CHAPTER IX.
BRAVO, PHILANDER!
It is impossible for them to understand just at the moment what hasoccurred.
They are in a part of the Maltese city that Europeans might wellhesitate to visit at the hour of midnight, however much they wouldfrequent it in daylight.
The natives of Valetta have not all become reconciled to British rule,and although no open outbreak occurs, more than once has it been placedin evidence that there is a deep feeling of resentful distrust incertain quarters, which only awaits an opportunity to show its uglyteeth.
Knowing this fact, it is general principles more than anything else thatcauses Philander to have concern.
When those loud cries break forth close at hand, he knows his fears werenot without foundation.
John Craig is also suddenly brought to a realization of the fact that hehas hardly been prudent in his action.
He stows the paper away with a single movement of his hand. It isprecious to him, and must be kept for future study.
Then he is ready to face those who, by their presence and outcries,announce themselves as the foes of foreigners.
There are many secret societies on the famous island besides the Knightsof Malta, and it is not at all improbable that an organization existswhich has for its main object the eventual uprising of the Maltese andtheir freedom from the British yoke.
This would naturally be kept a secret, and not proclaimed from the flatroofs of Valetta, or the platform of St. Lazarus.
Philander has shown remarkable traits upon this night of nights, traitswhich Doctor Chicago never suspected he possessed. He now proves that,in addition to these other commendable qualities, he has wonderfulpresence of mind, and that no sudden emergency can stupefy his senses.
Just as soon as the outcry is heard, he draws the small, cimeter-shapedpaper-knife, which he claimed would make a serviceable weapon.
At the same time he cries out:
"We're in for it, John, my boy! Don't be too proud to run. Legs, do yourduty!"
With which remark Philander starts his lower extremities into action,turning his head to make sure that his companion has not hesitated tofollow.
If the professor is a small man, he has the faculty for getting overground at quite an astonishing rate of speed. His short legs fairlytwinkle as they measure off the yards; and, given a fair show, he wouldlead any ordinary runner a race.
The darkness, the uneven street, and his unfamiliarity with hissurroundings, are all against him now, so that he cannot do himselfjustice.
Suddenly he misses his companion. John was close beside him ten secondsbefore--John, who is a sprinter from athletic education, and who couldhave distanced the professor with only half an effort had he wished, butwho moderated his speed to conform with that of his less favored friend.
The shouts have continued all this while, proving that the citizens ofValetta have steadfastly pursued them with some dark purpose in view.
Just as soon as Philander Sharpe makes this discovery, his action is onethat proves him a hero.
He stops in his tracks, and no longer keeps up his flight.
"Turn the other way, boys! At 'em like thunder! As Sheridan said atCedar Creek: 'We'll lick 'em out of their boots,'" is the astonishingcry he sends forth, as he begins to travel over the back trail.
This speedily brings him upon the scene of action. Several dark figureshave come to a halt around a prostrate object. They are the men ofValetta, who have organized this secret vendetta against all foreigners.
It is easy to understand why they thus halt. John Craig is therecumbent, struggling figure on the roadway; John Craig, who haspossibly been lassoed by some expert among the pursuers, and who kickswith the vim and energy of a free American citizen.
This Philander understands instantly, and also comprehending that hemust do something very speedily, throws himself into the midst of thedusky Maltese thugs.
The advent of a wild-cat could not produce more astonishment andconsternation than this sudden coming of the energetic little man.
He accompanies his assault with the most energetic movements of botharms and legs, and his shrill voice keeps time to the music.
As he holds the cimeter-knife in one hand, his movements are not withoutcertain painful accompaniments. The men fall back in dismay. A momentarypanic is upon them. Philander is shrewd enough to know this will notlast, and he does not attempt to pursue them.
Upon finding that for the time being the scene is left to him, and thathe is the master of the situation, the professor bends down to free hiscompanion from the noose that binds his arms.
Already has John managed to gain a sitting posture, as the fellow at theother end of the rope forgets to pull steadily upon it in his alarm atthe new phase of affairs.
Before he can collect his wits, and once more stretch the line,Philander's keen blade of Damascus steel is pressed against the rope,and as it comes taut it instantly separates.
This is enough for John, who has now gained his feet, and throws asidethe entangling loop.
His tumble has had a queer effect on the young doctor; usually cool andcautious, he has been transformed into a Hotspur; there is a suddendesire for revenge.
In his hand he holds a cudgel, which he snatched from the street as hearose. It is the spoke of a wheel belonging to some light vehicle, andwhich no doubt one of the assailants carried.
With this flourishing about his head, Doctor Chicago leaps in among theMaltese and belabors them right and left.
As Philander, seeing what is going on, and knowing his assistance wouldbe appreciated, springs to his side, the dusky sons of Malta break andrun.
They realize, perhaps, that they have waked up the wrong customers, andimmediate flight is the only thing that will save them from the resultof their impetuosity.
The two Americans make a pretense of pursuing them, but truth to telltheir course really lies in an altogether different direction, and, asif by mutual consent, they suddenly turn right about face.
Taking advantage of the enemy's discomfiture, they are enabled to makegood their escape, and presently reach the vicinity of the hotel, ratherout of breath, and looking somewhat the worse for their strangeadventures.
Professor Sharpe has been glowing with pride and satisfaction up to themoment they reach the caravansary, then all of a sudden he seems tocollapse.
A sound comes from a window above; a clear, sibilant sound; a humanvoice uttering one word, but investing it with a volume of reproachbeyond description.
That word:
"Philander!"
The doughty little professor, who has proved himself as brave as a lionin the face of actual and overwhelming danger, now shows positive signsof flunking. He clutches the arm of his fellow-adventurer, and whispers:
"John Craig, remember your solemn promise."
"Never fear; I'll stand by you, professor."
"Philander Sharpe!"
This time the inflection is more positive and acrid. It is no longer atone of plaint and entreaty, but touches the Caudle lecture style. Ofcourse, he can no longer ignore the presence of his better half.
"It's I, Gwendolin," he says, meekly.
"Oh, it is! You've condescended to take some notice of me at last. Well,I'm glad to see you. Come up stairs at once, and confess that you'vetreated me abominably, you bad man."
"For Heaven's sake let's get in before a crowd gathers," groans theprofessor, with a glance of horror up in the direction of thewhite-capped head protruding from, the second-story window.
Craig is amused, but takes pity on his companion, so they enter thehotel together.
"Will you tell her all?" he asks.
"She'll never rest content now until she discovers it," says Philander,sadly.
"Then make a clean breast. I give you permission to speak of my affairs,only--"
"What?"
"Somehow I'd rather not have Lady Ruth know about Pauline Potter, andthe foolish whim that causes her to pursue me."
At this Philander chuckles, being able to see through a millstone with ahole in it.
"I'll warn Gwendolin, then. She entertains a warm feeling for you,John--always has since making your acquaintance; and after the event ofto-day, or rather yesterday, since it is past the witching hour ofmidnight, she is ready to do anything for you."
"Well, good-night, professor," with a warm shake of the hand, for whatthey have passed through in common to-night will make these two the bestof friends.
When John Craig finds himself alone, he does not at once retire tohis small room. Sleep is one of the last things he thinks of just atpresent, his mind has been so wrought up by the events of the night.
The hotel remains open. It is not customary, for there are no latetrains to come in at Valetta, and the people keep early hours, as ausual thing, but this is an exceptional time of the year, precedingLent, and there may be some other reason besides that causes anall-night open house.
Doctor Chicago finds a chair, and seats himself, first of all to reflectupon the singular train of events that has marked a red cross in hiscareer since the last sunrise.
His stricken arm pains him, but he has not the slightest fear as to theultimate outcome of that episode; the self-inflicted scorching with thehot iron effectually ended that.
At last he draws out the piece of paper which Philander secured in theroom that marked their downfall, the paper that bears the signature ofSister Magdalen.
Lady Ruth's reminiscence has thus proved of great value to him.
He takes out one of the notes which came periodically to him--it is theone that bore the postmark of Valetta, Malta. Holding the two side byside, he eagerly compares them.
"Yes, the same hand penned both--I would swear to that."
Long he muses, sitting there. The papers have been put away, his cigarfalls unheeded to the floor, and his thoughts fly far away.
Finally he arises, with a sigh, and seeks his room, to rest very poorly,between the pain of his arm and the worry of his mind.
Another day dawns upon Valetta.
As yet the tourists, who sojourn at the city of Malta by the sea, havereceived no intimation that the disabled steamer is in a condition toproceed.
This means another day on the island, for which few are really sorry, asValetta is not an unpleasant place in winter.
Our friends gather around the breakfast-table, and conversation isbrisk. More than once Lady Ruth watches the face of John Craig. She isanxious to hear what success he met with on the preceding night, andwill doubtless find an opportunity for a quiet little chat after themeal.
On his part, Craig is uneasy, feeling that he owes her a recital offacts, and yet loth to tell her anything about Pauline Potter, for heis ashamed of his boyish infatuation with regard to the Chicago actress.
So he dallies over his breakfast, hoping that something will turn up tolead their thoughts in another channel, and at least give them a longerrespite. Perhaps a message will come from the steamer announcing animmediate sailing.
He is eager to be off. Whatever was in the note Philander picked up inthe house of the Strada Mezzodi, it has given John a feverish anxiety toreach some other port.
Ah! here is the good captain of the Hyperion himself, a jolly sea-dogwhom every passenger clings to in time of storm and trouble, and whobuoys up trembling souls, fearful of the worst, with his hearty,good-natured manner.
He announces aloud for the benefit of his passengers that a notice justposted in the office of the hotel gives the time of the vessel's sailingat seven in the evening, and all passengers are requested to be on boardbefore that hour, if possible.
This means another day on shore. It means that John Craig cannot longerelude the recital of his night's adventures to Lady Ruth.
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