"You?"
"Yes."
"But why should you have so dangerous a post?"
"I prefer it," said Nabley, quietly; "besides, although alone, I shall have some staunch and valuable friends with me."
"You speak in paradoxes, Mr. Nabley."
The detective"s reply to this was to draw his two hands from his coat- pockets, and in each hand there was a six-shooter.
"Here are twelve lives," said the detective, "and I"ve six more in here," tapping his breast.
"You"re a regular a.r.s.enal," said Harkaway, smiling. "But supposing, when you raise your hands, they close upon you and ransack your pockets."
"I have no need to withdraw my hands to use them. I fire through the pockets."
They must have been made with something of this intention, for they were cut in the side seams of the coat which were exceedingly roomy.
"Well, well," said Harkaway, jumping up, "when do we get to work?"
"Now."
"Now?"
"There are no preparations to make, Let Mr. Jefferson be sent for. Both of you get your arms ready, and follow me."
"Good. What arms?"
"Short axe, in case of close work, and rifle each. You"ll be more than a match for six Greeks. Besides," he added, with a significant smile, "I shall not be idle."
"Well, well; away with you," cried Jack; "I am all eagerness to be at work. I shall be quite another man when I have had a brush with these beasts."
"Right, sir," cried the detective; "they will find a powerful foe in you."
"Yes, Nabley," cried Jack, "my arm is nerved for this fight, and it shall go hard with me, but I will have my revenge on those Greek devils for the murder of my poor boys."
The door opened and Jefferson entered.
"The very man!" exclaimed Harkaway.
"What, Nabley!" said Jefferson. "What news of Harvey?"
"Mr. Harkaway will tell you all," answered the detective; "my time"s up. Follow me as quickly as you can."
"Off with you," said Harkaway, growing quite excited at the prospect of a brush with the enemy.
"The fig-tree grove," said Nabley.
"Understood."
And off went the detective.
"Jefferson," said Jack, "I am now about seeking my foes, and fear not but I will render a good account of my actions, for against the brigands I feel the strength of a giant."
CHAPTER XXIX.
WHEREIN MR. MOLE PHILOSOPHISES AND HAS AN ADVENTURE--THE SCENT OF BATTLE--MOLE THE TERROR OF THE BRIGANDS--ISAAC THE ANNIHILATOR-- MOLE"S PRISONER.
It must not be supposed that Isaac Mole was idle all this time.
He heard of the bold doings of his friends Harkaway, Harvey and Jefferson, not to speak of the valuable aid of Nabley the detective, and, figuratively speaking, his very soul panted for glory.
"I feel I could conquer by my single hand half-a-dozen brigands," said Mole to himself; "but still I should prefer to come across a sleeping brigand. But ah, me!" there he sighed deeply, "brigands are as rarely caught asleep as weasels."
Poor old Mole"s desire to distinguish himself in this matter was very great.
The plain truth was that poor Isaac was at times badly henpecked.
On these occasions he would a.s.sume his most dignified deportment and point to his wooden legs.
"There are proofs, Mrs. Mole," he would say, "that Isaac Mole never shunned the foe in his life."
"Yah, yah!" his spouse would gracefully smile in reply, "dat no fault ob yours, Ikey Mole; de ignorant critters took off your legs because you so often lost your legs before."
"Lost them before?"
"Yes."
"Before they were amputated, do you mean?"
"Yes."
"Why, Mrs. Mole," and he would draw himself up to his full height, "you have been surely indulging in strong waters."
"No, sar; no, Ikey Mole, not dis gal, sar. You lose your legs continual and your head too, sar, with strong waters--sperrits, sar, sperrits."
Poor Mole, he was no match for her, and could only turn for consolation to where he had ever thought to drown dull care.
The bottle.
Mrs. Mole one day surprised him at a sly tipple in the grounds of the villa, and he knew it to his sorrow.
Suddenly popping round the corner, Chloe emptied the contents of a pail over his luckless head.