CHAPTER XXX
THE FIG-TREE GROVE—A DOUBLE AMBUSCADE—THE LEECH-FISHER—HOW
THE TRAP WAS BAITED, AND HOW IT TOOK—SOMETHING LIKE THE OLD
FORM—TRIUMPHANT MARCH OF HARKAWAY AND CO.
Within an hour—nay, less—of the foregoing conversation you might have seen an aged man wending his weary way along the high road from Athens towards the mountains.
Thickly-grown fig trees leant over the road, and their well-garnished branches formed a roof of foliage through which no ray of sunlight could penetrate.
He seemed an aged man.
His steps tottered.
It was strange that he did not seek the aid of a stout staff, or walking stick at least.
But no, he preferred to keep his hands in his coat pockets.
Now the coat he wore was a full-skirted frock, much resembling in shape the garment which was worn by our grandfathers, or their fathers, when George the Third was king, with huge pockets in the skirts and lappets.