CHAPTER XVI.
A GREAT DANGER—OFF AND AWAY!—POOR PIKE.
Hunston quailed. He was lost.
So suddenly—so unexpectedly had this come, that he was utterly powerless to help himself.
Had he been wearing the mechanical arm, he might have able to tackle the wiry officer Pike.
Bitterly did he curse his unlucky fate.
Recovering himself, however, in some slight degree, he endeavoured to shake off the detective's hold.
"Quiet, now, quiet, Master Hunston," said Pike, "or I shall have to try means for tranquilising you which you won't find agree with you."
"Show me your warrant for this outrage," said Hunston.
"Outrage! Hoity, toity! that's a good word."
"I shall call the police to my assistance if you attempt to molest me," said Hunston, putting on a lofty air.
This tickled Pike mightily.
"Call the police, will you?" he said. "Well, I shan't, for I flatter myself that I don't want much assistance to walk off with such a man as you—even if you were not lopsided."
Hunston turned savagely upon the detective at this allusion to his crippled state and made an attempt at using his one arm upon him.
But Pike was—to put it vulgarly—all there.
He dexterously dodged the blow, and whirling round secured a hold upon Hunston's collar—that peculiar grip which is the specialty of men who have been in the force.
Hunston struggled desperately to get free. In vain.
Do what he would, he found himself being trotted along to save himself from strangulation.
Not only was it physically painful.
Hunston had an overweening sense of his own importance and dignity, and this being run in just like some paltry pickpocket in a crowd, was galling to his vanity beyond all description.
What could he do?
He was powerless.
The wondering people stared at this singular exhibition, but they parted their ranks as Pike and his prisoner came along, and never offered to interfere.
Now, during this brief but painful business, Hunston's thoughts ran right ahead of the present dilemma.
He endeavoured to realise some of the possible consequences of it.
The arrest was, he felt assured, illegal.
What then?
What could result from such a proceeding?
Would they detain him?
Could they?—that was the question.
The British ambassador might be influenced by people of the rank and position of the Harkaways.
This granted, it was easy enough for his excellency to waive legal forms and ceremonies there, and get Hunston transferred to the safe keeping of the English authorities.
At this point Hunston could not repress a shudder.
And why? He thought of what must necessarily follow.
His fevered fancy flew ahead, and he saw himself in the dock, faced by the stony-faced judge, and put through the torture of cross-examination which laid bare the innermost recesses of his black heart in spite of himself.
He saw further on yet.
He shut his eyes as he went on and heard the tramp of the twelve jurors re-entering the court in the midst of a profound and awesome silence.
He heard the solemn formula; he heard the hollow voice of the foreman give the verdict—
"Guilty!"
All that he heard and saw in his mind's eye, in that brief but unpleasant hustling he had to go through at the hands of the ungenerous and indefatigable officer Daniel Pike.
And Hunston now, being half cowed by his captor, was being driven through the streets like a lamb to the slaughter, when a sudden and startling incident changed the whole spirit of the scene, even in the twinkling of an eye.
A musket, grasped in a strong hand by the barrel, was swung over their heads, and down it came with an awful crack upon poor Pike's head.
Down he dropped like a bullock under the butcher's pole-axe.
And Hunston was free.
For a few seconds he could not realise his release, so sudden and unexpected it had been.
"Come along," said a voice in his ear; "away with you, or we shall get into trouble here."
This aroused him.
He recognised the voice of Tomaso the brigand, and it brought him to his presence of mind.
Off he started at a good brisk run in the direction that his preserver had taken.
And soon was out of danger.
But Tomaso was not so fortunate.
Following Hunston at a more leisurely pace, he had not gone many yards, when a firm grip was placed upon his shoulder.
"Halt!" said a voice.
The brigand turned hastily, and found himself in the firm clutch of the detective.
"I have caught you at last, villain!" exclaimed Pike the detective, as he twisted his hand into the collar of the garment Tomaso wore instead of a shirt.
Then, before the astonished brigand had time either to remonstrate or resist, the Englishman exhibited to him that particular form of wrestling known as the "cross buttock," and stretched him at full length on the ground.
Another moment and a pair of real Bow Street handcuffs snapped on Tomaso's wrists.
"Neatly done; don't you think so?" said Pike.
Tomaso's answer was a tremendous Greek oath.
"You're swearing, I believe. Now that is a bad habit at all times, and very foolish just now, because you see it don't hurt me, inasmuch as I don't understand it," said Pike, who, after a brief, stern survey of his captive, added—
"If you cursed me in English, though, I don't know but what I might be tempted to punch your ugly head."
Tomaso remained silent, and Pike, after pausing some seconds, helped him to his feet.
"Now you are all right, and will come back quietly with me. But how do the bracelets fit? I've got another pair in my pocket."
"You had better release me," observed Tomaso.
"Now that is very ridiculous, my friend. Why should I take the trouble of capturing you, if I let you run again directly?"
"It will be much to your disadvantage to imprison me, Signor Englishman. An injured Greek is always avenged in some way."
"Just so; however, I'll risk that"
Pike's coolness added to the rage of the brigand, whose passion fairly boiled over.
"May all the infernal gods my forefathers worshipped—may the fiend I—"
"Serve," suggested Pike.
"The fiend I would willingly serve, or sell my soul to, for vengeance, visit you with his direst displeasure, and may all the plagues of Egypt blight you!"
"Thank ye, that's a very pleasant speech; something like what I used to hear at the theatre. But, old friend, you made one little blunder."
"You will see if I have blundered."
"One little blunder, when you spoke of selling your soul. Lor' bless you, Old Scratch isn't such a fool as to buy nowadays, whatever he may have done years ago."
Another angry exclamation from Tomaso.
"You see, the old gentleman has gained some experience as a trader, and he knows well enough that if he waits a little time, he'll get you all free-gratis for nothing at all."
"You are a devil, Englishman."
"And you are not exactly an angel. However, if I am a devil, you may consider you are regularly sold to me. So now come along; keep your hands under your cloak, and no one will notice the little decorations on your wrists."
"You are a devil, Signor Englishman; but you will die for this."
"Pshaw! I've collared scores of desperate villains, and they all said something of the same kind, yet here I am."
"You will die," repeated Tomaso.
"Some clay, of course; but we have a proverb in England; would you like to hear it?"
Tomaso tossed his head with lofty indifference.
"The proverb," continued Pike, "is that 'Threatened men live long.'"
He then took Tomaso by the arm, and led him on.
"But stop," said he, "those pistols in your girdle are very heavy. I'll carry them for you, and the knife as well."