Jack Harkaway's Boy Tinker Among The Turks by Bracebridge Hemyng (books for men to read .txt) 📕

"To Her Britannic Majesty's Consul at Marseilles:

"Sir,—I have already addressed several letters to you on the subject of the incarceration of myself and friends in the prison of Marseilles, on a charge of counterfeit coining. I also explained how we were led, by the artful devices of a person calling himself Markby, to be actually in the coiner's house when the police entered it, and, therefore, appearances are certainly against us. To all those letters you have made no reply, which I think is certainly hard, and not quite right, as I imagine the duty of a British consul includes looking after the interests of British subjects in the town or district he is stationed at.

"Now, sir, in my former letters I requested you to communicate with the bankers in this town, and also with my father, whose address I give below, and who placed money in their hands for my use. If you will do so, you will see that all the statements in my former letters are correct; but if you do not, a number of British subjects will probably be condemned and heavily sentenced, entirely through your neglect.

"Therefore, I beg of you at once to communicate with those who can identify me and my friends, and in the meantime to use your influence to postpone the trial till that communication can be effected.

"Your obedient servant,

"J. Harkaway, Junr."

"My eye!" said Chivey, when Murray had read the letter aloud, "ain't he getting his back up?"

"No matter. They are all of them safe enough, and if they get out, I'll forgive them."

"But they won't forgive you."

"Perhaps not; but ring the bell, Chivey. We'll have some wine after this, and just hand over the cigar box."

The ex-groom gave a tug at the bell-rope and ordered wine.

Then he took up a cigar-box and, giving it a vigorous shake, ejaculated—

"There ain't a blessed smoke in it, guv'nor."

"Well, I'll just put on my hat and stroll up to the shop of Monsieur Cretineau-Joly and order a fresh stock. I must have a few minutes' exercise before it gets dark; shan't be ten minutes."

Herbert left the apartment, while Chivey muttered—

"He's afraid of meeting that Lenoir if he goes out after dark."

And Chivey was quite right.

Herbert Murray walked briskly up the street till he reached the tobacconist's, where he paused a moment, to look at the numerous varieties of the nicotian herb displayed in the window, along with pipes and cigar tubes of every shape and pattern.

As he looked, several others looked, and one of the lookers, while removing his pipe, was so unfortunate as to allow some of the tobacco ash to blow in Murray's face.

"Curse you, for an awkward Frenchman," growled Murray, while the other politely apologised for the mishap.

Herbert coughed, and sneezed, and drew out his handkerchief to wipe his face; but neither he nor anyone else noticed at the same time he drew out young Jack Harkaway's letter, which fluttered slowly to the pavement, where it lay with the address downwards.

Murray bought his box of cigars, and returned to the hotel where he resided, but still the letter lay unheeded beneath the tobacco shop window, till darkness had settled over the town of Marseilles except where street lamps and shop lights pierced the gloom.

Then there came up to the shop an old man, who apparently had been a soldier, as he dragged one leg very stiffly, and had his left arm in a sling.

But although his hair was white, his carriage was upright and martial.

He looked in at the door, then entered, and purchased some tobacco, after which he stood outside and filled his pipe.

"I might have taken a light inside," he muttered, when that operation was finished, and seeing a scrap of paper on the pavement, he picked it up, to use as a pipe-light.

But the writing on the outside caught his eye.

"A letter to the British consul!" the old man ejaculated. "It may be worth a franc or two, if I restore it to his excellency."

So he thrust it into his pocket, obtained a light, and hobbled away in the direction of the consulate.

But presently he paused in a retired spot, where only a single lamp illumined the surrounding houses.

"I wonder what the letter is about," he said; "I can make a better bargain, perhaps, if I know the contents."

And without more ado, the man pulled out the letter, and read it carefully.

Although it was written in English, the old French soldier seemed to understand it thoroughly.

"That cursed villain's name again," he hissed, through his teeth, when he had read a few lines. "But I'll pay him yet."

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