CHAPTER LXXX.
THE SNAKE IN THE GRASS--THE POISONED DAGGER.
As young Jack was sauntering through the streets of the town one day,he fancied that he was being followed by a man who was dressed in asemi-Oriental garb, but whose head was shaded by a broad-brimmed hat.
Jack was not given to fear without a cause, yet he certainly did feeluncomfortable now.
At first he thought of turning round and facing the man sharply.
But this, he reflected, might lead to a rupture.
A rupture was to be most carefully avoided.
He was determined, however, to assure himself that he was followed.
With this view, he made a circuitous tour of the city.
Still the man was there like his very shadow.
"This is unendurable," muttered Jack.
So he drew up short.
Grasping a pistol, which he carried in his pocket, with a nervous grip,he waited for the man to come up.
But the man did not come up.
He disappeared suddenly, at the very moment that Jack was expecting tocome into collision with him.
How strange!
Jack was not conscious of having an enemy--at least not one in thatpart of the world.
"Very strange," he muttered; "very strange!"
And brooding over this episode, Jack wended his way thoughtfullyhomewards.
* * * *
"Hah!"
Crossing the very threshold of his residence, Jack was suddenly andswiftly assaulted.
The same semi-Oriental figure had stolen stealthily up behind him, andwith a murderous-looking knife dealt him a sharp, swift blow.
Jack bounded forward, and turned round pistol in hand, but so nearlyfatal had been the blow that Jack's coat was ripped down the back.
"Hah!"
The assassin was marvellously nimble; although Jack made a dart afterhim pistol in hand, meaning to wreak summary vengeance upon him, theruffian contrived to vanish again--mysteriously.
Strangely disturbed by this, Jack went home and related to his friendswhat had taken place.
"This is a rum go," said Mr. Mole; "you have been mistaken for somebodyelse."
"So I suppose," returned Jack.
"What's to be done?" said Harry Girdwood.
"Lodge information with the police at once, I should say," suggestedMole.
"By all means."
"What was he like?"
"I could scarcely see," was Jack's reply, "for he was gone like aphantom."
"Perhaps it was a phantom," suggested Harry slily.
"I should be half inclined to think so," said Jack, "if I hadn'treceived this solid proof that he was flesh and blood."
Saying which, he turned round and displayed the back of his coat,ripped open by the assassin's dagger.
"Well," exclaimed Mole aghast, "that is cool."
"I'm glad you think so," returned Jack, "for I can tell you it was muchtoo warm for me."
"Well, we shall soon leave this wretched place, I hope," said Mole,"for I don't feel safe of my life. I am expecting every day to be hadup again before the pasha."
"We must always be on the watch now," said Harry Girdwood; "constantvigilance will he necessary to avert danger."
* * * *
Let us follow the movements of the would-be assassin.
The secret of his sudden disappearance was really no great mysteryafter all.
Darting round the first corner so as to put a house between himself andJack's pistol, he found himself suddenly seized by a vigorous hand, anddragged through an open doorway.
"Let go," hissed the assassin, fiercely, "or----"
He raised his long-bladed knife to strike, but before he could bringhis arm down, the dagger was beaten from his grasp.
"Now," said the stranger planting his foot firmly upon the knife,"listen to me."
"You speak English," said the assassin, in surprise.
"Because you spoke English to me," was the reply; "until then, I tookyou for one of us."
"What do you want with me?" demanded the Englishman, doggedly.
"Not much," returned the other, speaking with great fluency, althoughhis foreign accent was strongly marked. "I have saved you from theconsequences of your failure. Had my friendly hand not been there todrag you out of sight, your young countryman would have shot you."
"Well," returned the assassin, surlily, "I owe you my thanks, and----"
"Stop--tell me would you like to succeed in this in spite of your latefailure?"
"Yes."
"Then I will give you a safe and sure method."
"My eternal thanks," began the foiled ruffian.
The stranger interrupted him.
"Reserve your thanks. Tell me what you can offer if I help you."
"Money!"
"How much will you give to see your enemy removed from your path?"
"I will give a good round sum," returned the Englishman, eagerly.
"Name a sum."
He did.
A good round sum it was too.
"Now, then," said the Turk, producing a small phial containing a palegreenish fluid. "Observe this."
"Well?"
"Anoint your dagger with this. Scratch him with it; let your scratch beno more than the prick of a pin, and he will be beyond the aid ofmortal man."
"Is this sure?"
"Beyond all doubt. Would you have proof?"
"Yes."
"Wait here a moment."
The Turk left the room, and presently he appeared carrying a small ironcage.
"Look."
He held up the cage, and showed that it contained two large rats.
"Now," said he, "remove the stopper and dip your dagger's point in."
The Englishman obeyed.
"Now, prick either of the rats ever so slightly."
The Englishman pushed the point of the dagger through the bars of thecage, and one of the rats came to sniff at it--probably anticipating asavoury tit-bit to eat.
Moving the dagger slightly, it barely grazed the rat's nose.
But it sufficed.
The poor beast shivered once, and sank dead.
"What do you say now?" demanded the Turk.
"I am satisfied," replied the Englishman.
"Now, before you go," said the Turk, "I will give you a hint. Theslightest scratch will suffice, as you see."
"Yes."
"Dip two ordinary pins in the poison, and send them by letter to yourenemy. Place them so that in opening the envelope, he will probablyscratch his finger."
The Englishman's eyes sparkled viciously.
"I will, I will."
"Let me know the result, and should you want my aid, you will note wellthe house on leaving so as to know where to return."
"Yes. What is your name?" demanded the Englishman.
"Hadji Nasir Ali," was the reply; "and yours?"
The other hesitated.
"Don't give it unless you feel it is safe," said the Turk.
"There's no harm in your knowing it," returned the Englishman. "My nameis Harkaway."
"Hark-a-way?"
"In one word."
"I see. Farewell, then."
"Farewell."
And the interview was concluded.
* * * *
"That letter is a splendid dodge. Look out, Master Jack Harkaway, lookout, for I mean to cry quits now, or my name is not Herbert Murray,"muttered the Englishman, as he walked away.
But how Herbert Murray had got to Turkey requires some explanation.
It will be within our readers' recollection that after his unsuccessfulattempt on Chivey's life, and the adventure of the groom with the oldSpaniard, Murray found himself on board the same ship as his groom.
He resolved to make the best of this circumstance, as it could not nowbe altered.
A few days after leaving
the Spanish coast they put into one of theMediterranean ports, and there heard that young Jack and his friendshad gone on to Turkey.
"I'll follow them!" exclaimed Murray. "I can do as I like now thegovernor's gone and I've plenty of tin, so look out for yourself, JackHarkaway."
Murray's ship was delayed by adverse weather, but at length reachedport, and Herbert had scarcely put foot on shore, when he beheld youngJack, the object of his deadly hate, walking coolly down the streetsmoking a cigar.
This so enraged Murray that he hastened to disguise himself in Orientalattire, and then made the attempt on Jack's life which we have related.
* * * *
That same night a man was found dead on the threshold of the house inwhich Jack Harkaway and his friends resided.
How he had died no one could imagine, for he had not a scratch on hisbody.
Yet, stay.
There was a scratch.
Just that and no more.
In his fast-clenched hand was found an envelope addressed to Mr. JohnHarkaway, and on a closer examination a pin's point was seen stickingthrough the paper.
This had just pricked the messenger's hand.
So slightly that, had not the tiny wound turned slightly blue, it wouldhave entirely escaped notice.
* * * *
Jack was now aware that he had in Turkey a deadly enemy, but who he washe could not yet tell.
When the men of skill assembled around the body, they were puzzled toassign a cause of death until one of them suggested it was apoplexy. Soapoplexy it was unanimously set down for.
There was no more fuss made.
The man was only a poor devil of a Circassian, who got a precariouslivelihood as a public messenger. So they
"Rattled his bones Over the stones, Like those of a pauper whom nobody owns."
And meanwhile, his murderer went his way.
"Fortunate I gave the name of Harkaway to that old professionalpoisoner, for they will never trace this job to me."
There was, however, one result from this using of Jack Harkaway's namewhich Herbert Murray certainly never contemplated.
But of this we must speak hereafter.
* * * *
In spite of his knowledge of the fact that he had enemies following hisfootsteps, our hero would not remain in the house.
"I am quite as safe in the street as here," said he, in reply to HarryGirdwood's representations of the danger he ran, "and I am sure, oldboy, you would not have me show the white feather."
"You never did that, and never will; but you need not run intounnecessary danger."
"'Thrice is he armed who has his quarrel just,' and his revolver wellloaded. Ta-ta! I am just going to stroll down to this Turkishsubstitute for a postoffice, and see if last night's steamer broughtany letters."
So Jack strolled down accordingly, and found a letter for him.
His heart beat with joy as he recognised the handwriting, and hehurried home to read it.
On breaking open the envelope, out tumbled a beautiful carte de visiteportrait, a copy of which we are able to give, as we still thoroughlyretain young Jack's friendship and confidence.
He kissed it till he began to fear he might spoil the likeness, andthen placing it on the table before him, began to read.
And this is the letter--
"DEAR JACK,--_You very naughty boy. Where have you been, and why have you not written? I have a great mind to scold you, sir; but on second thoughts, I think I had better leave the task of correcting you to your parents, who, perhaps, have more influence with you than I have. You don't know, dear, how anxious we have all been about you. Poor Mr. Mole has started in search of you. Have you seen him yet?--and if you don't write soon, I shall feel obliged to try and find out what has become of you, for I almost begin to fear that some fair Turkish or Circassian girl_----"
"The deuce!" Jack thought; "she can't have heard any thing of thataffair yet. If Mole has written, the letter could not have reachedEngland on the 20th of last month."
Then he continued--
"----_has stolen your heart, and Harry Girdwood's too. Why, poor Paquita always has red eyes when she gets up. So, darling Jack, do write at once, and cheer our hearts. I can't help writing like this, for I feel so fearful that something has happened to you. So be a dear, good boy, and send a full account of all your doings to your father, and just a few lines to
"Your ever faithful and affectionate._
"EMILY.
"_P.S.--I was just reading this over to see if I had been too cross, when your father came in with a photographer, who took my portrait without my knowing anything about it. Do you think it like me, sir?_"
Then followed three or four of those blots which ladies call "kisses."