"Vengeance of Allah! but he deserves death!" exclaimed the pasha, half rising, and his eyes flashing with anger.

"But, your eminence, to make his crime complete, he committed another; he stabbed the pasha to the heart."

"By the sword of the prophet, he dies!" exclaimed Ibrahim; "but what proof hast thou of all this?"

"I can bring several witnesses to the truth of what I say," said Murray. "If any other proof were wanting, Thyra, the pearl beyond price, disappeared from the palace the very day, the very hour of the pasha's death, and she is now at the residence of Harkaway and his friends."

"Please, your worship," here broke in Chivey, "if you'll let me have my talk, I'll prove it, as sure as eggs are eggs."

"The giaour's servant entreats your highness to listen to the words of truth," was the way in which the astute Abdullah translated this appeal.

Chivey gave his evidence, a story carefully concocted between him and his master, and to this was added the confirmation of several natives of the town, men who would swear black was white, for a dollar or two.

Of course, old Mole was represented as Harkaway's chief adviser, and his aider and abettor in the late pasha's death.

This story, of course, did not really impose upon Ibrahim Pasha; he knew more of the actual facts than Murray could do, but it served his turn to pretend to believe it, so he thanked Murray for his information.

Abdullah (the real assassin) was so profound a dissembler, so utterly devoid of conscience, that he put down, at Murray's dictation, the names of the innocent Harkaway and his friends, remarking calmly—

"I think we have got hold of the right criminals at last."

"We will send and have them arrested at once," said Ibrahim. "Vizier, let these Christians be rewarded for their information by a purse of gold, and despatch an armed force to the lair of those English dogs, who have slain my lamented predecessor. And, Vizier, don't forget, whatever you do, to bring the beautiful Thyra to me."

"Pasha, to hear is to obey," said Abdullah.

"Ha, ha! I think we've done for the Harkaway party this time," said Murray gleefully to Chivey.

"It was a capital dodge, I must say," answered Chivey, "although my belief is that Ibrahim Passher is an old rascal, and knows who really did for the last governor."

"Keep all such suspicions to yourself," said Murray.

In a short time the captain of the pasha's guards, with a detachment of troops, marched out to arrest our hero and his friends.

The news spread like wildfire that the murderers of the late pasha had at length been discovered.



CHAPTER LXXXIII.

JACK HAS TO STAND A SIEGE.

And how far were Jack Harkaway and his friends really guilty in this matter?

It was indeed true that Thyra, the beautiful Greek slave before alluded to, had fled from the harem of the late pasha.

But this had nothing at all to do with his assassination.

No doubt Thyra cherished a strong attachment for young Jack, having found a refuge in the same house.

She could not overcome it.

"I throw myself upon your protection," she said. "If I returned to my master's, my fate would be instant death, but that would be preferable to living without you, and be for ever separated from you."

Jack was much embarrassed.

He told her, gently as he could, that her love was hopeless.

"Oh, do not say that," cried Thyra, bursting into tears. "Do not send me away; I'm ready to be your slave, and obey your every word."

Jack consulted with his friends under this difficult and delicate condition of affairs, and they all agreed that Thyra must not be given up to the pasha.

An hour afterwards, the report of his murder made matters still more serious.

But he never dreamed that any suspicion of the actual crime would be turned against himself.

It was therefore agreed to keep Thyra in close concealment, until an opportunity offered to get her back to her friends.

The house occupied by Harkaway and his friends was, like most Oriental edifices, built for endurance.

The walls were thick and strong as those of a castle.

The doorway was narrow, and led into a square courtyard or garden, and with a fountain in the centre.

Into this yard most of the rooms opened.

The windows facing the street were mere loopholes.

The roof was flat, and in the evening formed a favourite lounge, approached by a flight of steps, from one angle of the court.

It is necessary to be particular in describing the house, that our readers may fully understand what follows.

Jack Harkaway was one morning in the courtyard, near the centre, with Harry Girdwood, looking at a heap of curious weapons, which they had purchased when roaming about the bazaars.

"Why, we've got quite an armory here," said Harry Girdwood. "It's a pity we haven't got some fighting to do to use them."

"I mean to make the place into a kind of fortress," said Jack. "Here, Bogey."

"What you after, Massa Jack?" asked the nigger, appearing instantly.

"Go and take charge of the gate, and don't let anyone pass in or out without my order."

"Right you are, massa; me keep him safe as a sentrybox," answered the darkey.

And he started off to take up the post assigned to him.

Jack next summoned Tinker.

"Serve us up our dinner here under the trees," said Jack; "and be quick about it, you rascal, or——"

"Understand puffeckly, massa," responded the black. "To hear yer is to obey yer, as dese Turkeys say. Yah, yah."

It was very pleasant to sit down to their repast under the refreshing shade of the trees.

Of course Mr. Mole and the orphan, as well as Thyra, the waiter and the diver, were summoned and came at this juncture.

The orphan and Mole appeared arm-in-arm.

Mr. Mole had a black bottle in one hand and a tall glass in the other.

He looked very jolly, whilst the orphan appeared rather melancholy, for his flute had got slightly cracked.

"Have a drop to raise your spirits," said the schoolmaster, filling him a brimmer, and fairly forcing it into his hand.

The orphan could not refuse so pressing an invitation.

He drained the glass, and as it came upon the top of several more, its effect upon him was not inconsiderable.

Intending to walk straight to the table, he walked, instead, extremely "slantindicular," till lurching up against the fountain as he passed it, he stumbled over its ledge, and fell with a splash into the middle of its basin.

Mr. Mole, with the best intentions in the world, rushed to his companion's rescue.

Before Mole could reach the orphan, his patent legs being still uncontrollable, and his head unsteady also, he fell backwards, smashing his wine bottle on the stones of the courtyard.

The scene was certainly ludicrous, and elicited much laughter from the spectators.

They, however, helped the orphan out of his accidental and very unwelcome bath, which, though it had drenched him, had also sobered him.

Mole was also assisted to re-assume an erect posture, and in a short time, both of them were sufficiently recovered to take their places at the table.

Mole and Figgins seemed somewhat struck by the warlike appearance of the place.

"What are you going to do with all that cutlery?" inquired Mr. Mole.

"Perhaps you mean to set up in the scissors trade?" suggested the orphan.

"You'll see by and by, old man," answered our hero. "We shall find 'em useful, perhaps sooner than you expect."

"Oh, dear! I hope not," exclaimed Figgins. "I'm sure I don't want any more fighting; I have had more than is good for my health."

The waiter now took up his accustomed duty of attending on the guests.

The diver, at Jack's request, summoned Thyra, whose classic features, slender form, and Eastern garb, were well in keeping with the scene around.

A seat of honour was kept for her at the al fresco banquet, to which Jack gallantly conducted her.

No one could doubt her love for him, for it shone out in her slightest action, her very words, and look, and tone. It seemed a pity that he could not return it, otherwise than by studied politeness and consideration.

To be at his side, to hear the sound of his voice, was her greatest happiness, and made her forget all other dangers and troubles.

When towards the conclusion of the meal, Jack proceeded to—

"Fill high the bowl with Samian wine,"

and hand it to Thyra, it was to her a moment of supreme pleasure.

Her dark eyes sparkled, her soft cheek flushed, and her jewelled fingers trembled as they held the crystal glass, filled with what, for his sake, and independent of its own nature, was to her as the nectar of the gods.

"Hark! What noise is that?" asked Jack, with such suddenness, that Thyra spilt some of the wine ere it could reach her lips.

There was indeed a sound in the street like the blended hum of many voices, and tread of many feet, each moment becoming louder.

"Perhaps it is some procession," said Harry Girdwood.

"Or a march round of the troops before the new pasha," said Mole. "Oh, how I pity him."

"No, there's something up more dreadful than that, I am sure," exclaimed the orphan. "Oh, this terrible country. I'll go home to-morrow if they'll only let me."

"Here, Tinker, you black son of a gun; go up on the roof, and see what's the matter," said Jack.

The nigger ascended as nimbly as a monkey.

At that moment a thundering knock came at the outer gate.

"What you want?" asked Bogey, still acting as porter.

"Open, in the name of the pasha," said a stern voice outside.

Bogey replied not, but ran in to his master.

Tinker and he arrived breathless at the same moment.

"Awful lot o' soldiers—Turks—outside, big guns and swords, massa," said Tinker.

"Wants to come in here, too," added Bogey. "Hark! Oh, ain't they giving what for at the door? They're at it again, a-hammerin' away."

And the thundering knocking was repeated louder than before, and a stern voice demanding Thyra, the slave.

"Just as I feared," cried Jack; "they've found out where Thyra is, and have come to drag her back."

"Oh, powers of Heaven, protect us all!" she exclaimed, nervously clutching Jack's arm. "Am I unfortunate enough, dear Jack, to have brought you into this great peril? I entreat you to save yourselves by surrendering me; only do me one favour; let one of your number shoot me dead as soon as I am in the enemy's hands."

"Impossible, dear Thyra!" said Jack. "Do you think, as a Boy of England, it is possible for me to act in that cowardly way? No; we must make a gallant resistance. Surely we are well prepared; here are arms enough for all. Where's the Irish diver?"

"Here, your honour, ready for any row that's goin'."

"Mr. Mole, you can handle a gun," said Jack; "here is one that will just suit you."

The waiter and the orphan were also accommodated with weapons, but the orphan thought he would rather load the guns than fire them off.

"Quick! get all the movables, and place them against the gate," said Jack. "With its own strength, its bolts, and bars, and keys, and a barricade behind it, we can defy this band of Turks, or the sultan himself."

All gave a cheer at these defiant words, and proceeded with their impromptu fortification with great vigour.

"I'll go up on the roof and reconnoitre," said Harry.

And dangerous as was this duty, he proceeded to it with great alacrity.

In a few moments he came down, with much consternation on his face.

"This is a bad job, Jack," he said; "worse than I thought."

"How?" asked our hero.

"We are accused of murdering the pasha, as well as carrying off the young Greek girl. There are over a hundred of the pasha's troops on guard outside, with that scoundrel Abdullah at the head of them, and thousands of wild Moslem fanatics, thirsting for our blood."

"I will go and see for myself," cried young Jack.

"For Heaven's sake, don't," said Harry, restraining him; "it will be certain death, for you, as our leader, are the particular object of their animosity."

Thyra's entreaties were even more pressing.

She threw her arms round Jack's neck, and earnestly entreated him not to risk his life.

"Dear Thyra," cried Jack, "you shall not be taken. I will and must protect you."

He sprang up the stairway, and was soon on the roof.

It was a sight indeed to appal the stoutest heart.

As far as the eye could reach was an excited crowd, restless, furious, and thirsting for vengeance.

In the front were a body of troops, in Turkish uniform, led by the captain of the guard by whose side could be recognised the sinister countenance of Abdullah.

They caught sight of Jack Harkaway.

He was recognised.

A shout burst from a thousand throats; a deep, angry cry, like the roar of a tempestuous sea.

Thousands of eyes flashed upon him—the eyeballs gleaming white from out of the dusky skins.

"The murderer of the pasha—the despoiler of the harem!" they cried. "Death, death to him, and all the Christians!"

Jack endeavoured to parley with them; but it was useless, until silence was obtained by the commands of the captain of the guard and Abdullah, who called out to Jack—

"Resistance is useless; surrender at once, or I will not answer for your life."

"If you want me, you must come and fetch me," returned dauntless Jack.

"Your blood be upon your own head, then," said Abdullah.

The captain gave the word of command, and the battering, for a while suspended, was recommenced upon the door below.



CHAPTER LXXXIV.

THE SIEGE—THE ESCAPE—A DESPERATE RUSE.

Jack now left his dangerous elevation, and returned to his friends.

"Quite as bad as it can be," he said; "there's nothing for it but to make a desperate resistance, and to die game."

The yells and shouts of the crowd outside were like the combined roar of a large herd of wild beasts.

The blows became more furious on the door.

It quivered beneath the repeated shocks; but its own strength, and that of the fastenings, and particularly the barricade behind it, still defied the efforts of the besiegers.

Suddenly the hammering ceased, the yells of the crowd subsided.

Then came a volley of musketry.

They were firing at the door.

The volleys came thick and fast; the woodwork, strong as it was, began to be penetrated by the bullets.

It was clear the place would soon be untenable.

Should the besiegers enter, all hope of escape would be over.

"At least, we'll return their fire," said Jack.

The windows in the wall facing the street were mere loopholes.

At each of these, Jack commanded one of his men to take his stand, and pick off the enemy with the rifle.

It was a dangerous game, but it served its purpose.

Several of the besiegers fell before the well-aimed shots of the besieged.

The Turks began to think that they were being opposed by a considerable force of well armed men.

Their own shots failed to reach the highly-placed and narrow windows, which were now so many portholes for the fire of the besieged.

The captain and Abdullah accordingly ordered their troops to fall back.

The excited crowd gave a yell of disappointment.

"I do believe we've defeated them, after all," cried Harry Girdwood.

But it was only a lull in the storm—a fatal presage of overwhelming disaster.

The Turkish commanders now resolved to make certain of victory by bringing up a cannon.

If, by this means, their troops could once effect an entrance—and this was almost certain—what could stop their progress.

What were Harkaway's mere handful of men against the thousands they would have to encounter!

Once more, and at greater peril than ever, Jack went on the housetop to reconnoitre.

He laid himself down flat that he might not be seen, but yet contrived to take a rapid glance of the position.

The house was detached on three sides; the fourth side was built against the wall of a mosque.

Upon those three sides the building was entirely surrounded by troops.

The only chance of escape would be by the mosque.

But how was this to be effected?

The wall of the sacred building rose high above that of the house.

Jack raised himself to examine it more closely.

A flash—a report—and the whiz of a bullet told him that he was observed.

A volley followed from all sides.

It would therefore be impossible for his party to raise a ladder, and thus escape from their own roof on to that of the mosque.

Jack, the bullets whistling thickly around him, managed to crawl unhurt to the trapdoor and again descend into the courtyard.

"Well, Jack, what think you of the situation now?" asked Harry.

"Desperate, indeed."

"They gave you a very warm reception, my boy," said Mr. Mole.

"It will be warmer still when they capture us," said Harkaway.

"Oh, gracious, gracious! how shall we ever get out of this? Oh, dear! oh, dear! I wish I was in London once more," cried the orphan, wringing his hands.

His distress contrasted strongly with the calm, self-possessed demeanour of the beautiful Thyra at this time of supreme peril.

"There is but one thing we can do," said Jack.

"What is that?" asked Harry, anxiously.

"Break through that wall and get into the mosque; that's the only side of the building which isn't surrounded."

"But it is impossible to pierce such a wall as that," said Harry.

"We'll try, at all events," Jack responded. "Come, boys," he added, "one last desperate effort, and we'll baffle 'em yet."

The waiter and diver understood in a minute.

Hurriedly they collected the tools—pickaxes, crowbars, chisels, and hammers—and they all set to work on the masonry.

But their momentary hopes soon subsided.

The mortar had, in the course of ages, become even harder than the stone itself.

It was impossible to make any impression upon it.

When they saw this, disappointment was depicted upon every countenance.

Jack flung down, in sheer despair, the chisel with which he had attempted to break the mortar.

As the implement fell upon the stones of the courtyard, Thyra's quick ear noticed the peculiar sound.

"It is hollow beneath here," she exclaimed, eagerly.

Again testing the floor in the same way, they became convinced that she was right.

There were probably vaults beneath this courtyard, and this stone concealed the entrance to them.

Animated by this fresh hope, the party now worked away, and in a few minutes had lifted the ponderous flagstone.

A flight of rude steps, leading down into utter darkness, was discovered.

"As I thought," cried Jack, "these are vaults; we may baffle them after all. Bogey, run down immediately and see what they are like."

Bogey hesitated not a moment, but skipped down the rude steps and disappeared.

The others waited his return with great anxiety.

At this moment, a shout of triumph was raised by their enemies outside.

It signified that the cannon had been brought, and that the attack would soon recommence.

The hope of escape was still of the very slightest.

In a few moments Bogey returned.

"Well?" asked Jack.

"All cellars, massa, goin' along—oh, miles and miles under de earth, all dark, 'cepting a bit of light that comes here and there through little holes in de roof. Plenty of room to hide all of us, sar. Oh, golly, won't de nasty Turks go mad?"

"Hurrah! down you go immediately," said Jack. "Now then, ladies first. Harry, I commend Thyra to your care. Take her down."

"I can not, will not leave you, dear Jack," she cried, desperately clinging to our hero.

"No, no; I will soon be with you. For Heaven's sake. Thyra, do not hesitate now, or we shall all be lost. Go quietly; it is my wish."

Thyra resisted no more, but with Harry's assistance descended the steps into the vault.

"Now, Mr. Mole, down you go," said Jack. "Here, Figgins, you take his legs and go first, or they'll be running away with him again. Tinker, follow behind, supporting his head."

But Mr. Mole objected to this arrangement.

"What! do you think I'm an infant, to need carrying?" he said, with offended dignity. "No, though I have got patent self-controlling cork legs, I can walk down by myself."

And to prove this, he began jauntily descending the steps.

But the next moment he lost his footing, and with a cry, tumbled right down to the bottom, on to the body of the unfortunate orphan.

Luckily, it was not very far to fall, and Mr. Mole was very little hurt, though Figgins got the worst of it.

"Now, boys, down you go," cried Jack. "Hark! they are battering down the gate with artillery."

At that moment a ball tore through the doorway, shattered the top of the barricade, and at length lodged in the solid masonry.

Yells of triumph broke from the Turks.

"Quick! Tinker, Bogey, for your lives!" cried Jack.

"Is it that we are to desart ye!" cried the Irish diver. "No, Mr. Jack, I'll see you down first."

"Please make haste," said Jack almost imploringly. "Of course I shall save myself; but I'm the captain, you know, and I mustn't leave the ship till the last."

Thus reassured, the rest descended, and no sooner was the last safe in the vault, than Jack Harkaway shut down the stone in its place, thus closing the opening.

Then he hastily laid earth in the interstices round it, and tried to efface all signs of its having been recently removed.

With equal rapidity, he gathered up the crowbars, chisels, etc.

All this time the firing continued.

The door would soon give way and the enemy pour into the courtyard.

Was our hero mad, thus to remain behind while his friends escaped?

No.

His conduct was part of a desperate and deep-laid design.

He saw that if he had followed them in their rapid flight, the Turks would be sure to perceive that the stone had been removed, and this would at once enable them to discover the retreat of the whole party.

By remaining outside, he could restore the stone to its original appearance.

And this he had now done.

But his own safety?

He had thought of that, too.

Wild and desperate as was his scheme—one that required far more than ordinary courage to accomplish—gathering up the tools, he re-entered the house, and rapidly ascended to his own room.

Here, from the window, he could perceive how much the crowd of enemies had increased outside.

He was almost shaken off his feet by another discharge of artillery.

But every second was precious.

Hastily Jack robed himself in the ordinary garb of a middle-class Turk—for he had plenty of Oriental garments—bound a turban round his brows, and rubbed his face all over with a chemical powder, which greatly darkened his complexion.

He quickly stained his eyebrows a deep black, with henna.

None of his friends could now have recognised Jack Harkaway.

But how were his enemies to be deceived and eluded?

Having completed this hasty transformation, Jack descended the stairs.

He looked out into the courtyard.

A third discharge of artillery had now broken down the door, and the troops were rapidly clearing away the obstacles before entering in a body.

Loud were their shouts of triumph, and Jack recognised the countenance of Abdullah, lit up by a savage satisfaction.

But a glance sufficed.

Jack then retired into the smaller garden at the back, where he completely concealed himself under some thick shrubs.

In a few moments, the troops were all over the yard, probing and seeking in every corner.

Just as Jack had calculated, the soldiers were followed by a wild helter-skelter of Turks, of all ages and conditions, fanatical Moslems, who were ready to raze to the ground the accursed house where the Christians had taken refuge.

The soldiers were considerably surprised to find no one.

They sought in every room in vain, to their intense disappointment.

Abdullah's fury was terrible to witness.

Speedily the whole house was filled with a motley Turkish rabble.

In this fact consisted Jack's safety.

Seeing the moment when a number of the Turks were passing his hiding-place, he stepped out and mingled with them.

In the confusion, nobody noticed him.

In appearance, he was just like a score of other wild Turkish youths who were in the throng, shouting lustily "Death to the Christians!" in which cry Jack joined with great vigour.

The crisis of his danger was now over.

He had only to follow the movements of the crowd, and join the first group who, tired of their search, went back through the gate.

This soon happened, and amongst those disappointed Turks, Jack Harkaway was not for a moment conspicuous.

Mingling now with the crowd outside, Jack soon found an opportunity of slipping down a side lane, and reaching the suburbs of the town.

He was free, his disguise still protecting him.

He now increased his speed, making towards the desert.

For there dwelt the tribe of Arabs with whom he was friendly, who hated the new pasha as much as the old one, and who would be sure to extend their assistance to the gallant young Englishman, and enable him to rescue his friends. They received him kindly.

Jack told his story—in which they were all powerfully interested—but they told him that nothing could be done until the chief returned.

In the meantime, our hero was so overcome by excitement and fatigue that a deep sleep fell upon him, despite his efforts to keep it off.



CHAPTER LXXXV.

ADVENTURES IN THE VAULTS—NEW FRIENDS—JACK AGREEABLY SURPRISED.

We must now follow Jack's friends in their subterranean flight.

They were, in fact, the remains of some ancient and long-disused fortifications, of far greater antiquity than the edifice which had been built over them.

Light and air were only admitted by small gratings on the sides of the roofing, which was about level with the ground outside.

As soon as the party had got over the confusion of their hurried concealment, Harry Girdwood took the lead.

Their greatest distress was the loss of Jack Harkaway.

That he was not with them soon became evident.

And that being shut outside would be certain death to him, seemed equally so.

Thyra could by no means be consoled.

Her grief at this separation from Jack took the form of intense and violent lamentations.

She declared that had she known that Jack would thus be left outside, no consideration would have induced her to enter the vaults.

In her frenzy of despair and her love for him, she resolved to go back and perish with him.

But all her efforts were inadequate to raise the stone which had already resisted the greater strength of Harry Girdwood.

As soon as the Greek girl could be in the least degree pacified, the party proceeded through the vaults, Harry reminding them that they were by no means out of all danger, but that further on some other outlet, or at least more secure retreat might be discovered.

It was a great drawback that they had no lamp or candle, but Tinker had a box of matches, and by lighting one of these at every few yards, they were enabled to gain some idea of the place they were in.

In this way they penetrated a considerable distance, till arriving at a kind of wide underground room, the party rested awhile.

Harry Girdwood now proposed to go and explore the further portion of this subterranean region.

Leaving, therefore, the others resting, he took the box of matches, and entered the further passage.

He soon found a low rugged opening, from which another passage branched off.

Going through this, Harry was almost sent falling on his face through making a false step, for he did not see that this passage lay more than a foot lower than the other.

Then he struck one of his matches, and by its light perceived that this passage was lower, narrower, and more rugged and winding than the rest of the vaults, and seemed to have been hewn out of the earth, rather than built in it.

"Perhaps this leads to a cave," he thought, "inhabited by robbers or wild beasts. In that case I shall come off badly. I ought to have brought Bogey with me; he's ugly enough to frighten any body. Never mind, here goes."

And grasping his cutlass in one hand, and in the other a piece of lighted paper, which he had twisted into the form of a torch, Harry Girdwood marched manfully on.

Grazing his head against a jutting piece of rock reminded him that the passage was growing very small, and it behoved him to stop.

Suddenly Harry stopped.

He heard voices.

He saw the gleam of a light at the end of the passage.

He was apparently approaching some robbers' lair. Here was a fresh peril.

But there was still time to draw back from it.

No; urged on by curiosity, Harry determined to see and know the worst.

In a few moments that curiosity was gratified.

He came to a point where the narrow, winding passage terminated, leading out into a lofty, rugged vault fitted up in rude imitation of a room.

Here, seated upon the floor in a group were about a dozen men, all armed, and by their dress and appearance evidently Bedouin Arabs.

Harry was at once reassured.

He knew that the Arabs were enemies to the Turks.

The sharp eyes and quick ears of one of these sons of the desert soon "spotted" the stranger, and before he could resist or retreat, gave the alarm.

Two of them seized and secured him.

Harry now feared that his curiosity would cost him dear.

Questioned by their chief, Harry, by dint of words and signs, explained what had occurred.

The Bedouins became at once friendly.

They were ever ready to help even the unbelieving Christians against the still more hated Turks.

Two of their number were therefore told off to accompany Harry back.

By the aid of a torch, the three soon found their way to the rest of the party, who were astonished and alarmed at the ferocious appearance of their intending deliverers.

Indeed, the waiter and diver drew their weapons and prepared to offer resistance, but Harry stepped forward and explained that the Arabs were friends.

Thyra, who could speak perfectly both Turkish and Arabic, acted as interpreter, and gave a full account of all that had occurred, which seemed to impress the Bedouins greatly.

The beauty of the speaker produced a powerful effect upon the young and gallant chief to whom Thyra particularly addressed herself.

"Oh, brave sheikh," she exclaimed, "hasten to assist the young Englishman whom I love, and who has fallen into their hands while so generously saving his friends."

"Lady, more beautiful than the peri of the gate of Heaven," replied the chief, Kara-al-Zariel, "I and the warriors of my tribe will protect thee and thy friends."

Thyra knelt and kissed the hem of the Arab chief's garment in humble gratitude.

He raised her from the ground.

As he did so, the deepest admiration shone from his dark and luminous eyes.

But Thyra felt love only for young Jack.

"We were even now debating how to attack the Turks," said the Arab, "Ibrahim is our enemy; but from thy words, it would appear that they are strong and many, and armed with the weapons of western science. In the desert, we fear neither men, nor kings, nor armies, but in the cities our strength availeth not."

"But you will at least fly to the assistance of brave Jack," implored Thyra.

"It is too late; already the castle is in the hands of the pasha's men, and your friend doubtless is their captive!"

"But you will rescue him?" entreated Thyra; "promise us that."

"I promise to make the attempt, fair maiden," answered Kara-al Zariel; "but it must be by night and by stealth."

"That hope gives me comfort," exclaimed Thyra.

"Thou seemest greatly to love this Frankish youth," observed the chief, bending his dark eyes upon her; "if so, he is much to be envied."

"Gallant emir," said Harry, addressing Al-Zariel at this juncture, "is this cave safe from the entrance of our common enemy?"

"Safe as the top of Caucasus, as far as we are concerned," the chief answered. "The Turks know not of these vaults, and if they did, would not venture here to be at our mercy. It was through these vaults that we intended to enter and take the town by surprise."

"But where does the other end lead to?" asked Harry.

"Into our native desert, where its opening is concealed by a dense shrubbery," replied Al-Zariel. "We have often found these caves very useful in our excursions against the Turks. But you and your friends shall accompany us to our tents, where the Turks will be bold indeed to seek you."

Harry thanked him for this generous offer.

This arrangement having been made, the party quitted the caves by means of a narrow path leading between two walls of high rock.

Two of the chief's men, disguised as Turks, were left behind to enter the town and keep an eye upon the condition of affairs there.

The chief of course took command of the party.

He seemed to make Thyra the especial object of his care.

It was evidently a case of "love at first sight" towards her who had been, with equal suddenness, smitten with Jack Harkaway.

And both attachments were equally hopeless.

In some parts the path was so narrow that it was with difficulty they could squeeze through it.

This rugged path proved particularly difficult to Mr. Mole, whose head was, as usual, not entirely free from the fumes of alcohol, and whose ungovernable legs still insisted upon going all ways but the right one.

But his Arab friends occasionally assisted his progress by prodding him in the back with their long spears, a species of incitement he could well have dispensed with, but which they insisted upon affording.

The poor orphan, too, was, as usual, bowed down with weight of woe.

"Oh, what a cold I am having," he exclaimed, pathetically, feeling for his pocket handkerchief. "It's tumbling into that fountain that did it. Oh, dear, what shall I do? It will be my death, I know it will."

Such was the burden of his lament, which greatly amused the others, especially Bogey and Tinker.

They were now on the edge of the desert some distance outside the walls of the town.

The Arab tents could be faintly descried in the distance.

They had still some distance to walk in order to reach them.

The road, however, was now plain and easy, consisting of the usual flat desert sand.

On nearing this encampment, they were challenged by a Bedouin sentinel, but the chief, stepping forward and explaining, the whole group were of course readily admitted.

The black and white camel-hair tents dotted the plain to a considerable distance, and numerous horses and camels were picketed round.

One of the principal Arabs having conferred with Kara-al-Zariel, he went back to his English guests, saying—

"Christian friends, I will now show you what will cheer your hearts even more than the flesh of lambs, or odour of pure bread. Behold!"

And throwing back the curtains of the tent, he exposed Jack Harkaway, attired as a Turk, peacefully sleeping upon a rude couch.

The astonishment and relief of mind experienced by our friends at this discovery cannot be described.

Their joy at finding Jack safe was equal to their wonder how he had escaped.

But what words will denote the ecstasy of Thyra?

With a cry of delight, she ran towards him, and kneeling beside his couch, poured forth thanksgivings to Heaven for his deliverance.

This caused some jealousy to the noble chief, who now began to perceive how passionately the "Pearl of the Isles," as he called the beautiful Greek, was enamoured of the youthful Briton.

"Stay," he said, as Thyra passionately impressed her lips on the brow of the sleeping youth. "Stay, or you will wake him. The Christian sleeps the slumber of the weary; disturb him not, and his waking will be all the more joyous."

"Thou sayest right," answered Thyra. "If he is happy, sleeping or waking, 'tis not for me to intrude upon his happiness. But I will sit here and watch his slumbers, that I may be the first to greet him when he wakes."

"You mustn't do any thing of the kind, miss!" interposed the waiter. "Girls can't live upon love, though you seem inclined to try at it, and as we've got a nice supper awaiting us at that tent, Mr. Girdwood insists upon your coming to join us."

With some difficulty Thyra was induced to assent, and again left the object of her idolatry sleeping in blissful unconsciousness of her presence.

A short time, however, only elapsed before, either awakened by some outward sound or disturbed by some dream, young Jack started up, much confused and puzzled to find himself in this strange place.

Then he remembered the events of the day.

"Halloa! what's that?"

Could he believe his eyes, or was it possible that, beyond the group of Bedouins sitting feasting around the camp fire, was another group, among which the figures of Harry Girdwood, of Mole, and of Thyra were conspicuous?

It must be a dream.

Jack leapt to his feet, fixed his eyes on the group, and now recognised also Mr. Figgins, the Will-o'-the-Wisp forms of Bogey and Tinker flitting about and waiting on the others.

Now convinced, Jack rushed out of his tent into the larger one.

A perfect storm of welcome greeted him, and mutual surprise and delight were exhibited by all.

Thyra was beside herself with joy.

"Oh, dear Jack," said she, "I thought never to see you more."

"How did you get away from the Turks?" asked Harry Girdwood and two or three of the others in chorus.

Jack told his story, and in turn listened to his companions' adventures, and there were mutual congratulations upon their escape.

Never in all Jack's wanderings was there a happier occasion than this reunion.



CHAPTER LXXXVI.

THE GREEK GIRL'S FOREBODING—A BATTLE WITH THE TURKS.

Thyra slept little that night.

This could not be because she was unwearied in frame, for the toils, anxieties, and dangers of the day had been sufficient to exhaust far greater strength than hers.

It was not that she had not much cause now for anxiety of mind.

Jack was safe—that to her, was the first consideration, and all his friends, including herself, had been rescued by his cleverness from the more imminent perils that beset them.

But her soul was in a state of great agitation; dark, melancholy thoughts, which would not be chased away, continually oppressed it.

This interfered with the blissful visions, the roseate castles in the air which she was so prone to build, and of which Jack Harkaway ever formed the central figure.

If she could win his love, and accompany him to England—a grand and mysterious region which she had all her life longed to see—Thyra thought the climax of happiness would be reached.

But still she felt a terrible presentiment that, not only would this never be accomplished, but that some dread and imminent fate was hanging over her.

"To-morrow," she murmured, "the hand of destiny will lie heavily upon me; there is a voice within that tells me so."

And this melancholy condition continued throughout the hours of darkness.

She looked out of her tent.

All around her slept.

Even the sentinel had fallen asleep beside the camp fire.

The air was laden with the chill breath of night, but the stars were fading and the first gleams of dawn were breaking through the eastern mists. At such a time the appearance of the vast desert was especially gloomy and depressing.

Thyra turned her gaze in the direction of the town.

What cloud was that coming thence, and advancing along the plain towards the camp?

The Greek girl strained her eyes to penetrate the mist; in this she was assisted by the growing light of the morn.

Presently the cloud shaped itself into recognisable distinctness.

It was a mass of armed men.

The Turks were marching on their track!

Thyra's terror for a moment kept her spellbound.

This onset boded destruction to herself and all her friends; above all, to him she loved best.

Involuntarily she uttered a cry of alarm, which at once aroused the whole of the camp.

The Arabs sprang to their feet, and seized their arms.

In an instant all was commotion.

Kara-al-Zariel heard that beloved voice, and in an instant was at Thyra's side.

"What has alarmed the Pearl of the Isles?" he asked, in the poetic phraseology of his race.

Thyra stood with dishevelled hair, and dilated eyes fixed upon the approaching army, at which she pointed with trembling fingers.

"Look! look!" she exclaimed, "they are coming—the Turks are upon us!"

Kara-al-Zariel followed her gaze.

He saw the cloud; he knew the danger.

"To horse!" he thundered. "To arms! every son of the desert, and every Christian guest!"

Instantly the horses were untethered, and the riders mounted; armed men assembled on foot, and every warrior appeared in readiness.

Jack Harkaway and his friend Harry, by this time familiar as old soldiers with these sudden calls to arms, soon answered the summons; and the rest of their party, on hearing the danger, were not backward in preparing for it.

There were in the encampment a large number of fleet Arab steeds, more than were actually required by the tribe, but the chief, like many of his race, dealt largely in horseflesh.

This was particularly fortunate on the present occasion, for their Christian allies could also be mounted, and if overwhelmingly outnumbered by the enemy, could save themselves by flight.

All the more experienced warriors were now sent to the front, to face the first shock of the coming attack.

Kara-al-Zariel led a beautiful steed to Thyra.

"Mount, sweet maiden," he said; "This steed is one of fleetest. Go, ride on towards the sea, for our enemies are coming fast upon us, and this is no place for thee."

Thyra mounted, but steadfastly refused to flight.

"Thinkest thou, O chief, that I will fly from this danger?" she said scornfully. "Never! I will escape with my best friends, or perish with them."

In vain the emir persuaded her to seek safety at once.

"To perish or to fall again into the hands of the licentious Turks," he said; "remember, rash girl, these two terrible fates menace thee."

"If I am killed," responded Thyra, "it is the will of Heaven; but ere I become a captive to the Turks, the dagger shall end my life."

Her resolution being evidently fixed, the Arab chief ceased to persuade, but resolved, throughout the coming fight, to do all he could to shield her from danger.

On came the enemy's forces.

The light was now sufficient for it to be perceived that they consisted of a large and well-armed body of Turkish cavalry.

They were led, as before, by the captain of the guard, and the truculent vizier Abdullah.

If was through the latter's acuteness that the vaults beneath the castle had been discovered, and conjecturing that the fugitives had escaped thus, he had traced them into the desert.

He, therefore, organized an expedition to set out and surprise them in the camp.

Abdullah's plans were deeply laid.

He wished to capture the Greek girl, that he might curry favour with the Pasha Ibrahim by presenting her to him.

He was resolved to secure and punish Harkaway and the other Christians, to turn away every public suspicion from himself and Ibrahim, as to the late pasha's assassination.

After that, it is exceedingly probable that the unscrupulous interpreter meant in some way to destroy Ibrahim, and set up as pasha himself.

These subtle treacheries are common under the corruptions of Oriental rule.

The vizier intended to take the Arabs by surprise, and he would have succeeded in this, had it not been for Thyra.

Instead, therefore, of finding a sleeping encampment, he found the whole tribe up in arms, and ready to receive him.

Other tactics were therefore necessary, but Abdullah believed that his own superiority in numbers would ensure victory.

As the Turkish regiment approached, they spread themselves out, their object being to surround the force opposed to them.

On came the Turks.

Their sabres flashing and clashing.

The steeds neighing.

The sands of the desert rising up in clouds beneath their thundering tread.

Arrived within a short distance, the two armies halted and surveyed each other.

Then a trumpet sounded to parley, and a messenger rode forward to communicate with the Arab chief.

"To the Emir Kara-al Zariel," said the soldier, "thus saith the great Lord Ibrahim, pasha of Alla-hissar. Whereas, though thou hast been often a rebel against his highness's lawful authority, yet will he pardon thee all past misdeeds on condition that thou shalt give up the Frankish men and the Greek woman, who are accused of the secret murder of his late highness, Moley Pasha. Refuse this, and no mercy will be shown to thee or to thy tribe.

"Tell thy ruler or his officers," thus replied Kara-al Zariel, "that I refuse his proffered pardon; that Ibrahim is an assassin and usurper I despise and defy; that I will never deliver up to his hands those who have sought my hospitality, and that I and my tribe, and my guests, will resist him and his, to the death."

This rebuff was sufficiently conclusive.

There was nothing now but to commence the fight.

Shots came forth from the midst of the mass of Turkish horsemen, and were promptly answered from the muskets of the Arabs.

The battle cry of the Bedouins rang out clear in the morning air.

The first rays of the sun now lit up the plain, piercing the clouds of mist and desert-dust, and gleaming upon the rapidly-moving blades and barrels.

Now shone out the white naiks of the Arabs and the red caps of the Turks.

The Ottoman cavalry pressed with terrible force upon the Bedouins, whose old-fashioned long guns were inadequate to compete with the modern European rifles of their foe.

But on each side, the bullets tore through the ranks and laid low many a gallant warrior.

The fray soon became a fierce and close one.

A fight, hand to hand, muzzle to muzzle, and sword to sword.

One slight advantage was on the side of the Arabs.

They and their horses were quite fresh, while the Turks and their chargers were wearied with a long and difficult march.

Our friends did not forget they were Englishmen, and upheld the honour of their country in the personal bravery they showed upon this occasion.

Jack Harkaway and Harry Girdwood hewed their way right and left among the Turkish horsemen.

They were like mowers among the corn, their sickles sharp, and their harvest heavy.

Soon shone the morning sun brightly upon this scene of strife.

The Turks, from their numbers, could relieve their comrades when they became tired.

The Arabs had no such advantage.

They began to thin terribly.

But still they fought on with unabated vigour, and succeeded in preventing the enemy surrounding their encampment, and enclosing them in.

Kara-al-Zariel was ever in the thickest and most perilous part of the contest, encouraging his men with his presence.

He performed prodigies of valour, and his long hiltless Arab sabre was stained deeply with the blood of his foes.

The diver and the waiter both showed themselves skilful and valorous in fighting, and if Mole and Figgins failed to distinguish themselves so much, and preferred the more modest and retiring rearguard of the army, we must consider the weak nerves of one and the wooden legs of the other.

Bogey and Tinker were in their element, and their African blood spurred them on to deeds of bravery sometimes even approaching barbarity.

Thyra, stationed on horseback in the rear, had in her a spirit of heroism, which of her own will, would have led her to the very front of the battle.

But the entreaties of the chief and of Jack induced her to restrain her valour, and remain in a position of comparative safety from which she could see all that went on, and discharge a pistol when she saw a chance of bringing down a foe.

But by degrees the Arabs ranks were broken.

Their numbers where fearfully diminished, and no efforts of theirs seemed to make any perceptible diminution of that of the enemy.

So the chief resolved upon a retreat.

But ere this could be effected, the Turks succeeded in placing a large contingent in a position to intercept them.

"We must cut through them, or we are lost," exclaimed the chief.

The war-cry of the Arabs was again raised.

They dashed at a portion of the living ring that surrounded them.

They cut their way through the circling mass of steel.



CHAPTER LXXXVII.

STILL THE BATTLE RAGES.

At that moment Kara-al-Zariel's horse received a mortal wound, and sank beneath the chief.

He fell heavily, and narrowly escaped being trampled to death by his own advancing men.

But procuring another steed, he again led the van.

Jack Harkaway had already had two horses killed under him.

He was disfigured by blood and smoke, and dizzy with weariness and excitement, but he still fought like a lion, for it was for life.

The task of breaking through the Turkish ranks was a terrible one.

Many Arabs fell dead in the desperate attempt.

As fast as the gaps were made in the ranks of the enemy, they were filled up by fresh men.

The horses trampled upon the weary limbs of the wounded.

Into this wild melee Jack plunged, closely followed by his friend Harry.

Our hero struck down a gigantic Turk, fired a revolver into the face of another, and gave a cut right and left with his sword.

Taking advantage of the passage thus made, the other Englishmen rapidly followed their leader.

Thyra was led by the waiter and the diver, while Mole and Figgins mutually assisted each other.

It was amid shots falling like hail in every direction, and menaced by killing blows from heavy sabres that the retreat was made.

Thyra performed another act of heroism at this juncture.

A Turkish sergeant, on foot, fired straight at her as she passed.

By the width of scarce an inch, the bullet missed piercing her brain, but she answered it by a shot which sought and found the heart of the Turk, and he fell dead instantaneously.

In this way all the Englishmen got through the ranks of the foe and joined the chief.

The rest of the Arabs followed, but they had a hard task to do so, for the enemy now overwhelmingly outnumbered their reduced force.

But our friends were not to escape even thus easily.

The Turks made fresh and vigorous efforts, not only to prevent their retreat, but to effect their capture.

Seeing the peril they were in, Jack called to Thyra and said—

"My good girl, you have acted with heroic bravery, but our danger is now greater than ever, and you must quit this scene."

"Never, dear Jack, whilst you are imperilled," she firmly replied.

"But you can aid me more that way than by staying," he said. "Listen, yonder is the sea, not more than two miles off. There is an English ship in the bay; its gallant sailors will not fail to assist their countrymen in distress. Go to them at once, your steed is swiftest of all. Ride, ride for your life, dear girl."

Thyra needed no further urging.

"I will bring assistance to you," she cried, "or perish in the attempt."

She turned her steed, and was off in a minute at lightning speed.

On came the Turks, now headed by Abdullah, for his comrade, the captain of the guard, had been desperately wounded.

"We must capture them!" he cried to his men. "Forward, men; death or victory."

Jack and his men saw that resistance was useless against so overwhelming a force.

Flight was the only chance remaining to them.

Yet they could not give in without some attempt to punish their enemy.

Jack levelled his pistol at the vizier's head, but by a dexterous movement he avoided the shot.

"Yield, Christian dogs!" he thundered. "Yield to might and right, for your capture or death is inevitable."

"You do not know us Boys of England," cried Jack. "We may be taken dead, but while a breath of life remains, we will never surrender to black-hearted Turks."

The vizier answered by ordering his men to surround the Christians, which they did their best to accomplish.

But by an agile movement, Jack and his friends suddenly turned and galloped off.

It was not in the direction of the sea, for retreat was at present cut off that way, but across the desert that they fled.

"Forward!" cried Abdullah. "They must not escape us."

For a considerable time this chase continued, till the English, by "doubling" again, changed the direction of their flight, and made towards the sea.

Hope arose within their hearts, for they saw a considerable number of well-armed English sailors, led by Thyra, coming towards them.

A few minutes' galloping joined them with these welcome allies, and this reinforcement enabled Jack again to defy the Turks.

The latter drew rein, and stood for awhile in hesitation.

This unexpected turn of affairs evidently disconcerted them.

But ere their horses could be put in motion again, Jack and his party were upon them, backed by their new allies.

The impetuosity of their charge was for a moment irresistible.

They bore down all the Turks before them.

The Turkish troopers recoiled as from the flight of a rocket.

Jack rode on like a hero of old.

His hair streamed in the wind as he darted through the air on his noble Arab steed.

His eyes flashed fire, and struck awe into each foe that approached him.

But he soon found himself surrounded by his enemies. Abdullah, who was at their head, cast himself upon Jack. Their horses were driven on their haunches by the force of the shock.

Half a dozen sabres at once circled round Jack's head.

Abdullah made a lunge at him with his sword, which would have proved the death of Jack had not Harry Girdwood at that instant caught the thrust upon his arm.

Poor Harry! His devotion to his friend had cost him dear.

He reeled, and would have fallen from his saddle, probably trampled to death, had not Bogey, at the risk of his own life, caught him and led his horse apart from the thick of the battle.

Burning to avenge his friend, Jack struck with all his force at Abdullah's head.

The interpreter received the blow upon his sword, which, proving the stronger of the two, Jack's weapon snapped in the clash, and he was left weaponless.

He seemed, indeed, at the mercy of his pitiless foe.

Abdullah smiled a cruel smile as he again raised his sabre.

But that smile was his last.

A lance-head gleamed past Jack, and transfixed Abdullah through the chest, so that he was borne down among the trampling hoofs of the horses.

"Yah, yah; dat's one to me, Massa Jack," exclaimed Tinker, for he it was who had thus saved Jack's life.

Jack caught up Abdullah's sword, and, by a desperate charge, cut through the opposing Turks, now "demoralised" by the loss of their leader, and regained his Bedouin and English friends.

By this time the heat was very great.

The sky was like a dome of steel.

The sands of the desert burnt under the fierce sun.

The dust flew in clouds, save where the blood of the wounded and dying had soaked into the arid soil.

Taking advantage of the confusion that now reigned in the Turkish force, the English and Arabs made a last desperate effort to escape their foes.

With a yell of defiance, the fierce Bedouins, led by Kara-al-Zariel, dashed through the ranks of the enemy, dealing destruction right and left.

Taking advantage of the disconcerted state of the foe, Jack and his friends were enabled again to join their Arab allies, and the retreat of the whole party towards the shore began in good earnest.

They would soon have distanced their now exhausted foes, but ere the English vessel could be reached, another large body of Turks came up to the attack.

This force was led by no less a personage than the Pasha Ibrahim himself, whose fierce grey eyes glared beneath his shaggy brows at those who had slain his vizier.

Beside him rode the officer in command of his squadron, and another young man, in whom, although dressed in red fez and Turkish uniform, Jack recognised Herbert Murray.

He was attended by his servant Chivey, also dressed as a Turk.

They were all splendidly mounted; their horses fresh, and their troops well-disciplined.

As the two parties approached, the pasha's eyes were fixed upon Thyra.

"It is the Pearl of the Isles," he exclaimed, "who was stolen by these infidels from the harem. She shall yet be mine. One thousand piastres to the man who will capture her."

A dozen of his men instantly started in pursuit of Thyra, who was a little in advance of her companions.

Her beautiful Arab steed seemed to have taken a sudden fright, for it started off at lightning speed, independent of Thyra's attempts to turn him, for she wished to die or escape by the side of her companions.

Separated from them, and pursued by a dozen well-armed men, her position was indeed perilous.

The speed of her horse seemed her only chance.

But the noble creature had been very hard worked that day, and after the first "spurt," showed signs of exhaustion.

The Turks, upon their fresh and fleet steeds, began to gain upon her every minute.

At length she was at bay, resolved to die defending herself and defying her enemies.

She placed her lance in rest as the foremost Turk came up.

Despite his efforts to avoid the weapon, she thrust it through his shoulder.

He fell, desperately, if not mortally wounded, and full of rage at being defeated by a woman.

His nearest companion now faced the beautiful amazon, who rapidly drew her revolver—the one Jack had given her—and fired.

The ball took effect, for the Turk reeled in his saddle and fell to the ground, dead.

The others now approached.

But Thyra discharged one, two, three shots from her revolver, and the last killed the officer's horse, which staggered and fell, bringing the rider to the ground.

Thyra urged her steed again towards the sea.

Herbert Murray and Chivey now pressed forward, resolved to try and gain the pasha's reward and the glory of achieving her capture.

Away went Thyra on her gallant steed.

She was near the sea now.

The murmur of its waves upon the sands resounded in her ears.

The British cruiser was seen about a mile away in the offing, and on the shore stood about half a dozen sailors, taking charge of the boats in which the armed force had come ashore.

They were anxiously watching for their companions to return, and on perceiving Thyra's peril, two of them went to her assistance.

And they arrived not a moment too soon.

Herbert Murray had ridden up to her.

Grasping the bridle of her steed, he thought he had effected her capture.

But at this moment a voice beside him cried out in English—

"Hands off there, you lubber!"

This showed that Thyra's call for help had been heard and responded to.

Murray turned, and saw the two stalwart British tars standing beside Thyra.

"Look here," continued the sailor, "if you don't leave this here young lady alone, and be off instanter, we'll take you aboard and let our captain deal with you."

Herbert Murray looked around, and seeing that the sailors were in a position to carry out their threat, angrily relinquished the chase, and turning his horse, rode off with Chivey, who had not approached quite so near.



CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

END OF THE CONTEST—DEATH OF THYRA.

Thyra was securely protected by these gallant tars until the rest of the party came up, which was not long, for after a slight skirmish, Jack and his friends managed to cut through the new force of opposing Turks, and make their way towards the ship.

Ibrahim Pasha, enraged at being thus defied, still pressed on, followed by all his force, but they only arrived at the shore in time to see Jack and the others embarking in the boats.

He now had recourse to threats.

"In the name of His Imperial Majesty the Sultan," he said to the officer in command, "I command you to give up to me these Englishmen, who have escaped from justice."

"They are British subjects," returned the officer, "who have sought the protection of their flag."

"Shall British subjects commit crime and yet go free?" inquired Ibrahim.

"What crime have they committed?" asked the officer.

"Murder—the assassination of his highness, Moley Pasha."

"What evidence have you to show to connect them with his death?" asked the officer. "If you have but sufficient evidence, they shall be tried before a proper tribunal. Where the English flag floats, justice shall be done to all."

The pasha bit his lip.

He knew that his evidence against these Englishmen was very slight, being in fact only the assertion of Murray and Chivey, and that any mistake on his part would bring on political trouble that might be his ruin, so he began to draw in.

"At least," he said, "you can not refuse to give me back my own property, stolen from my palace."

"That's a reasonable request enough," answered the lieutenant. "Point out your property, and you shall have it."

"There it is," exclaimed Ibrahim, as he pointed to Thyra.

"That your property, eh?" said the astonished officer. "Well, a very nice property too. But how was she stolen?"

"Stolen from my harem by that son of Eblis!" cried the old pasha, pointing to Jack.

"Ah, young man, I see how it is," said the officer, gravely shaking his head; "you've been going it rather too fast, and brought on this trouble all on account of this Greek girl."

"It's a lie," cried Jack, looking fiercely at the pasha; "she never was stolen, and never did belong to that old coffee-coloured villain, and what's more, never shall, if Britons can protect her. She fled of her own accord from the palace of Moley Pasha, before he arrived, and sought protection from me and my friends in the town."

"In that case," said the officer, "we cannot give her up, for the British government does not recognise slavery, domestic or otherwise. Under our flag she is free."

A cheer of defiance from the group of English sailors greeted this speech.

"By the soul of the prophet," fiercely exclaimed the pasha, "am I to be defied by a boy, and an infidel—a son of Sheitan, to boot?"

"Boy as I am, I defy you," retorted Jack.

This was a bold, but foolish and incautious speech, destined to be disastrous.

The pasha, goaded to madness by Jack's words and defiant manner, drew his pistol and discharged it pointblank at our hero.

The action was a rapid one—so rapid as to take Jack unawares, but not so rapid as the love-quickened perceptions of Thyra.

She saw the pasha's movement, and throwing herself forward, seized Jack just in time to draw him aside.

By so doing, she saved his life, but at the expense of her own.

The bullet lodged in her breast, and with a cry she fell wounded into Jack's arms.

The disaster had come so quickly that our hero scarcely comprehended what had happened.

The pasha frowned darkly when he saw Thyra fall.

Some remorse was awakened, even in his iron heart.

He had intended to take a life, but not hers, and now indeed the Pearl of the Isles was lost to him for evermore.

"'Tis you now, pasha, who have committed crime," said the lieutenant, "and for this I call you to account. Surrender to answer for this deed."

"Surrender to Christian dogs! Never," answered the fierce Ibrahim.

"Then, men, fire upon these Turks," said the officer.

The rifles of the sailors were accordingly brought to cover upon the pasha's force.

Ibrahim immediately recognised a fresh and imminent danger, and resolved on a retreat.

Turning his horse, he gave the signal to his followers, and the whole body marched off rapidly, pursued by the fire of the English.

During this parley, Kara-al-Zariel and his Arabs had taken advantage of the preoccupation of their foes, to withdraw to the range of rugged rocks near the shore, which would at once shelter them from the attacks of the Turks and give them the advantage of being near their English allies in the ship.

But the pasha, now that the main objects of his expedition had escaped him, did not make any further attempts to pursue the Bedouins.

He and the remnant of his forces made the best of their way across the desert to the town.

And now all attention was drawn towards Thyra.

All perceived, with the deepest regret, that her hours were numbered.

She had been that day in the thick of more than one deadly conflict.

Hundreds of bullets had passed her, but this one, aimed at another, had only too successfully performed an errand of death.

Terrible indeed was the grief of Jack Harkaway.

"Oh, Thyra," he exclaimed, "my brave, dear girl, he has killed you."

"I know it," she replied, with a mournful resignation, "but thank Heaven you, dear Jack, are saved."

"I have not deserved this devotion from you," said Jack, in broken accents, while the tears fell from his eyes, "but you must not—shall not die thus. Can nothing be done for her?" he asked, looking round at the others.

"I fear not," replied the lieutenant, "but she must at once be taken on board, and placed under the care of the surgeon."

Thyra had been lifted up and her wound staunched with her scarf.

"Here, Harry," said our hero, rousing himself from his grief, "help me to carry her to the boat."

But ere his friend could fulfil his request, a tall, wild form interposed between them, a brown, sinewy hand convulsively clutched Jack's arm to draw him away.

"No hand but mine," cried a voice broken by intense grief, "shall bear the Pearl of the Isles to yonder boat."

It was the Arab chief, Al-Zariel, his face haggard with grief, his dark eyes gazing mournfully at the pale but beautiful face of her he loved.

He raised her tenderly, this wild warrior of the desert—tenderly as a child, and disdained all aid, and bore her in his strong arms to the boat.

The others drew back; no one at that moment had the heart to say him nay.

Even the rough sailors, and the still rougher Arabs, were touched by the mournful scene before them.

It was indeed a solemn procession to the boats, almost a funeral cortege, for they bore one, who, though not yet dead, would never see another day's sun arise.

Kara-al-Zariel gently deposited the dying girl in the boat.

"I have known her but a day," murmured the Arab chief, "and during that day she has shone upon my path like a gleam of sunshine from the gates of Paradise. From the first instant I saw her I loved her as I have loved no other, and as I shall love no other to my life's end."

He stooped and imprinted a passionate kiss upon that marble brow, pressing as he did so the lifeless hand, gazing into the fast-fixing eyes, and murmuring "Farewell" in his native tongue.

She understood him, and with a smile of gratitude, answered him in the same language.

The boat put off.

Kara-al-Zariel, standing on the sands, watched it for some moments, and then, as if unable longer to bear the sight, turned away, knelt upon the beach, and covered his eyes with his hands.

It was not grief alone that made him kneel beneath the open vault of Heaven.

In that terrible moment he registered to Heaven a vow of vengeance against the pasha who had slain the Pearl of the Isles.

The sturdy tars bent to their oars, and the boat left the murmuring waters of the sunlit Mediterranean.

Arriving on the ship, Thyra was placed with all care and tenderness upon deck.

The doctor examined the wound, and shook his head gravely.

"I can do nothing here!" he said, in subdued tones.

None answered him; only they saw too plainly that his words were final.

Poor Jack Harkaway! If ever in his young life he had felt grief, it was now, when he saw one who had so hopelessly loved him, dying through that very love.

"I am not afraid to die," said Thyra, in her low, faint voice, "and to die in this way is the best of all; for my future life might have made both you and myself unhappy."

"Unhappy! How could that be, Thyra?" asked Jack, as he knelt beside her, his hand clasped in hers, her dying eyes looking upwards into his face.

"Because your love is given to another," she sighed, "and, therefore, mine is hopeless; but oh, may that other—whoever she may be—be now and ever happy in your love."

"You have died for my sake!" he said, "and can you think I can feel any thing but the deepest gratitude, the most tender feelings, towards you? No, dear Thyra, I love you now, if I have not before."

"To hear that from your lips," she murmured, "is to die happy. All I ask now, is that you will always remember the little Greek girl who loved you, and—and who was unhappy in her life, and happy in her death."

"Remember you!" said Jack, "remember you, my noble Thyra! after what you have done? Always! always! Do not pain me by fearing that I may forget you."

"Then I am happy still; listen. Here are a chain and a cross of gold; keep them in remembrance of me, and when I am dead, have me conveyed, if it is possible, to the land of my birth, the beautiful island of Naxos, where my parents still live. Bury me there."

Jack promised this, and the old captain of the ship declared that he would have her last request fulfilled.

Thyra's strength was now almost exhausted, but, with a last effort, she raised herself from Jack's supporting arms, and addressed those around her.

"Friends," she said, "I give you many, many thanks for what you have done for me, in protecting me and aiding my escape. I can but give you thanks and my farewell. Farewell!" she added, "to the bright blue sky, the golden sea, and the beautiful green island where I was born and where I hope to rest when I am no more."

Here her voice died into a murmur, and the rest was inaudible to all but Jack.

Jack stooped as the Arab chief had done, and impressed a fervent kiss upon the fair young face, still bent lovingly towards him. At that moment he felt an electric thrill convulse her frame, followed by a complete stillness. In that last fond embrace her spirit had fled.

Thyra's troubles were over.

Two days afterwards the ship, whose captain had undertaken to convey Jack and his friends from those turbulent shores, touched at the Greek island of Naxos. There Thyra's parents were found, and the sad news of their child's death communicated to them.

She was buried in the little cemetery close to the shore, and amid groves of cypress and gardens of flowers, where sweet birds sing and sea breezes softly murmur, lies the beautiful Greek girl who loved and died for young Jack Harkaway.

And all hearts were heavy with grief when, after the funeral, they hoisted sail, and steered in a westerly direction.



CHAPTER LXXXIX.

MARSEILLES—MR. MOLE AS A LINGUIST—AN UGLY CUSTOMER AND HIS ENGLISH CONFEDERATE—A COMPACT OF MYSTERY—MR. MARKBY PLAYS A VERY DEEP GAME—THE SHADOW OF DANGER.

Our friends had been some days at sea.

The weather was fair, and their progress was for a time slow.

At length one day there was a cry—

"Land ho!"

"Which?" said our hero, who was anxious for any thing that would make him forget his great sorrow for Thyra.

"I remarked 'Land ho!' Jack," said Mr. Mole, for he it was who first detected it.

"And I observed 'Which?' sir," said Jack.

"And why that unmeaning interrogation?" demanded Mr. Mole.

"Your speech is an anomaly, Mr. Mole," responded Jack, mimicking the voice of his tutor in his happiest manner.

"Why so?"

"You say my question is unmeaning, and yet you ask an explanation of it. If there is no meaning in it, how can I explain it?"

"Ahem!" coughed Mr. Mole. "No matter. You are too much given to useless arguments, Jack. I believe you would argue with the doctor attending you on your deathbed—yea, with the undertaker himself who had to bury you."

"That's piling it on, sir," said Jack, in a half-reflective mood. "I dare say I should have a shy at the doctor if he tried to prove something too idiotic, but we must draw the line at the doctor. I couldn't argue with the undertaker at my own funeral, but I'll tell you what, Mr. Mole, no doubt I shall argue with him if he puts it on too stiff in his bill when we put you away."

"Jack!" exclaimed Mr. Mole, inexpressibly shocked.

"A plain deal coffin," pursued Jack, apparently lost in deep calculation; "an economical coffin, only half the length of an ordinary coffin, because you could unscrew your legs, and leave them to someone."

"That is very unfeeling to talk of my funeral, dreadful!"

"You are only joking there, I know, sir," returned Jack, "because you were talking of mine."

"Ahem!" said Mole, "do you see how near we are to land?"

"Quite so, quite so."

"Go and ask the captain the name of this port."

It proved to be Marseilles, and the captain knew it, as he had been sailing for it, and, moreover, they were very quickly ashore.

Mr. Mole was especially eager to air his French.

"You speak the language?" asked Jack.

Mr. Mole smiled superciliously at the question.

"Like a native, my dear boy, like a native," he replied.

"That's a good thing," said Jack, tipping the wink to Harry Girdwood; "for you can interpret all round."

* * * *

France was then going through one of its periodical upsets, and a good deal of unnecessary bother was made along the coast upon the landing of passengers.

Passports were partly dispensed with, but questions were put by fierce officials as to your name and nationality, which all led up to nothing, for they accepted your reply implicitly as truth, and while it inconvenienced the general public, the Royalist, Republican, Orleanist, or whoever might chance to be of the revolutionary party for the time being, could chuckle as he told his fibs and passed on to the forbidden land.

M. le Commissaire confronted Mr. Mole, and barred his passage to interrogate him.

"Pardon, m'sieur, veuillez bien me dire votre nom?"

"What's that?" said Mole.

"Votre nom, s'il vous plait," repeated the commissaire.

"Really, I haven't the pleasure of your acquaintance."

"Sapristi!" ejaculated the commissaire, to one of his subordinates. "Quel type!"

"Now, Mr. Mole," said Jack, who was close behind the old gentleman, "why don't you speak up?"

"I don't quite follow him."

"He's only asking a question, you know. You polly-voo like a native."

"Yes; precisely, Jack. But I don't follow his accent. He's some peasant, I suppose."

"Votre nom!" demanded the official, rather fiercely this time.

"Now, then, Mr. Mole," cried a voice in the rear, "you're stopping everyone. Get it out and move on."

"Dear, dear me!" said Mole. "What does it mean?"

"He's asking your name," said Jack, "and you can't understand it."

"Oh!"

"I'll tell him for you, as you don't seem to know a word," said Jack. "Il s'appelle Ikey Mole," he added to the commissaire.

"Aike Moll," repeated the commissaire. "Il est Arabe?"

"Oui, monsieur. C'est un des lieutenants du grand Abd-el-Kader."

"Vraiment!" exclaimed the commissaire, in a tone of mingled surprise and respect. "Passez, M'sieur Aike Moll."[2]

[2] "He calls himself Ikey Mole," says Jack to the commissaire de police.

"Aike Moll!" repeats the commissaire, pronouncing the incongruous sounds as nearly as he can. "Why, he must be an Arab."

To which Jack, with all his ready impudence, replies—

"Yes, sir, he is an Arab. He was one of Abd-el-Kader's lieutenants."

We need scarcely remind our readers that Abd-el-Kader was the doughty Arab chief who made so heroic a resistance to the French in Algiers.

This satisfied the commissaire, who respectfully bade Mole pass on.

They went on, and Mole anxiously questioned Jack.

"I'm getting quite deaf," said he, by way of a pretext for not having understood the conversation. "Whatever were you saying?"

"I told him your name was Isaac Mole, sir," returned Jack.

"You said Ikey Mole, sir," retorted Mole, "and that is a very great liberty, sir."

"Not at all. Ike is the French for Isaac," responded the unblushing Jack.

"But what was all that they were saying about Arab?"

"Arab!" repeated Jack, in seeming astonishment.

"Yes."

"Didn't hear it myself."

"I certainly thought I caught the word Arab," said Mr. Mole, giving Jack a very suspicious glance.

"You never made a greater mistake, sir, in your life."

"How very odd."

"Very."

* * * *

The Cannebiere is the chief promenade in Marseilles, and the inhabitants of this important seaport are not a little proud of it.

Two men sat smoking cigarettes and sipping lazily at their grog au vin at the door of one of then numerous cafes in the Cannebiere.

To these two men we invite the reader's attention.

One was a swarthy-looking Frenchman from the south, a man of a decent exterior, but with a fierce and restless glance.

He was the sort of man whom you would sooner have as a friend than as an enemy.

A steadfast friend—an implacable foe!

That was what you read in his peculiar physiognomy, in that odd mixture of defiance and fearlessness, those anxious glances, frankness and deceit, the varied expressions of which passed in rapid succession across his countenance.

This man called himself Pierre Lenoir, although he was known in other ports by other names.

Pierre Lenoir was a sort of Jack of all trades.

He had been apprenticed to an engraver, and had shown remarkable aptitude for that profession, but, being of a roving and restless disposition, he ran away from his employer to ship on board a merchant vessel.

After a cruise or two he was wrecked, and narrowly escaped with his life.

Tired of the sea, for awhile he obtained employment with a medallist, where his skill as an engraver stood him in good stead.

From this occupation he fled as soon as his ready adaptability had made him a useful hand to his new master, and took to a roving life again. What he was now doing in Marseilles no one could positively assert.

How it was that Pierre Lenoir had such an abundant supply of ready money, the progress of our narrative will show—for with it are connected several of not the least exciting episodes in the career of young Jack Harkaway.

So much for Pierre Lenoir.

Now for his companion at the cafe.

He was called Markby, and, as his name indicates, he was an Englishman.

Being but a poor French scholar, he had scraped up an acquaintance with Pierre Lenoir, chiefly on account of the latter's proficiency in the English language.

There is little to be said concerning Markby's past history, for reasons which will presently be apparent.

What further reason he may have had for cultivating the friendship of the rover, Pierre Lenoir, will probably show itself in due course.

* * * *

"I have disposed of that last batch of five-franc pieces," said Markby. "Here are the proceeds."

"Keep it back," exclaimed Lenoir hurriedly.

"What for?"

"It is sheer madness for us to be seen conversing together," replied Lenoir, casting an anxious glance about him from behind his hat, which he held in his hand so as to shield his features, "much less to be seen exchanging money—why, it is suicidal—nothing less."

"Is there any danger, do you think?"

"Do I think? Do I know? Why, this place is literally alive with spies—mouchards as we called them here. Every second man you meet is a mouchard."

"Do you mean it?"

"Rather."

"That's not a pleasant thing to know," said Markby.

"I don't agree with you there," replied Lenoir. "'Forewarned, forearmed,' is a proverb in your language. But now tell me about this friend and countryman of yours."

"He's no friend of mine," returned Markby. "I know him as a great traveller, and one who has opportunities of placing more false——"

"Hush, imprudent!" interrupted Lenoir. "Call it stock. You know not how many French spies may be passing, or how near we may be to danger."

Markby took the hint given him, and continued—

"Well, stock. He can place more—he has probably placed more than any man alive. He travels about en grand seigneur—lords it in high places and disposes of the counterf——"

"Stock."

"Stock, in regular loads. But he's as wary as a fox—nothing can approach him in cunning."

"The very man I want," exclaimed Lenoir. "This fellow could, with my aid, make a fortune for himself and me in less than a year—a large fortune."

"You are very sanguine," said Markby, with a smile.

"I am, but not over sanguine. I speak by the book, for I know well what I am talking of. You must introduce me."

"You are running on wildly," said Markby. "Did I not tell you that he did not know me—that he would not know me if he did? So careful is he that his own brother would fail to draw any thing from him concerning the way in which he gets his living."

"Dame!" muttered Lenoir, "he seems a precious difficult fellow to approach."

"Yes, on that subject," responded Markby; "but he's genial and agreeable enough if you introduce yourself by accident, as it were, and chat upon social topics generally, without the vaguest reference to the subject nearest your heart."

"How shall I ever lead him up to the point?"

"Easily. For instance, talk about art matters. Allude to your gallery of sculpture. Ask him, is he fond of bas reliefs? Tell him of your skill as a medallist."

"Medallist might put him on the scent, if he is so dreadfully wary," said Lenoir.

"No fear. He would never dream of such a thing. Medalling being a sort of sister art to what most interests him, he would be sure to bite at the chance. You lead him to your little underground snuggery, and once there all need for his wonderful caution will be at an end."

"I see," said Lenoir, rubbing his hands. "But stay"—and here his face grew a bit serious—"this fellow is faithful?"

"True as steel," responded Markby.

"That's right," said Lenoir, with a look that caused a twinge of uneasiness to be felt by his companion, "for woe betide the man that plays me false."

"No fear of this man—man, I call him, but he is in appearance at least little more than a lad, although he was travelled all over the world."

Here Markby arose to move away.

"Stop a bit," said Lenoir. "I have forgotten to ask rather an important detail."

"What is it?"

"The name of this fellow?"

"Jack Harkaway," was the reply.



CHAPTER XC.

MARKBY'S MISSIVE—ON THE WATCH!—"SMART FELLOW, MARKBY!"—MARKBY'S MYRMIDON—THE SPY'S MISSION.

The Englishman Markby was gone before Pierre Lenoir could question him further.

"Jack Harkaway?" exclaimed Lenoir; "I have heard that name before. Of course; I remember now. But Markby speaks of him as a lad. Why, the Harkaway that I remember must be a middle-aged man by now; besides, what little I knew of Harkaway then would not show him to be a likely man for my purpose."

Not long after this, as Lenoir was upon the point of rising and leaving the cafe, a commissionaire or public messenger came up at a run with a note in his hand.

"M'sieu Lenoir."

"C'est moi."

He took the note and found it to contain the following words, scribbled boldly by Markby—

"They are now coming along in your direction. You will easily recognise them—two youths in sailor dress. Follow them, and if they stay at any of the cafes, I leave you to scrape up an acquaintance with them.—M."

"Markby has been upon the qui vive," said Lenoir to himself. "Smart fellow, Markby!"

Glancing to the left, he saw the two young sailors approaching: so Pierre Lenoir made up his mind at once.

He stepped into the house, intending to let them pass and then follow them, and, if by chance they should, on their way, stop at either of the cafes, he could drop in and seek the opportunity he so much desired.

But while he was waiting the young sailors came up, and, instead of passing the cafe they dropped into chairs at the door and called for refreshments.

This was more than Lenoir had bargained for.

However, it was no use wasting time.

He desired to profit by the opportunity, and so out he came and sat at the next table to the two young Englishmen.

* * * *

"What's your opinion of Marseilles, Jack?"

"Nothing great."

"Ditto."

"Nothing to see once you're out of sight of the sea, and the natives are not very interesting. They only appear to be full of conceit about their town without the least reason for it. I should like to know if there is really any thing in Marseilles to warrant the faintest belief in the place."

This was Pierre Lenoir's opportunity.

He stepped forward.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," said he. "Englishmen, I presume?"

"Yes, sir," responded Jack; "are you English?"

"I haven't that honour," replied Pierre Lenoir.

"You speak good English. You have resided in England, I suppose, for a long while?"

"No, only a short time. Long enough to get a desire to go back there."

"That's very kind of you to say so. Your countrymen, as a rule, don't speak in such flattering terms of la perfide Albion."

"And yet they are glad enough to find a refuge there."

"True."

"Are you a native of Marseilles?" asked Harry.

"No."

"Then you are not offended at our remarks?"

"Not a bit," replied Lenoir heartily. "The Marseillais are absurdly conceited about their town, and after all it contains but few objects of interest for a traveller."

"Very few."

"There are some, however, and if you will accept my escort, I shall be very happy to show you them."

They expressed their thanks at this courteous offer which, on a very little pressing, they were glad to accept.

"Thanks; we will go and tell a friend, who is waiting for us down by the quay, that he must not expect us for an hour or so."

"Very good."

* * * *

Markby must have been pretty keenly upon the lookout, for no sooner were they gone than back he came.

"Well, what success?"

"Just as I wished," returned Lenoir, with a great chuckle; "they are coming back directly."

"That's your chance; you have only to take them up to your place. Once there, you will do as you please with them."

"There is no danger?"

"What can there be!"

"Only this—suppose that you were mistaken?"

Markby was visibly offended at this.

"If you think that likely after all I have told you, take my advice and have nothing whatever to do with them. I don't want to expose you to any risk that you think you ought not to run."

Lenoir appeared to waver momentarily.

Markby eyed him anxiously for awhile, until Lenoir, with an air of resolution, exclaimed—

"Hang the risk. I'll go for it neck or nothing."

"And you will take them there to-night."

"I will."

"Good! You'll have no cause to repent your decision. They'll do you a turn that you little contemplate."

"Right! Now off with you."

"I'm gone."

And away he went.

"What a strange fellow that Markby is," thought Pierre Lenoir, looking after him. "What an odd laugh he has."

Alas! Pierre Lenoir had good reason to bear that laugh in mind.

But we must not anticipate.

* * * *

As soon as Markby was fairly out of sight, he beckoned over to a young man in white blouse and a cap, who had walked along on the opposite side of the way, keeping Markby in view all the while without appearing to notice him.

The fellow in the blouse ran across at once.

"Well, how's it going?"

"Beautiful," returned Markby, "nothing could be better. Already have Harkaway and his hard-knuckled companion, Girdwood, been seen in Lenoir's society. But before the day is over they will be seen in the Caveaux themselves, where proofs of their guilt will spring up hydra-headed from the very ground."

"And what will it end in?" asked the other, eagerly.

"The galleys," returned Markby, with fierce intensity.

"Beautiful!" exclaimed the man in the blouse, with unfeigned admiration. "You always must have been a precious sight downier than I thought. Why, your old man was no fool. He made a brown or two floating his coffins, but he was a guileless pup compared to you."

"You keep watch," said Markby, hurriedly; "and be ready for any emergency. It is a bold stroke we are playing for. Lenoir is a desperate ruffian, and the least mistake in the business would be something which I for one don't care to contemplate."

"Lenoir be blowed," replied the man in the blouse; "the only people I care about if we should go and make a mess of the job is, firstly—Jack Harkaway, and secondly, his pal Harry Girdwood, which a harder fist than his I have seldom received on my unlucky snuffer-tray."

And he was gone.



CHAPTER XCI.

MARKBY'S NEXT STEP—THE PREFECT OF POLICE—THE PLOT THICKENS—A GLIMPSE OF MARKBY'S PURPOSE—A DOUBLE TRAITOR—DEADLY PERIL.

Markby went off muttering to himself.

"Wish that scamp could only share the fate I have reserved for that accursed Harkaway. However, I can't manage that, so I must be thankful for small mercies."

* * * *

A short walk brought this Markby to the office of the prefect of police, and his business being of considerable importance, he was fortunate in soon obtaining an interview with that great man himself.

"This is an excellent opportunity," said the head of the police, "if your information is thoroughly reliable, although I confess that it almost sounds too good to be true."

"Pardon me, monsieur," said Markby, "the expression you use sounds as though I had got information second-hand; I am a principal. On the 10th, you will please to remember. I have to be of the party."

"It is a very important matter," said the prefect, "that I will not attempt to disguise from you. This Lenoir is evidently at the head of a gigantic conspiracy. We have been long seeking to discover how he disposed of his counter——"

"Stock," said Markby, interrupting the prefect, with a smile. "He is the quintessence of caution, sir, and he never alludes to it by any other term."

"You really think that these English people are their confidants?"

"The chief confederates; yes. They are the heads of the English part of our scheme."

"How many men should you require?" demanded the prefect, changing the subject abruptly.

"A dozen fully armed, in plain clothes. These can descend into the caveaux to make the capture."

"A dozen!"

"Yes."

"So many!"

"You don't know Lenoir," said Markby; "he's the very devil when he's aroused. A dozen will have all their work to do. As for the two Englishmen——"

"They are young," exclaimed the prefect.

"They are young fiends. I have seen them fight like devils. They are just as dangerous as Lenoir. They are an cunning as the evil one himself, and will gammon even you, by their plausible tales."

"Let me see," said the prefect, thoughtfully. "I will take note of the names which you tell me they are likely to assume."

"One has been calling himself Jack Harkaway."

"And the other?"

"Harry Girdwood."

"Good—and you can prove that both the persons whose names are assumed are in Turkey?"

"I can."

"Very good," said the prefect, rising, to intimate that the intercourse was over. "Our men shall be there in force for the capture."



CHAPTER XCII.

THE HARKAWAY'S GUIDE—LENOIR'S MUSEUM—THE CAVEAUX, AND WHAT THEY SAW THERE—THE MEDALS—THE TRUTH AT LAST—A COINER'S TRADE—AN ALARM—A DESPERATE FELLOW.

"Here we are again, sir," said Harry Girdwood, stepping up to Pierre Lenoir; "but I fear we are taking a great liberty in asking you to cicerone such a large party as we muster here."

Lenoir smiled.

It was not a free, frank smile.

To tell the truth, he was a bit annoyed, for besides the two youths there was Mole, and the attendant darkeys with them, Tinker and Bogey.

Lenoir was a cautious man, and he did not care to run risks.

"Are they friends and confidants of yours?" he asked, rather pointedly.

It was an odd speech to make, but as he smiled slightly, they took it for a sort of joke.

"Oh, yes, they are confidential friends," returned Harry Girdwood, smiling.

"Very good, let us begin our look round. We will walk along the quays if you like, and thence past the Hotel de Ville. I shall show you several objects of undoubted interest," said Lenoir, significantly.

He led the way on.

Jack fell back a few paces, walking on with Harry Girdwood.

"He's a very odd fellow," whispered the latter.

"Very."

Lenoir led them over the town before he ventured to approach the Caveaux.

"I have a little museum not far away," he said.

"I am afraid we shall be intruding," began Jack.

"Not a bit," protested Lenoir.

The snuggery in question was situated at some little distance from the town, and away from the main road.

The cottage was only a one-story building.

"His museum is not very extensive," whispered Harry Girdwood to his companion, "if it is that cottage."

Lenoir was remarkably quick-eared.

"My museum is cunningly arranged," he said to Jack, looking over his shoulder as he walked on; "you don't get all over it at once. Here we are."

They had reached the threshold, and opening the door, he led the way in.

It was a neat little cottage interior, with nothing about it to attract attention.

Passing through the first room, Lenoir conducted them to a sort of out-house beyond.

Here they came upon the first surprise.

He opened a door which apparently shut in a cupboard, and this, to their intense astonishment, revealed a flight of stone steps which seemingly led into the very bowels of the earth.

"Hallo!" exclaimed Jack; "why, what's this?"

"I thought I should astonish you, now," said Lenoir, with his same calm smile.

"What is this place?"

"There is a whole series of caves below these, apparently natural formations. The only way I can account for them myself is that at some time or other some experimental mining operations have gone on there. Would you like to go down and see the place?"

"With pleasure," returned Jack, eagerly.

"Allow me to lead the way."

When they had descended a few steps, Jack half repented.

This man was a stranger to them, and he had brought them to a very wild and out-of-the-way place.

Had he any evil purpose in bringing them there?

Jack stood wavering for a few seconds—no more.

"We are four," he said to himself, "four without counting Mr. Mole; they must be a pretty tough lot to frighten us much, after all said and done."

So saying down he went.

The others followed close behind him.

At the base of the flight of steps they found themselves in a spacious vault that was unpleasantly dark.

"Allow me to lead the way now," said Lenoir, passing on. "Follow me closely; there is no fear of stumbling, there is nothing in the way."

So saying, he conducted them through this opening, which, by the way, was so low that they had to stoop in passing under, and found themselves now in a narrow cave, which reminded young Jack forcibly of the dungeon and its approach of Sir Walter Raleigh, in the Tower of London.

"What do you think of this place?" demanded the guide.

"A very curious sight," was the reply. "You put all this space to no use?"

"Pardon me," said Lenoir; "I practise my favorite hobby here."

"Here!"

"Yes—or rather in the next cellar beyond."

"And what may be that favourite hobby?"

"Medalling," was Lenoir's reply.

And again he shot at his questioners one of those peculiar glances which had so astonished them before.

"I should like to see some of your work," said Jack.

"I thought you would," said Lenoir, with a quiet chuckle.

Lenoir led the way into the next cellar or cavern, and here they came suddenly upon a complete change of scene.

Here they saw a furnace, with melting pots, bars of metal, moulds, files, batteries, and all the necessary accessories for the manufacture of medals.

Upon a flat stone slab was a pile of medals, all of the same pattern precisely.

"Just examine those, Mr. Harkaway," said Pierre Lenoir, "and tell me what you think them."

Jack put his finger through the glittering heap, and they fell to the table with a bright clear ring that considerably astonished him.

"Why, they are silver!"

Lenoir smiled.

"Very good, aren't they?"

"Very!"

Jack here made a discovery, upon examining them more closely.

"They are five-franc pieces!" he said, with a puzzled expression.

"Of course they are—and beauties they are too!"

"There's not much risk in getting rid of those, I should say?"

"Risk!" iterated Harry Girdwood.

"Aye!"

"Why risk?"

"I mean that no one could detect the difference very easily. Why, they deceived you," he added, turning to Jack, with an air of conscious pride.

"Upon my life, I don't understand what you mean," said Jack.

Lenoir looked serious for a moment.

Then he burst out into a boisterous fit of merriment.

"You are really over-cautious, young gentleman," he said.

"Over-cautious?"

"Why, yes—why, yes. Wherefore this reserve? Why should you pretend not to understand? Don't you see," he added, with a cunning leer, "that I can make these medals as perfectly as they can at the Hotel de la Monnaie, our French Mint?"

"So I see," said Jack.

A faint light began to dawn upon Harry Girdwood—not too soon, the reader will say.

"It is rather a dangerous pastime, Mr. Lenoir, this medalling fancy of yours," he said.

"No," said Lenoir, pointedly, "the danger is not there; the danger of this pastime, as you call it, is in disposing of my beautiful medals."

"Dear me, sir," said Mr. Mole. "Do you sell them?"

"Yes."

"How much?"

"The five-franc pieces two francs and a half," replied Lenoir, "and so on throughout until we get up to the louis, the twenty-franc pieces; those I can do for seven francs. You can pass them without risk."

This told all.

Jack and his friends were astounded.

"Are you making us overtures to join you in passing bad money?" demanded young Jack.

"Not bad money," returned Lenoir, "very good money—all my own make."

"It is very evident that you do not know us," said Harry Girdwood, "and so are considerably mistaken. Why you have brought us here and placed yourself in our power, it is utterly beyond me to understand."

Lenoir stared.

"What!"

"The position is most embarrassing," said Jack. "To do our duty would be to repay by great ingratitude your kindness in guiding us about the town, for we ought to denounce you to the police authorities."

This speech partook of the nature of a threat and Pierre Lenoir was up in an instant.

"The worst day's work of your life would be that," he said, fiercely. "No man plays traitor to Pierre Lenoir a second time."

"Traitor is a wrong term," said Jack; "we are not sworn to share such confidences as yours. We shall leave you now, but——"

"Stop!"

They were moving towards the entrance when Lenoir sprang before them, and whipped out a brace of revolvers.

The position grew exciting and unpleasant.

"Stand out of the way, and let us pass," exclaimed Jack, impetuously.

"Don't come any nearer," said Lenoir, with quiet determination, "for I warn you that it would be dangerous. You can't move from this place until you have made terms with me."

"I for one will have nothing whatever to say to you," said Jack, haughtily. "I don't care to bargain with a coiner."

With his old foolhardy way he was stepping forward, in peril of his very life.

Lenoir was a desperate man, in a desperate strait.

His finger trembled upon the trigger.

"Stand back, on your life."

"You stand aside," cried Jack.

"Another step and I fire!" cried Lenoir.

"Bah!"

Jack pushed on.

Lenoir pulled the trigger.

Bang it went.

But the ball whistled harmlessly over Jack's head, and lodged in the slanting roof.

A friendly hand from behind the coiner had knocked up his arm in the very nick of time.

At the self-same instant some eight or ten men, fully armed, burst into the vault.

One of them, who was apparently in command, pointed to Lenoir, and said to the others—

"Arrest that man. He's the leader of them."

And before the coiner could offer any resistance, they knocked his weapons from his hands, and fell upon him.