Sure enough, Alme detached from her fair neck an elastic band, whereon were strung thirteen bright gold rings.
Mole was fairly staggered by this determined preparation on the part of the irresistible enslavers.
"They mean to have me," he gasped. "I see how it is; they come here with the intention of dragging me to the late pasha's mansion, and marrying me by main force."
"It looks like it," answered the interpreter, "for I find that they have brought with them a dozen of the harem-guard, fully armed."
"Then I am indeed lost," cried Mole. "But no, I'll die game. Here, help, guards, soldiers, fly to the rescue of your pasha. Oh! Mrs. Mole, where are you now? Your poor Mole is in danger."
As Mole uttered the piteous lament we have recorded, both ladies made a combined charge at him, with a wild shriek and a sudden outburst in Turkish, which might have been either a chorus of endearments or of reproaches.
Alme got behind him and flung her arms around his neck with such vigour that he was nearly strangled, Hannifar attacking him in the same way from the front.
In the pressure of this combined assault he was powerless; struggle as he would, he could not detach himself from their overwhelming embrace.
His cries for help were smothered.
His turban was knocked over his eyes.