Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks Part 95

Then he continued the perusal, steadily, till he came to the end.

"It looks like truth," he said, as he returned it to his pocket. "I will restore it to the consul. Ha, ha! it will be sport indeed if I, Pierre Lenoir, the proscribed criminal, can defeat the schemes of that villain."

With a subdued chuckle the coiner departed on his way, revelling with delight at the thought that he would yet be avenged on his perfidious friend.

He reached the consul's residence, knocked, and was admitted by the same servant who had formerly opened the door to Chivey.

"Is his Excellency the Consul at home?"

"Yes, but very much engaged," replied the flunkey.

"I do not particularly wish to see him, but I have found this letter in the street, and it may be something of importance."

"Right, my good feller; 'ere's a franc for you."

And the door was closed on Lenoir, who hastened away.

Two hours later the governor of the gaol and the consul were engaged in an important conversation.

But their plans must, for the present, remain a secret, nor did Jack and his imprisoned friends know that their last letter had produced a better effect than the first.

CHAPTER CII.

A SORROWFUL HOUSEHOLD--NEWS AT LAST.

Change we the scene to England, and to that particular part of the island where old Jack and his friends were living.

Though surrounded by every luxury that money could procure, they were not happy.

"No news yet!" was the first question that Mrs. Harkaway would ask her husband in the morning, and he with a shake of the head, would respond--

"None yet, my dear; but do not despond."

But the fond mother vainly endeavoured to hope against hope.

Little Emily, too, went about in a most listless, melancholy manner, wondering why it was that Jack did not write, and Paquita, too, was quite despondent at not hearing any thing of Harry Girdwood.

d.i.c.k Harvey did all he could to cheer up everybody, but it was a hard task, for he was working against his own convictions, which were that the youngsters had got into some trouble from which they were unable to extricate themselves.

Letters had been written to young Jack at Ma.r.s.eilles, but these had never reached him, having fallen into the hands of Herbert Murray, who had applied at the post office, in the name of Harkaway, for them.

Paquita and little Emily, though still firm friends, were not in each other's society so much as formerly, as they both preferred to endure their sorrows in solitude.

Paquita, in particular, was fond of a sequestered nook in the grounds, where, half hidden by shrubs, she could command a view of the long straight road leading from the nearest railway station.

She had a notion that she would be the first one to see the absentees, and had chosen that as a place of observation, where she would sit for hours watching and trying to hope.

Harvey found out her retreat, and employed the photographer who took Emily's portrait, to give a good likeness of the southern beauty.

Paquita knew nothing of this, so absorbed was she in her own meditations, till a few days afterwards Uncle d.i.c.k, as she had learnt to call him, gave her some copies of it.

She thanked him, and, hurrying off to her own room, enclosed one in an envelope, which she addressed to Harry. There was no letter with it, but underneath the portrait she wrote--

"_With Paquita's dearest love. As she waits for one who comes not._"

This she posted herself, registering it for extra safety.

Still came no tidings, as day after day pa.s.sed, till one morning the postman brought a large official-looking letter, addressed in a strange handwriting, and bearing foreign post-marks.

Despite all his hardihood, Harkaway's hand trembled as he took it up, and, eager as he was for news, it was some seconds before he could nerve himself to break the seal.

His wife sat watching with breathless expectation, feeling convinced that at length there was news.

"Are they safe?" she asked, when she had followed her husband's eye to the conclusion of the lengthy epistle.

"They _are_ safe, for the _present_."

"Thank Heaven!" she exclaimed, giving way to woman's great relief--tears.

"But _where_ are they?" she continued a minute afterwards.

"At Ma.r.s.eilles, where they have been for some time, so the British consul tells me, and where they are likely to be till we go to release them."

"Release them! What do you mean? Don't keep back anything from me, dear husband."

"Well, if you must know the worst, they are in prison, on a charge of coining."

"What an infamous charge to make against them?" exclaimed a couple of indignant feminine voices, belonging to little Emily and Paquita, who had just come into the room.

"Husband, you don't believe our boy to be guilty of such a crime?"

"No; but----"

"But what?"

"Appearances are very much against them, the consul says. The great thing is to establish their ident.i.ty, as the boy is supposed to have a.s.sumed the name he bears."

At this moment Harvey appeared, and the news was instantly imparted to him.

"It is a very serious affair, and it is certain we must go at once. But really it is ridiculous to fancy old Mole and those black rascals accused of coining."