence; even now the most reverend imaum of the town is ready to perform the ceremonial."

"He'll have to wait a long time if he waits for that," cried Mole; "thirteen wives, indeed, and these you say are the youngest of the lot. I suppose they have no objection to allow me to behold the moonshine of their resplendent features. That's the way to put it, I believe, old man."

Abdullah answered—

"It is against Turkish etiquette to unveil before the solemn ceremony has been performed; nevertheless, their ladyships consent to remove one of their veils, through which you may behold their features."

Alme and Hannifar accordingly threw back their outer black veils, and appeared with the white ones underneath.

Mole scrutinized them as well as he could, but he took very good care not to go too near.

"And so, Abdullah, you tell me that these two are the youngest of the whole lot?"

"Indeed, they are, your eminence; famous beauties of pure Circassian descent; each originally cost five thousand piastres, and they surpass the remainder even as the mighty sun doth the twinkling stars."

"Then all I can say is," returned Mole, "that I shudder to think what the eleven others must be like. Just tell the ladies Alme and Hannifar that, as far as I can see, from here, I don't think much of them."

"I will put your message more mildly."

And having spoken to the ladies again, he said—

"Their ladyships are enchanted to find so much favour in the eyes of your excellency."

"Thirteen wives," mused Mole, scarcely heeding the last reply. "It is preposterous—though nothing it seems, compared to some of the Turkish grandees. But fancy old Isaac Mole—ha, ha! really it's quite amusing. Why, the mere marrying so many would be a hard day's work, Abdullah."

"The ceremony would be slightly wearisome, your highness."

"Yes, but I should require thirteen wedding rings—ha, ha, ha!—the idea of thirteen wedding rings being used at once, and by one man."

"Don't let that be any objection," said Abdullah; "for the ladies tell me they have come provided with exactly the number of rings requisite for the purpose."

Sure enough, Alme detached from her fair neck an elastic band, whereon were strung thirteen bright gold rings.

Mole was fairly staggered by this determined preparation on the part of the irresistible enslavers.

"They mean to have me," he gasped. "I see how it is; they come here with the intention of dragging me to the late pasha's mansion, and marrying me by main force."

"It looks like it," answered the interpreter, "for I find that they have brought with them a dozen of the harem-guard, fully armed."

"Then I am indeed lost," cried Mole. "But no, I'll die game. Here, help, guards, soldiers, fly to the rescue of your pasha. Oh! Mrs. Mole, where are you now? Your poor Mole is in danger."

As Mole uttered the piteous lament we have recorded, both ladies made a combined charge at him, with a wild shriek and a sudden outburst in Turkish, which might have been either a chorus of endearments or of reproaches.

Alme got behind him and flung her arms around his neck with such vigour that he was nearly strangled, Hannifar attacking him in the same way from the front.

In the pressure of this combined assault he was powerless; struggle as he would, he could not detach himself from their overwhelming embrace.

His cries for help were smothered.

His turban was knocked over his eyes.

He could feel the placards being torn from him, and himself being hauled hither and thither by the ladies who seemed fighting for the sole possession of him.

At length, by a gigantic effort, he freed himself and raised a cry of alarm that might have aroused the dead, but in that effort, he stumbled and fell on his back over a pile of sofa cushions.

Roused by his cries, the military and body guard of the pashalik rushed in, and the whole house was in an uproar.

When Mole had been again uplifted to his feet, and was gasping forth confused explanations, he perceived that the Ladies Alme and Hannifar had mysteriously levanted.



CHAPTER LXXVI.

THE SUDDEN RUIN AND UTTER DOWNFALL OF THE GREAT MOLEY PASHA.

The ladies' absence was a great relief to Mole. He devoutly hoped that he had for ever got rid of the thirteen widows of his late lamented predecessor.

About an hour afterwards, when Mole was striving to calm his irritated feelings with a cup of coffee and hookah, Jack and Harry arrived, as they said, from a walk round the neighbouring country, looking as innocent as any of the lambs they may have met on the finely-grassed hills.

This innocent look was remarkable, because, as the reader has probably suspected, they had really been concerned in Mr. Mole's recent adventure.

In short, Jack had been the Alme, and Harry the Hannifar, of the domestic scene we have described, the Turkish dress and the ladies' custom of keeping veiled, immensely assisting them in the imposture.

"Whatever has been the matter here?" asked Jack. "As we were coming along, we heard a dreadful row outside, and saw a large body of troops bolting off in a deuce of a hurry."

"Oh, my sons," replied the pasha, in a tone of paternal pathos, "sore hath been the wretchedness and distress of your afflicted parent. I wish you had been here, then it could not have happened. I'll tell you all about it."

Jack and Harry Girdwood had sufficient self-command to listen with unmoved countenances to Mr. Mole's account of the adventure, and even to express great surprise and alarm at the harrowing details.

"Shall I write home to Mrs. Mole for you, sir?" said Jack.

"For the Lord's sake, no," cried Mole, in dismay.

Then they tried their best to frighten the old tutor, by suggesting various deadly schemes of vengeance, which it was very possible the ladies of his late highness's seraglio might form against Moley Pasha.

"You must never go out without a strong body guard," said Jack, "for at any time they may have you seized and borne off to the harem."

"And you'll have to take care of yourself even at home," added Harry, "especially with regard to the food you eat, for in Turkey, those who owe a grudge think nothing of paying it out in poison."

"Gracious Heaven! don't talk in that way," cried Mole. "you quite make my blood run cold. I think—I hope—I can trust my guards and my new attendants."

"I hope so too," replied Jack, shaking his head in grave doubt. "But you must always bear in mind that treachery is one of the commonest vices of the East; you can't be too careful."

"Oh, Allah, Allah!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, who had slipped naturally into a habit of using Turkish interjections; "what a life it is to be a pasha. I used to think it was all glory and happiness, but now I find, to my grief, that—if this sort of thing goes on, I shall bolt."

It being now far advanced in the evening, the pasha, wearied out with the cares and excitements of the day, retired to rest in the Turkish fashion, half-dressed, and upon a kind of sofa.

His cork legs, of course, were carefully taken off first.

In this Jack and Harry assisted him.

Moley Pasha went to sleep and to dream of bowstrings, scimitars, and various painful forms of execution.

The next morning, however, he arose more hopeful, and fully resolved to show himself a vigorous and successful ruler.

In his sumptuous seat in the divan, or hall of audience, Mole began to feel like a monarch on his throne, and signed his decrees with all the triumphant flourish of a Napoleon.

It was in the height of this power and glory that there arose a sudden consternation in court.

Murmurs arose, shouts, mingled with the tramp of many steeds, were heard outside.

"What's the matter?" asked the pasha. "Who dares to make a disturbance and disturb the pasha? Officer, command silence."

A deadly stillness fell upon the assembly.

For some few moments one might have heard a pin drop.

But distant shouts in the streets, and the tramp of horses recommenced.

The interpreter and Harry and Jack, who stood on each side of the pasha, exchanged meaning glances, which partook much of alarm.

Consternation could be perceived on every face in court.

It was evident that something serious was about to occur.

"Whatever is the meaning of this?" cried the pasha, who himself seemed to feel no suspicion and alarm. "Abdullah, go and see what it means."

The old interpreter at once hurried to the door.

Jack and Harry, as if impelled by resistless curiosity, followed him.

Karam, the chief of the guard, did the same, and many of those about the court followed in a now excited and expectant group.

At this moment, the shouts outside grew louder and fiercer.

An angry consultation, in which half a dozen at least were engaged, all talking at once, could be heard, and then Karam, the chief of the guard, came rushing back with a face full of dismay.

"Your highness——" he gasped.

"Well, Karam, what's the matter?" asked Mole.

"A grand officer, who calls himself Moley Pasha, the same name as your excellency, is outside with a body of troops, and insists upon admission."

Mole started from his seat, and almost immediately sank exhausted with fright and horror.

He saw now the peril in which he stood, and devoutly wished he were safe at home, and in the arms of Mrs. Mole.

"A—pasha—calling himself Moley!" he exclaimed. "What does he want?"

"He declares he has been appointed to this government by the firman of his imperial majesty the sultan, and that you—you—pardon, your highness—are an impostor."

Mole now knew the worst.

It was all up with him.

But desperation inspired him with an artificial courage; he resolved to die game, and keep it up to the last.

"Tell the so-called Moley Pasha," he exclaimed, "that he is the impostor. Here, guards, stand round me, and defend your rightful governor."

The soldiers wavered.

They began to fear that all was not quite right.

Karam, the captain, also hesitated in enforcing the commands of Mole.

At this moment the scale was turned by Abdullah, the interpreter, rushing into the hall, and thundering forth, to the utter amazement and consternation of Mole—

"Down with the impostor, my friends. We have all been deceived by this usurper, who has forged the sacred signature of our mighty sultan."

Shouts of "Down with the impostor!" now resounded on all sides, and a rush was made to drag Mole from his seat.

Poor Mole, he was entirely defenceless.

Jack and Harry did not return; probably they had been secured by the enemy.

Mole gave himself up for lost.

He was surrounded by an infuriated crowd, still shouting "Down with the impostor! Death to the infidel who dares to wear the colours of the blessed Prophet!"

It seems, indeed, that the luckless Mole would have fallen a sacrifice to Lynch law, but at this moment the real Moley Pasha, with his troops, entered the hall, and at once commanded the infuriated crowd to stop, and relinquish their victim.

"Now," said the real Moley Pasha, "bring before me the stranger who has so audaciously assumed my title and dignity."

Poor Mole, now a trembling "prisoner at the bar," was brought, bound and guarded by soldiers, before the magnate whom of late he had defied.

"Prisoner," said the pasha, sternly, "what do you dare to say for yourself in defence of the crime you have committed?"

Mr. Mole, in the deepest fright and humility, made shift to stammer in Turkish—

"I don't defend it at all; I—I was egged on to it by that young Jack Harkaway."

"What's Harkaway?" now inquired the pasha.

"The youth who came with me, and passed as my son, Yakoob, and his friend Harry Girdwood, or Haroun Pasha."

"Ah! two more impostors; bring them forward," said the pasha.

Search was made for Jack and Harry, but they were nowhere to be found.

In the confusion they had contrived to make good their escape.

"Well, we must make an example of the chief offender," said the pasha. "Prisoner, I find you have some difficulty in expressing yourself in our language, which alone should have stamped you as an impostor. I suppose you speak French?" he added, continuing his interrogation in that language. "I command you instantly to point out any other accomplices in this villainous fraud."

"The interpreter, Abdullah, your highness," said Mole, glad to be avenged upon that worthy.

Here Abdullah came forward, making a gesture of disgust, and turning up his eyes in pious horror.

"Inshallah! what lies do these dogs speak!" he exclaimed. "I swear to your highness, by the prophet, that I knew not, suspected not, till this moment that he was other than he seemed."

"You rascally old villain! you deserve bowstringing for this," cried Mole.

"Peace!" sternly cried the pasha. "Show me the forgery you dare to call the firman of his sublime majesty, the sultan."

Mole instantly produced the unlucky document.

The real Moley Pasha instantly compared it with his own.

"An impudent forgery!" he exclaimed, turning to the cadi of the town, who had now arrived, and was much amazed and dismayed at what had occurred.

"Pardon me, I entreat, your excellency," said the old cadi. "I trust you will let this accusation go no further. In any case, my associates in office were quite as much to blame."

"'Twas this Frankish magician who has befooled us with his spells," said several of the town officials.

And they pointed at Mole with fierce and vengeful gestures, which made him feel certain that his life would be sacrificed to their vengeance.

"I doubt whether it was witchcraft or mere folly," said the pasha, who was much more enlightened than most of his audience. "It seems to me that this giaour is very probably the dupe of others. But, in any case, he must not go unpunished. Prisoner, your crime is proved, and I sentence you to——"

He paused.

Mole fell on his knees.

"To a week's imprisonment in the first place, which will allow time for further inquiries to be made, and, if necessary, to communicate and receive our sublime Master's commands on the matter. Till then you will be kept in solitary confinement, on bread and water, and closely guarded."

"Mercy!" Mole found tongue to exclaim. "I trust—I implore that your highness will at least spare my wretched life, for I declare——"

"Away with him," interrupted the pasha.

So the unhappy Mole was taken off in chains to his dungeon, bread and water, and horrible anticipations of his ultimate fate.



CHAPTER LXXVII.

MOLE IN "THE DEEPEST DUNGEON"—HOPES OF RESCUE.

The unfortunate Isaac Mole was now reduced to a position unprecedented even in his varied career.

He was placed in the "deepest dungeon" of the old castle, which was used as the town gaol, in a cold stone cell all to himself, and a couple of fierce-looking bashi-bazouks to watch him.

Bread and water—both of the stalest—constituted poor Mole's only fare, and his lodging was literally "on the cold, cold ground."

The constant fear of a terrible doom haunted him.

It was the third night of his incarceration, and about the middle of the night Mole was kept awake by his own depressing thoughts, together with the gambols of the rats that infested the dungeon.

Suddenly the deadly stillness was broken by a sound outside, which much agitated him.

"Ha, what sound is that?" cried Mole; "yes, oh, joy, it is the sound of a flute."

Could he mistake that note?

Who could make such melancholy strains but the desolate orphan—the melodious Figgins?

Had Figgins, forgetting all past differences and animosities, come to soothe Mole's captivity, in this manner, or—horrible thought!—was it a strain of malice or revengeful triumph that emanated from the long-suffering and tortured instrument.

But the flute did not long continue playing, and Mole conjectured that it was only a signal to which he was expected to respond.

He had no mode whatever of doing so, excepting a melancholy whistle, which, however, served its purpose.

Through the bars of the prison, which were far too high up for him to reach, a small object suddenly came crashing, and very narrowly did it escape falling upon the prisoner's nose.

Reaching out his hand in the dark, Mr. Mole picked it up, and found it to be a stone wrapped in paper.

He knew at once that it must be a written message from his friends outside, and again he whistled as a signal that he had received it.

A few triumphant notes on the flute responded to this, and then all was silent again.

How impatient Mole was for daylight, that he might read the letter.

But it was many hours to that yet, and sleep he found impossible.

At length, a faint streak came through the bars of the gloomy dungeon.

Mole, with some difficulty, dragged himself under this light, straightened out the paper, and read thus—

"ISAAC MOLE, ESQUIRE,—You are not forgotten by your friends, who much lament your misfortune. We very narrowly escaped being caught and served in the same way. We have, through Captain Deering, got hold of the British consul, to whom we have represented the affair to be only a practical joke, not deserving of a severe punishment. So we hope to get you off with a fine, which we will undertake to pay, whatever it may be. Therefore, keep up your pecker, old man, and believe us to be

"Yours, truly as ever,

"JACK AND FRIENDS."

"Cool, after the way they've served me," was the tutor's mental comment upon this message; "but the question is, Can the British consul, or any other man, get me out of the clutches of these ferocious Turks?"

The next night, Mole was able to sleep.

But his sleep was suddenly and fearfully interrupted.

An awful and confused noise, shouting outside, flashing lights through the bars, the clash of arms and the hurried tramp of men, indicated that the prison was the scene of some warlike commotion.

Mole started up in a state of great alarm, and struggled towards the door of his cell.

"Oh, dear, oh, dear!" cried poor Mole, "this is dreadful. Oh, if I was only a boy again. I would stick to Old England, and never leave it. There, they are at it again. Oh, dear, why did I leave Mrs. Mole?"

The noise was as if there were a mutiny or outbreak of some kind.

Nearer and nearer came the sound of footsteps, louder and louder sounded the clashing of arms, and the clanking of chains.

A shout of triumph sounded just outside his cell door, and amidst a volley of interjections in Turkish and Arabic, he fancied he could hear English shouts of—

"Hurrah! boys, we shall do it. Open every one of the doors, and set them all free."

Two heavy bolts were shot back outside, the heavy key was turned in the lock, Mole's cell door was opened, and in a burst of torch-light entered groups of armed Bedouin Arabs.

Mole shrank back in a corner.

These ferocious Moslems had doubtless come to murder him in hot blood.

In reality their object was quite different.

The event that had happened was not an outbreak within the walls of the garrison, but an inbreak of those whose purpose was to rescue the captives.

Jack and Harry had the day before put up at the encampment of some friendly Arabs, who became more friendly still when they found their guests liberal in respect of coinage.

One of the Arabs had a brother in prison awaiting the pasha's further orders of punishment, so they were anxious to help Jack and release the Arab chief.

Jack and Harry, being informed of this, thought it would be an excellent opportunity for the escape of Mole, who was incarcerated in the same gaol.

The party set out in the middle of the night.

They soon reached the prison.

Darkness befriended them.

The first step was to gain admission into the outer yard or enclosure.

This they did by suddenly setting upon the two warders outside, and, before they could give the alarm, binding, gagging, and disarming them.

Then, mounting one of the sentry-boxes, Jack and Harry, being the lightest and most agile members of the party, contrived thus to get over the gate, and drop down inside.

Here, with great labour, they forced back the ponderous bolts, and the Arabs poured into the building.

The alarm was taken, and the old castle of Alla-hissar, as it was called, was all in an uproar.

Gaolers and soldiers, utterly taken aback by this sudden onslaught, made but ineffectual resistance.

Ere they could grasp their weapons and put themselves in order of defence, the Bedouins were on to them, striking them down, forcing away their keys, and ill-treating them in proportion to the resistance to the attack they made.

"Tell me, slave," thundered the Arab chief, to one of the gaolers, "in which cell my brother Hadj Maimoun is confined?"

"In—in No. 6," answered the man, trembling for his life.

"Art thou sure? Deceive me, dog, and thou diest," continued the chief, threateningly placing the muzzle of his pistol to the man's forehead.

"I swear, by the holy tomb of Mecca."

"Enough; and which is the key?"

"It is numbered, great lord: see here, No. 6."

"And the cell lieth——"

"To the right yonder. I will lead your highness thither."

"Do so, and if you attempt to deceive us, not the fiend himself can save you from my revenge. Come on, friends; Hadj Maimoun shall be free."

A wild shout of triumph rose from the Arabs.

In a few moments they had reached the cell indicated, where a young Arab, in heavy chains, looked up at their entrance.

The chief recognised his brother.

"Strike off these chains, villain!" the Arab then commanded the gaoler.

The chains dropped off the young Arab, whereat his friends raised another triumphant shout—

"Allah, Allah, Allah! Glory be to the Prophet. Hadj Maimoun is free."

By this time the prison was fairly in the hands of the victorious invaders.

One man, however, managed to slip out, and made the best of his way to the town to rouse the pasha and other officials.



CHAPTER LXXVIII.

THE RESCUE OF MOLE.

Mr. Mole's place of incarceration would have been difficult to find in that large rambling old building, had not Jack, by similar threats to those of the Arab chief, forced one of the gaolers to tell him the number of the cell.

Armed with this information and a bunch of keys, Jack made his way to the deepest dungeon, followed by the rest.

Mole's cell was the most remote, and therefore the last they came to.

"Mercy, mercy! don't kill an unfortunate prisoner, who has got three wives somewhere about the world, and a lot of little black and white children to look after!" cried Mr. Mole, still confused by the tumult around him, and the ferocious aspect of the new-comers.

"Kill you, Mr. Mole; why, we've come to let you out," said the foremost of the group, and he flung back the cowl of his Moorish cloak, thereby revealing to Mole the startling fact, that instead of a murderous Arab, it was young Jack Harkaway.

Harry was close to him.

A very few words now revealed to Mole the actual state of affairs.

"Oh, my boys, my boys," he exclaimed, "what I have suffered all through you. But still, Jack, my boy, I was not afraid of them. No, my boy, I intended to have fought to the last, and I have no doubt I should have killed a dozen or two of 'em."

"No doubt, sir; but let us get out of this," said Jack. "Come on."

"But my hands are fastened with these heavy chains," said Mole.

"Bring a hammer and a chisel, you fellows," called out Jack, "and we'll have 'em off in no time."

The ex-pasha was therefore operated upon, and in a few minutes the chains were off, and Mole was nearly a free man—not quite free, however, for by this time the whole neighbourhood was up in arms; the pasha had been roused in a hurry, and mustering his troops, had hurried off to the gaol.

"We shall have to fight for it, lads," cried Jack, drawing his Arab sabre; "we must cut our way through them, or we're lost to a certainty."

The Bedouins were prepared to follow their leader to the death.

The chief Zenaib, with his brother, Hadj Maimoun, led the desperate enterprise, and the numbers of their followers were now increased by all the escaped prisoners.

As they came rushing out, they were opposed by twice their number of well-armed troops, whom they had to cut through as best they could.

It was a desperate conflict.

Hand-to-hand, cut-and-thrust, bullets discharged from pistols and muskets, fierce charges with bayonets, continued for half an hour.

The confusion was dreadful, the noise deafening, numbers of men killed and wounded on both sides making the result far more tragic than our hero and his companion had ever anticipated or desired.

The prisoners fought to secure their liberty, the Arabs out of hatred to the Turks, while Jack and Harry, with no particular animosity against either party, now fought desperately in self-defence.

They received several severe cuts, and in a short time got entirely separated from their friend Mole.

He, meantime, half propped up against the wall, was valorously holding out against his former gaoler, who was trying to recapture him. At length, the Arabs, finding it impossible to break their way through so large a body of disciplined troops, fell back, and their destruction would have been inevitable.

But, at this moment, one of the half-escaped prisoners called out that he had discovered a back entrance, on the other side of a building, through which they might all make their exit.

The Arab chief accordingly ordered an immediate retreat.

The Turkish soldiers, seeing this manoeuvre, gave chase to them, whilst others were ordered round to intercept their flight at the back.

Jack and Harry having returned to Mole, took him between them; each one holding an arm, they got along as swiftly as the cork legs and feet of the ci-devant pasha would allow.

But as ill-luck would have it, on emerging from one of the alleys, they met the detachment of Turkish soldiers, who at once rushed upon them.

The whole three gave themselves up for lost.

Mole at length stumbled, and fell heavily to the ground.

"Save yourselves at once," he groaned. "Don't mind me; I'm done for, I can't get a step further. Oh, dear, and my head's all bleeding from that sword cut. Run! Make haste, my dear boy; the wretches are firing at us!"

Reluctantly the two youths obeyed the instinct of self-preservation, by letting go the hands of the old tutor, and turning round, they immediately dived into one of the adjoining alleys.

It was just in time, for at that moment, two musket balls whizzed so close to them that the difference of a mere inch would have been certain death.

It was a narrow escape for them; but once out of sight of the soldiers, they finally reached a place of perfect safety, and after all, as Harry remarked—

"A miss is as good as a mile."

Meanwhile, Mole's catalogue of misfortunes were still being added to.

Picked up, bleeding and exhausted, by the soldiers, he was instantly taken before the officer commanding the troops.

Several Arabs, a few Turkish soldiers, and two of the gaolers had been killed, and there were many wounded men that required attending to.

The commander had enough to do in restoring matters to order, therefore he left the punishment of Mole to his lieutenant.

"Remove all the prisoners, for the present, to the guardroom," said the lieutenant. "When I open my council at noon in the divan bring them all before me."

"Your excellency's word is law," answered the head gaoler, bowing.

The lieutenant turned his horse, and, followed by his bodyguard, rode home in a very ill temper.

An hour or two's rest, however, and the soothing effects of pipe and coffee, had somewhat restored his equanimity by the time he re-entered the divan.

Punctually at noon, the prisoners were brought before him by the head gaoler.

"Let me see," said the lieutenant, referring to the document, and checking off the captives as they were identified; "horse-stealing, highway robbery, drunkenness, assault—yes, I have resolved what to do. As these offences seem comparatively light, and as our prison is for the present inefficient, I shall order all these men to be punished with the bastinado."

"There is one more," said the lieutenant. "This, I find, is the wretched Frank who dared to personate our great pasha."

"Nothing escapes your honour's penetration," answered the vizier.

"Such a crime deserves a heavier punishment. However, when his turn comes, give him twenty-five blows."

"It shall be done, illustrious governor," was the response.

And forthwith were summoned the two burly officials whose unpopular duty it was to administer castigation.

One bore a stout rattan, the other several pieces of strong rope.

The frame to which they were to be lashed was then brought into the room, it being the lieutenant's intention that the punishment should be administered in his presence.

The first prisoner was then seized, and his slippers—stockings not being worn by the majority of Turks—taken off.

He was then bound hand and foot, and securely tied to the frame.

The two executioners then took it in turns to administer ten heavy blows upon the bare soles of the criminal.

At the first blow, the patient set up a howl, which seemed but to increase the vigour and energy of the operator.

It was indeed a terrible sight for any person of sensitiveness to see a human being—though deserving—suffer in this manner.

Mole, however, didn't feel any anxiety on that score, and he made up his mind to do the brave and noble Englishman, for he knew that they might hammer away at his cork soles for ever, without hurting him much.

What troubled him was the probability that they would take his stockings off, and discovering the insensate nature of his "understandings," order him some other and more deadly punishment.

So, after the infliction of seeing several men suffer, with various degrees of bravery and cowardice, and all variety of groans and contortions, Mole heard himself called up for similar castigation.

He had, in the meantime, thought of a ruse.

Then, marching up boldly to the lieutenant, he addressed him—

"I know I fully deserve your dreadful but just sentence and quietly will I submit myself to the torture; but, I entreat you, do not compel me to remove my stockings, which, among my countrymen, is considered the deepest degradation and never inflicted, save upon criminals sentenced to death."

"H'm!" said the lieutenant, somewhat moved. "For my part, I would just as soon suffer the infliction with bare feet as through a thin layer of stocking."

"But my feelings as an Englishman," pleaded Mole.

"Well, be it as you wish. Take off your shoes only; but, Hamed, remember to give it to him a little harder, to make up for the stockings."

"Great lieutenant, I will obey. The force of the blows shall be doubled."

At this moment, Mole saw the eyes of Tinker fixed upon him, and he knew he should yet get help.

Mole then submitted himself resignedly to the hands of the torturers.

Binding him like the others, hand and foot, they tied him to the frame, and the chief castigator, rolling up his sleeves, proceeded to belabour Mole's soles with terrific energy.

The blows sounded fearfully loud and sharp, and each was given with such vigour that even the framework creaked under it.

But the victim showed no pain or terror.

He did not cry out, nor flinch in the least, nor strive to mitigate the pain by twisting about.

Thus ten heavy blows were given, and the inflictor paused.

A murmur of astonishment ran round the assembly.

"Truly the Frank hath wondrous strength and courage," exclaimed the lieutenant.

"Englishman are generally brave," said an old Turk; "but I never knew one who would silently undergo such pain as this."

"Make the next ten blows harder."

The second man, therefore, in his turn, rained down upon the inanimate soles of the ex-pasha, such fearful blows as resounded through the place, and made many spectators shudder.

But still the victim neither flinched nor cried out.

"Bismallah! this is truly wonderful, that a giaour so old, so grey, so apparently feeble, should thus bear so terrible a punishment. Harder, Selim. Now do you not feel it, prisoner?"

"Of course I feel it, great pasha; it even tickles my beard," replied Mole; "but heaven hath given me power to withstand this terrible torture, and the high spirit of an Englishman forbids me to cry out."

"I could scarcely have believed it, did I not behold it with my own eyes," said the puzzled lieutenant. "Selim, a little harder."

"Your eminence, the tale of blows is fully counted," said the man, laying aside his cane.

"Five-and-twenty already? I was so interested with the prisoner's fortitude, that I didn't count them. He has not suffered enough yet; give him five blows more."

"I am ready," said Mole, stroking his false beard. "Remember, an Englishman fears not pain. Strike away."

And he stretched out his cork legs to their full extent.

Five blows more were given, but had no more effect than the previous ones.

"By the holy kaaba! but this amounts to a miracle," exclaimed the lieutenant. "I shall begin to respect the infidel for his heroism. Hamed, give him ten more blows; no, make it twenty, and do you, Selim, assist. That will be fifty; just double the amount of the sentence. If he flinches not this time, he will deserve being let off altogether."

And in truth, it would, under ordinary circumstances, have wanted well-nigh the strength of Samson or Hercules to endure such torture as now came upon the schoolmaster.

Hamed and Selim, each armed with a heavy rattan, rained down alternately thick and fast, a shower of blows upon Mole's wonderful feet, which even shook the room, but still couldn't shake Mole's resolution.

He writhed not, nor uttered cry, and showed not the faintest sign of giving way.

On the contrary, he jeered at the men.

"Bah! see how an Englishman can bear pain," exclaimed Mole.

And to the intense astonishment of the Turks, he plucked out a good-sized handful of hair from his beard and threw before the officer.

"Allah is—ah!"

And the Turk stopped in the midst of his speech to spit out a second handful which Mole, with good aim, had thrown into his mouth.

"Wonderful!" exclaimed the bystanders, as Mole tore away at his false beard till he had nearly stripped the framework, while the tormentors worked away at his feet with redoubled energy.

"Stop, stop," cried the pasha, for the men in their energy had exceeded even the fifty blows without knowing it, and seemed to be going on ad libitum, "stop; unbind and release the prisoner."

The two men, who were bathed in perspiration through their exertions, accordingly removed Mole's bonds, assisted him to his feet, and helped him put on his shoes.

"Prisoner," said the lieutenant, "your heroic conduct this day has won my deepest admiration. Be seated, and rest your poor feet, and then tell me something of your history."

"My poor feet will still support me, therefore I will not be seated, but standing thus," said Mole, stamping his cork feet on the ground, "will show you something wonderful."



CHAPTER LXXIX.

MOLE PASHA ASTONISHES THE NATIVES STILL MORE—THE ORDER OF THE GLASS BUTTON.

"I am all attention," replied the lieutenant.

"I came from a land," said Mr. Mole, with a grandiloquent flourish, "where we despise physical suffering."

The august Turks around were filled with wonder and with admiration for the speaker.

After what they had witnessed, they were prepared to credit Mr. Mole's most extravagant assertions.

"Would you have some further proof of my great courage?" demanded Mr. Mole, folding his arms and striking a defiant attitude.

"Brave man, what more can you show us of your courage?" was the reply.

"Behold!" cried Mole.

The whole assembly eyed Mr. Mole's movements with the greatest curiosity now.

"Bring me a dozen sharp implements, such as swords, knives, daggers, etc, etc."

They were brought to him, and he then laid them down in a row upon the carpet.

The first was a needle of the dimensions of an ordinary bodkin.

Next this, was a small iron skewer.

After this came a long-bladed dagger knife.

And finally, there was a cut-and-thrust sword of alarming dimensions.

"You shall see now," said Mole, sternly, "how I can despise such trivialities as your bastinado."

What was he about to do now?

In solemn silence, Mr. Mole bared his right calf, then requested the company of his black servant Tinker, who was still in the hall.

The request was granted.

"Tinker."

"Yes, Massa Mole."

"Go and fetch me——"

Here he sank his voice to a whisper, and the rest of his instructions were heard by no one save the darkey, for whom they were intended.

In the course of a few moments, Tinker returned and passed something slyly into Mr. Mole's hand.

It was a small sponge in an oil-skin bag.

Yet it appeared to be saturated with something, to judge by the way it was handled, for Mr. Mole slyly put it in his pocket.

Mr. Mole then took up the smallest of the row of implements just described.

"Behold what an Englishman can do!"

And then to the amazement of the spectators, he thrust the needle into the thick part of his calf.

A quiet smile played about the corners of his mouth.

But no sign of the slightest suffering.

"Judge how much your bastinado can affect me," he said, with superb disdain.

"Allah be praised!" ejaculated the Turk; "wondrous man."

"Behold," pursued Mole, picking up the skewer.

He passed it fairly through his calf, and stood there with his foot firmly planted on the ground, gazing about him like another "monarch of all he surveyed."

"Look again."

And Mole took up a large nail, and hammered it into his foot, so that he was pinned to the floor.

"Allah be praised!" again shouted the Turks.

"One more proof," he said, disdainfully.

He picked up another dagger, and pushed it resolutely into the ill-used leg.

At the same time he held the calf with his left hand, in which he concealed, with considerable dexterity, the sponge which Tinker had brought him.

Blood now trickled slowly through Mr. Mole's fingers, and ran down his legs and feet.

A thrill of terror passed through the assemblage.

"Yet another proof," exclaimed Mole, grandly.

"No more, no more," exclaimed the Turk.

Mole withdrew the nail from his foot, and the dagger from his leg, and seizing the sword, he thrust it with ferocious energy into the other mutilated leg.

He pressed his hand to the wound, and the blood flowed out in a small torrent, while the spectators groaned.

Mole looked round him proudly—defiantly.

Had he just conquered on the field of Waterloo, he could not have shown a greater apparent belief in himself.

He smiled sardonically as he bound up the wounded legs with his scarf.

Mr. Mole here nearly spoilt his exhibition of his marvellous power of endurance, for pricking his finger accidentally with a pin, he sang out lustily, much to the astonishment of the Turks.

But he was lucky to recover himself in time before the Turks could divine what had occurred.

"You must invent something more violent than any punishment I have yet seen here, if you would subdue the soul of Isaac Mole."

And he strode along with the air of the heavy man in a transpontine melodrama.

The marvellous exhibition of endurance aroused the phlegmatic Turk to real enthusiasm.

"Mole Pasha," he exclaimed, "you are a great hero. I shall seek an audience of his highness the Sultan, and beg of him for you some mark of distinction, perhaps even to confer upon you the distinguished order of the glass button."

"The glass bottle would be more in your excellency's way, Mole Pasha," suggested Tinker.

And henceforth when Mole walked abroad, the population was aroused.

"Behold the bravest Frank that ever lived," they said. "He is a great hero."



CHAPTER LXXX.

THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS—THE POISONED DAGGER.

As young Jack was sauntering through the streets of the town one day, he fancied that he was being followed by a man who was dressed in a semi-Oriental garb, but whose head was shaded by a broad-brimmed hat.

Jack was not given to fear without a cause, yet he certainly did feel uncomfortable now.

At first he thought of turning round and facing the man sharply.

But this, he reflected, might lead to a rupture.

A rupture was to be most carefully avoided.

He was determined, however, to assure himself that he was followed.

With this view, he made a circuitous tour of the city.

Still the man was there like his very shadow.

"This is unendurable," muttered Jack.

So he drew up short.

Grasping a pistol, which he carried in his pocket, with a nervous grip, he waited for the man to come up.

But the man did not come up.

He disappeared suddenly, at the very moment that Jack was expecting to come into collision with him.

How strange!

Jack was not conscious of having an enemy—at least not one in that part of the world.

"Very strange," he muttered; "very strange!"

And brooding over this episode, Jack wended his way thoughtfully homewards.

* * * *

"Hah!"

Crossing the very threshold of his residence, Jack was suddenly and swiftly assaulted.

The same semi-Oriental figure had stolen stealthily up behind him, and with a murderous-looking knife dealt him a sharp, swift blow.

Jack bounded forward, and turned round pistol in hand, but so nearly fatal had been the blow that Jack's coat was ripped down the back.

"Hah!"

The assassin was marvellously nimble; although Jack made a dart after him pistol in hand, meaning to wreak summary vengeance upon him, the ruffian contrived to vanish again—mysteriously.

Strangely disturbed by this, Jack went home and related to his friends what had taken place.

"This is a rum go," said Mr. Mole; "you have been mistaken for somebody else."

"So I suppose," returned Jack.

"What's to be done?" said Harry Girdwood.

"Lodge information with the police at once, I should say," suggested Mole.

"By all means."

"What was he like?"

"I could scarcely see," was Jack's reply, "for he was gone like a phantom."

"Perhaps it was a phantom," suggested Harry slily.

"I should be half inclined to think so," said Jack, "if I hadn't received this solid proof that he was flesh and blood."

Saying which, he turned round and displayed the back of his coat, ripped open by the assassin's dagger.

"Well," exclaimed Mole aghast, "that is cool."

"I'm glad you think so," returned Jack, "for I can tell you it was much too warm for me."

"Well, we shall soon leave this wretched place, I hope," said Mole, "for I don't feel safe of my life. I am expecting every day to be had up again before the pasha."

"We must always be on the watch now," said Harry Girdwood; "constant vigilance will he necessary to avert danger."

* * * *

Let us follow the movements of the would-be assassin.

The secret of his sudden disappearance was really no great mystery after all.

Darting round the first corner so as to put a house between himself and Jack's pistol, he found himself suddenly seized by a vigorous hand, and dragged through an open doorway.

"Let go," hissed the assassin, fiercely, "or——"

He raised his long-bladed knife to strike, but before he could bring his arm down, the dagger was beaten from his grasp.

"Now," said the stranger planting his foot firmly upon the knife, "listen to me."

"You speak English," said the assassin, in surprise.

"Because you spoke English to me," was the reply; "until then, I took you for one of us."

"What do you want with me?" demanded the Englishman, doggedly.

"Not much," returned the other, speaking with great fluency, although his foreign accent was strongly marked. "I have saved you from the consequences of your failure. Had my friendly hand not been there to drag you out of sight, your young countryman would have shot you."

"Well," returned the assassin, surlily, "I owe you my thanks, and——"

"Stop—tell me would you like to succeed in this in spite of your late failure?"

"Yes."

"Then I will give you a safe and sure method."

"My eternal thanks," began the foiled ruffian.

The stranger interrupted him.

"Reserve your thanks. Tell me what you can offer if I help you."

"Money!"

"How much will you give to see your enemy removed from your path?"

"I will give a good round sum," returned the Englishman, eagerly.

"Name a sum."

He did.

A good round sum it was too.

"Now, then," said the Turk, producing a small phial containing a pale greenish fluid. "Observe this."

"Well?"

"Anoint your dagger with this. Scratch him with it; let your scratch be no more than the prick of a pin, and he will be beyond the aid of mortal man."

"Is this sure?"

"Beyond all doubt. Would you have proof?"

"Yes."

"Wait here a moment."

The Turk left the room, and presently he appeared carrying a small iron cage.

"Look."

He held up the cage, and showed that it contained two large rats.

"Now," said he, "remove the stopper and dip your dagger's point in."

The Englishman obeyed.

"Now, prick either of the rats ever so slightly."

The Englishman pushed the point of the dagger through the bars of the cage, and one of the rats came to sniff at it—probably anticipating a savoury tit-bit to eat.

Moving the dagger slightly, it barely grazed the rat's nose.

But it sufficed.

The poor beast shivered once, and sank dead.

"What do you say now?" demanded the Turk.

"I am satisfied," replied the Englishman.

"Now, before you go," said the Turk, "I will give you a hint. The slightest scratch will suffice, as you see."

"Yes."

"Dip two ordinary pins in the poison, and send them by letter to your enemy. Place them so that in opening the envelope, he will probably scratch his finger."

The Englishman's eyes sparkled viciously.

"I will, I will."

"Let me know the result, and should you want my aid, you will note well the house on leaving so as to know where to return."

"Yes. What is your name?" demanded the Englishman.

"Hadji Nasir Ali," was the reply; "and yours?"

The other hesitated.

"Don't give it unless you feel it is safe," said the Turk.

"There's no harm in your knowing it," returned the Englishman. "My name is Harkaway."

"Hark-a-way?"

"In one word."

"I see. Farewell, then."

"Farewell."

And the interview was concluded.

* * * *

"That letter is a splendid dodge. Look out, Master Jack Harkaway, look out, for I mean to cry quits now, or my name is not Herbert Murray," muttered the Englishman, as he walked away.

But how Herbert Murray had got to Turkey requires some explanation.

It will be within our readers' recollection that after his unsuccessful attempt on Chivey's life, and the adventure of the groom with the old Spaniard, Murray found himself on board the same ship as his groom.

He resolved to make the best of this circumstance, as it could not now be altered.

A few days after leaving the Spanish coast they put into one of the Mediterranean ports, and there heard that young Jack and his friends had gone on to Turkey.

"I'll follow them!" exclaimed Murray. "I can do as I like now the governor's gone and I've plenty of tin, so look out for yourself, Jack Harkaway."

Murray's ship was delayed by adverse weather, but at length reached port, and Herbert had scarcely put foot on shore, when he beheld young Jack, the object of his deadly hate, walking coolly down the street smoking a cigar.

This so enraged Murray that he hastened to disguise himself in Oriental attire, and then made the attempt on Jack's life which we have related.

* * * *

That same night a man was found dead on the threshold of the house in which Jack Harkaway and his friends resided.

How he had died no one could imagine, for he had not a scratch on his body.

Yet, stay.

There was a scratch.

Just that and no more.

In his fast-clenched hand was found an envelope addressed to Mr. John Harkaway, and on a closer examination a pin's point was seen sticking through the paper.

This had just pricked the messenger's hand.

So slightly that, had not the tiny wound turned slightly blue, it would have entirely escaped notice.

* * * *

Jack was now aware that he had in Turkey a deadly enemy, but who he was he could not yet tell.

When the men of skill assembled around the body, they were puzzled to assign a cause of death until one of them suggested it was apoplexy. So apoplexy it was unanimously set down for.

There was no more fuss made.

The man was only a poor devil of a Circassian, who got a precarious livelihood as a public messenger. So they

"Rattled his bones Over the stones, Like those of a pauper whom nobody owns."

And meanwhile, his murderer went his way.

"Fortunate I gave the name of Harkaway to that old professional poisoner, for they will never trace this job to me."

There was, however, one result from this using of Jack Harkaway's name which Herbert Murray certainly never contemplated.

But of this we must speak hereafter.

* * * *

In spite of his knowledge of the fact that he had enemies following his footsteps, our hero would not remain in the house.

"I am quite as safe in the street as here," said he, in reply to Harry Girdwood's representations of the danger he ran, "and I am sure, old boy, you would not have me show the white feather."

"You never did that, and never will; but you need not run into unnecessary danger."

"'Thrice is he armed who has his quarrel just,' and his revolver well loaded. Ta-ta! I am just going to stroll down to this Turkish substitute for a postoffice, and see if last night's steamer brought any letters."

So Jack strolled down accordingly, and found a letter for him.

His heart beat with joy as he recognised the handwriting, and he hurried home to read it.

On breaking open the envelope, out tumbled a beautiful carte de visite portrait, a copy of which we are able to give, as we still thoroughly retain young Jack's friendship and confidence.

He kissed it till he began to fear he might spoil the likeness, and then placing it on the table before him, began to read.

And this is the letter—

"DEAR JACK,—You very naughty boy. Where have you been, and why have you not written? I have a great mind to scold you, sir; but on second thoughts, I think I had better leave the task of correcting you to your parents, who, perhaps, have more influence with you than I have. You don't know, dear, how anxious we have all been about you. Poor Mr. Mole has started in search of you. Have you seen him yet?—and if you don't write soon, I shall feel obliged to try and find out what has become of you, for I almost begin to fear that some fair Turkish or Circassian girl——"

"The deuce!" Jack thought; "she can't have heard any thing of that affair yet. If Mole has written, the letter could not have reached England on the 20th of last month."

Then he continued—

"——_has stolen your heart, and Harry Girdwood's too. Why, poor Paquita always has red eyes when she gets up. So, darling Jack, do write at once, and cheer our hearts. I can't help writing like this, for I feel so fearful that something has happened to you. So be a dear, good boy, and send a full account of all your doings to your father, and just a few lines to

"Your ever faithful and affectionate._

"EMILY.

"P.S.—I was just reading this over to see if I had been too cross, when your father came in with a photographer, who took my portrait without my knowing anything about it. Do you think it like me, sir?"

Then followed three or four of those blots which ladies call "kisses."



CHAPTER LXXXI.

MR. MOLE AGAIN OUT OF LUCK.

Herbert Murray, attended by Chivey, was strolling down the principal street of the town, smoking his cigar, thinking how he could yet serve out young Jack, when he suddenly saw, on in front, the figure of an elderly man, who appeared to walk with difficulty.

He made such uncertain steps and singular movements, as he hobbled along by the aid of a stick, that the effect, however painful to him, was ludicrous to the onlookers.

"Why, blest if it ain't old Mole, the man who came to bid young Harkaway and his friends good-bye when we sailed," cried Chivey.

"Or his ghost," said Murray.

"I'll have a lark with him, sir," said the tiger, laying his finger aside his nose, and winking knowingly. "You see!"

And walking nimbly and on tiptoe behind the old man, he soon caught up to him without his knowing it.

Murray halted at a little distance, ready to behold and enjoy the discomfiture of Mole.

The reader must be informed that the venerable Isaac was then experimenting upon a new substitute for those unfortunate much damaged members, his cork legs.

An American genius, with whom he had recently made acquaintance in the town, had induced Mole to try a pair of his "new patent-elastic-spring- non-fatiguing-self-regulating-undistinguishable-everlasting cork legs."

The inventor had helped Mr. Mole to put on these formidable "understandings," and given him every instruction with regard to their management.

"They'll be a little creaky at first," said the American; "nothing in nature works slick when it's quite new, but when you get 'em well into wear, they'll go along like greased lightning; now try them, old hoss."

Creaky indeed they were, for they made a noise almost as loud as a railway break; but what was even worse was that the Yankee had failed to inform Mole of the fact that the "new patent" etc., were only fitted to act perfectly on a smooth surface.

Now the roadway, or footway—for they are all the same in those old Turkish towns—are the very reverse of smooth, being principally composed of round nubbly stones.

Consequently Mole's locomotion was the reverse of pleasant.

Chivey crept up behind the old schoolmaster, and seizing an opportunity and one of his legs, gave it a pull, which caused Mole to roar with fright.

Down, of course, came Mole on the nubbly pavement, but Chivey didn't have exactly the fun he expected, for instead of his getting safely away, Mole fell on him.

"Oh, it's you, is it? You, the bad servant of a bad man's wicked son," exclaimed the angered tutor; "it's you who dare to set upon defenceless age and innocence, with its new cork legs on? Very good. Then take that, and I hope you won't like it."

Whereat he began pommelling away at Chivey.

Chivey roared with all his might, till a small crowd of wondering onlookers began to collect.

"What do you mean by daring to assault my servant in this manner?" asked Murray sternly, as he came up.

"He attacked me first," protested Mole; "and it's my belief you set him on to do it."

"How dare you insinuate——" began Murray, and he violently shook the old man by the collar.

But there was more spirit in Mole than Herbert was prepared for.

By the aid of a post, the old man managed to struggle to his feet, and leaning against this, he felt he could defy the enemy.

"My lad," he said, "it's evident that you didn't get enough flogging when you were at school, or you'd know better manners; I must take you in hand a bit now, sir, there!"

With his stick he gave a cut to the palm of Murray's hand, just as he was wont to do to refractory pupils in the old days.

Murray was livid with rage.

Chivey, now rather afraid of Mole, didn't interfere.

"Come on, if you like, and have some more," said Mole, and shaking his stick at both of them, he again urged on his wild career.

Very wild indeed it was, too.

Mole's patent legs, which outwardly looked natural ones, were indeed self-regulating, for they were soon utterly beyond the control of the wearer; they seemed to be possessed of wills of their own; one wished to go to the right, the other to the left.

Sometimes they would carry him along in double quick march time, and anon halt, beyond all his power of budging.

Of course the boys of the town were attracted by the stranger's singular movements, and began to hoot and jeer.

The merchants were interrupted at their calculations, the bazaar keepers came to their doors, long pipe in mouth, to see what the "son of Sheitan" was about.

Mole was red in the face with such hard work.

"Confound the Turks," he cried; "why don't they make their roads smoother? Oh, dear, I wish I could manage these unhappy legs; there they go."

By this time the crowd had become unpleasantly dense around him.

"Out of the way, un-Christian dogs," cried Mole, flourishing his stick round his head; "I'm an Englishman, and I've a right to—hallo! there it goes again."



For here his left leg took two steps to the right, and he came down with all his weight upon the toe of a white-bearded Alla-hissite.

"Son of a dog," growled the old Turk, as he rubbed his pet corn in agony; "may your mother's grave be defiled, and the jackass bray over your father's bones."

"I really beg your pardon," began Mole, but just at this moment his right leg was taken with a spasmodic action, and began to stride along at a furious rate, creaking like mad.

Mole lost all control (if he ever had any) over his own movements, and was carried forward again, till he came where Herbert Murray and Chivey, having made a detour, happened to be just turning the corner of the street.

"Stop me," yelled Mole, as he flourished his stick over his head; "my spring legs are doing what they like with me. I have no control over them. Oh, dear, they are at it again."

Chivey, undeterred by his recent castigation, thought he would repeat the trick, so, when Mole came up, he, by a dexterous jerk, turned him round as on a pivot.

He was thus stopped in his forward course, but this didn't check the action of his clockwork legs, which now scudded along as swiftly as before, into the very heart of the yelling crowd.

The result was rather bad for the Turks; they went down like a lot of ninepins before Mole's railway-like progression.

"A mad Christian," they cried; "he is possessed with a devil; down with him."

The perspiration streamed from Mole's face; he felt that if the spring-work in his new cork legs did not stop, he should die.

At this moment a body of women approached, closely veiled.

Their yashmaks obscured all but their eyes, which could be seen to open wide in wonder at the extraordinary behaviour of the red-faced giaour.

Two of the younger and slender ones fell with piercing screams before Mole's impetuous charge.

A third, a stout woman of middle age, stood her ground, and Mole, before he could stop himself, rushed into her arms, and floored her.

The scream she gave surpassed in loudness that of all the others put together; and brought up several ferocious-looking Turks, bent on condignly punishing the outrageous conduct of the mad Englishman.

"Death to the giaour; down with him!" roared the excited crowd.

What fate he would have suffered we dread to think, but he found an unexpected deliverer in the person of the old white-bearded Turk, whose corns he had trodden on.

"Defile not your hands with the blood of the unbeliever," he said; "but take him before the cadi to answer his conduct."

"To the cadi, to the cadi!" was now the cry.

"Hear me," said Mole, astonishing himself by his proficiency in Turkish; "I am not to blame, but at all events, take up those two other Englishmen who assaulted me."

He pointed to Murray and Chivey, who had by this time got into a dense crowd of Turks, whom they were elbowing in an angry manner.

"Take all the infidels before the cadi," cried the Turks.

Herbert Murray and Chivey were accordingly seized, and the whole three borne off to one doom.

The cadi was seated in his divan, administering justice, as was his custom, in the open air.

His style of doing so was summary, but vigorous.

"Let the giaour, who has unwarrantably assaulted the true believers, receive one hundred lashes," he said; "or pay fifty pieces of silver to our treasury."

"I haven't got the money," said Mole.

"Then receive the punishment," said the cadi.

This time there was no ceremony used; two negroes bound Mole, pulled off his shoes and stockings, and exposed to view the new patent steel clock-work legs.

"Allah, what have we here?" cried the cadi. "Is the Christian enchanted, to be half man, half machinery?"

"My lord," said Mole, "if you'll only permit me to speak, I'll explain all.

"Having lost my legs in the wars, helping the Turks to beat their foes, I have been induced to try as a substitute this new invention, and behold, the legs were enchanted, and I had no control over them."

"Allah kerim! Can this be?" exclaimed the cadi.

"That was the whole reason of my conduct, your excellency," pursued Mole; "otherwise, I would perish sooner than have attacked true believers. But these infidels," he added, pointing to Murray and Chivey, "first attacked me, as many here may bear witness."

"If that be so," said the magistrate, "we will remit your sentence on payment of fifty sequins."

"Gladly would I pay the sum if I had it," said Mole; "but I haven't."

"Search him," cried the cadi.

Mole was searched, but the investigations of the officer could not bring to light a greater sum in his pockets than a bad sixpence and a battered fourpenny-piece.

"Little enough," grumbled the cadi, pocketing the amount; "but as it is all you have, I consent to take it. We must have it out of the other infidels; they too are English, and look rich. Bring them before me."

Herbert Murray and Chivey were accordingly examined.

Mole gave evidence as to their assaulting him, though they utterly denied doing so, but Mole's statement being backed up by several believers who had witnessed it, the judge declared both guilty, and sentenced them to the bastinado.

"Me bastinadoed!" exclaimed the indignant Murray,. "I'd have you know, sir, that I'm an Englishman of rank, of influence, of property, and——"

"Of influence, eh? Very good; then you'll have to pay a fine of five hundred sequins," cried the cadi, exultantly.

"I swear that I haven't——"

"Search the infidels," cried the cadi.

The officers did so, and altogether twenty-five pounds, in gold, notes and silver, were found upon Murray and Chivey.

With an audible chuckle, the cadi took possession of it all.

"There," he said; "so now go in peace, all of you; and if I find you making another disturbance in the town, it will be bastinado and gaol, as well as a fine. Go, infidels, and remember the grand Turk."



CHAPTER LXXXII.

THE CONSPIRATORS—THE DEED—THE FALSE INFORMERS.

The walls of Alla-hissar gleamed in the noontide heat.

The air was heavy with sleep, which weighed upon all living things, and made them seek shelter from the burning sun.

All was still in the city.

It seemed as if the spirit of death brooded over all the habitations.

Yet there were some awake at that dreary hour.

Gathered together at one of the principal houses in secret conclave were some of the chief Turks of the province.

In spite of the heat, the heavy curtains covered the doorways.

The door was shaded, and the assembly spoke in subdued tones.

At length Ibrahim Bey, a grave old Turk, subtle and resolute, arose.

"It is sacred then, friends," he said, looking round at the assembly; "the deed must be done, and the hour is at hand."

"Such is the will of Allah," was the reply of the conspirators.

"'Tis decided then, that Moley Pasha, our new governor, has, since he has assumed power, done all he could to destroy our old customs, and introduce the manners of the infidel Franks, therefore he must die."

"He must die," murmured the assembly.

"Allah's will be done," said old Ibrahim, turning up his eyes piously; "but by whose hand shall the blow be struck? Who will take upon himself the dangerous deed?"

Up rose Abdullah, the interpreter, formerly of Mr. Mole's party.

"I will do it," he said, in a firm voice; "he dies ere another hour has sped. I will risk the deadly danger, if you will guarantee, that if I succeed, I shall be rewarded."

"That is but just," said Ibrahim Bey. "Should it be his sacred majesty's pleasure that I succeed Moley, a post of honour shall be the guerdon of your bravery."

"I accept the terms," said Abdullah; "I know a secret way into the palace, I have a disguise and a dagger; doubt not my courage for the rest. Wait here, my friends, and ere another hour strikes, I shall return to say the deed is done."

He glided from the room, leaving the others wondering at the cool audacity with which he undertook so desperate and criminal a deed.

The angel of sleep had spread her wings over the seraglio of Moley Pasha.

The veiled beauties of the harem had retired to their luxurious rooms.

The pasha slept soundly and peacefully.

Well for him had his dreams warned him against the peril that hovered over him like a black shadow.

For the form of a woman, tall, thin, closely-veiled, glided along the passages of the harem.

Her steps gave forth no sound, and she disturbed not the sleeping servants.

She glided like a smooth serpent, or an invisible spirit; her presence was unseen, unfelt, unsuspected.

She enters the inner chamber where lies the unconscious pasha.

She bends over him, she draws forth a knife, slender, tapering to a point almost like a needle.

The pasha still slept on, the fountain outside made sweet music, heard through the curtains and windows.

A smile played upon the pasha's lips.

He was dreaming, perchance, of the rosy bowers and the dark-eyed houris of Paradise.

Suddenly the knife descended, there was the flash of a moment, while it hovered like a hawk over its quarry, the next instant it was buried in the pasha's heart.

A deep groan was the only effort of expiring nature.

The fiercely flashing eyes, and a part of the face of the murderer were now exposed; the dress was that of a woman, but the form and features were those of Abdullah the interpreter.

For a moment he stood gazing on his deed, then lifted some tapestry which concealed a small door, and disappeared.

* * * *

What cry was that which startles the seraglio from its siesta?

What combined lamentation disturbs the whole palace with its harrowing intensity?

All the inmates of the establishment have been rudely awakened from their slumbers.

It was the pasha's favourite wife who had broken in upon the privacy of her lord, and she had found him dead.

Dead, plainly by the assassin's dagger, but what assassin, none could even suspect.

None could conjecture by what means any stranger could have obtained entrance and exit.

Then arose that dreadful wail of despair, that beating of breasts, and tearing of tresses.

The news soon spread, and the whole town was in a fever of commotion.

Who had done the deed?

Who was to be Moley Pasha's successor?

The conspirators played their parts well.

Ibrahim Bey pretended to be terribly amazed and shocked: he refused to be placed at the head of affairs until the sultan's will should be known, and he offered rewards for the discovery of the assassin.

A council, consisting of Ibrahim and others, was now established to temporarily rule the town.

A grand funeral, at which all the dignitaries of the place attended, was given to the unfortunate pasha, the evening after his assassination.

The same night arrived a firman from the sultan, proclaiming Ibrahim Pasha of Allahissar.

Such is the perilous nature of the power and dignity in Eastern lands.

Ibrahim at once appointed Abdullah his vizier, and gave all the other conspirators important posts.

Several perfectly innocent men were arrested and hanged on a pretended suspicion of having caused the late pasha's death.

At the first divan held by the new pasha, two Englishmen were announced, who were said to be the bearers of important evidence about the murder.

They were admitted accordingly, and proved to be no others than Murray and Chivey.

"Christians, you are welcome," said Ibrahim, through his new vizier. "Allah in his wisdom hath sent you hither, wherefore discover your knowledge."

Murray bowed, and seated himself upon a chair pointed out to him by the pasha.

Chivey, as a servant, wasn't honoured with a seat, whereat he murmured, half to himself—

"Well, they might let a cove sit down, and if they offered us a drop of something cool this hot weather, it wouldn't come unwelcome."

Reclining on his divan in the old Turkish style, and smoking his hookah, Ibrahim listened to Murray's communication.

"It may already be known to your excellency that there is in your dominions a young scapegrace of an Englishman, named Jack Harkaway. He has surrounded himself with many doers of evil, worse even than himself, amongst whom is an old scoundrel, formerly a schoolmaster, who, though he has lost both his legs, still continues to go about, and get into mischief."

"The audacious giaour who dared to impersonate Moley Pasha?" asked Ibrahim.

"The same," continued Murray. "Well, I have received proofs that it was this Harkaway and his friend who murdered the real Moley Pasha."

"Shade of Eblis!" exclaimed Ibrahim, pretending to be much shocked. "This must be seen to; Christian, proceed."

"Harkaway was once my friend," continued Murray, "and it is quite against my will to speak against him; but my love of justice is above all other considerations."

"Christian," said Ibrahim, "proceed."

"In the harem of your illustrious predecessor," said Murray, "there lately resided a Greek girl, of exquisite beauty, named Thyra, a pearl of delight, a peri of Paradise, and she was bewitched by this Harkaway, who, how we know not, penetrated within the sacred precincts of his highness's harem, and stole her away."