Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 14

"Poor Brand, your murderer shall not escape," said Jefferson bitterly.

The noise continued, and presently the voice was recognised.

"It is Mole," cried Harkaway.

He was right.

Just then the poor old gentleman appeared upon the scene.

"Harkaway, Jefferson, Harvey!" he cried.

"What's the matter?"

"Murder!" returned Mole. "Hunston is here."

"By Heaven! I thought it," e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Jefferson.

"He has carried off Emily and Paquita."

"What?"

"I interfered, but they were too many for me. See how they have used me."

"Was he with the brigands?" demanded Harkaway.

"I suppose so. A whole mob of ruffians."

"Where are they gone?"

"By the small gate."

A hurried explanation ensued with the agent of the secret police, who gave them a few words of comfort.

"He'll never be able to pa.s.s my men at the gate," said the officer, with great confidence.

This was doubtful.

They knew too well Hunston's boldness and audacity.

But they lost no time in getting up a pursuit.

The contessa's stables were well furnished, and two horses were speedily saddled for Harkaway and Jefferson.

Harvey, too impatient to wait for a mount, had rushed wildly away in the direction of the small gate, followed by Mr. Mole.

Here he saw to his dismay that a scramble had taken place, in which the gendarmes had got decidedly the worst of it.

The two who had been on guard at the gate had got very roughly handled, one having a broken crown and the other showing an ugly wound in the side.

"They have gone this way, then?" exclaimed Harvey, eagerly.

"Yes."

"Which way?"

"They made for the right," faltered one of the wounded men.

"Is it long?"

"No; a few moments."

"They can not get far," said the gendarme with the broken pate; "the two girls were struggling hard with him."

"Hurrah!" cried Harvey. "I'll save my child yet."

"You are not the first in the hunt," said the other gendarme, speaking with evident pain; "there are two black men after them."

"That must be Sunday and Monday," exclaimed Harvey.

And off he ran.

He bounded over the ground like a deer, and when he got about half a mile further on, he came suddenly upon two men struggling.

One of them was a negro.

Who, in fact, but our old friend the Prince of Limbi, the faithful Monday?

The other was one of the Greeks, a face unknown to Harvey, but one who has already figured in these pages.

Matteo!

And lying on the ground near him was a brigand struck down dead by brave Monday.

As Harvey came up, it was nearing the end of what had been a precious tough fight. Monday was uppermost, and Matteo, who had gradually succ.u.mbed to the wiry negro, was by this time in a very queer way indeed.

Monday held him by the throat, and in spite of his desperate efforts to set himself free, Matteo had lost his breath.

And there he lay completely at the negro's mercy.

"There, you dam tief!" exclaimed the Prince of Limbi, "take dat, an'

dat, an' dat, an' now, be golly, have dis for a little bit in."

At every word he pressed harder and harder and jerked his adversary back.

The "little bit in" settled Matteo completely.

Something seemed to crack in the wretched Greek's throat, and he dropped back.