Jack and Harry having returned to Mole, took him between them; each one holding an arm, they got along as swiftly as the cork legs and feet of the ci-devant pasha would allow.
But as ill-luck would have it, on emerging from one of the alleys, they met the detachment of Turkish soldiers, who at once rushed upon them.
The whole three gave themselves up for lost.
Mole at length stumbled, and fell heavily to the ground.
"Save yourselves at once," he groaned. "Don't mind me; I'm done for, I can't get a step further. Oh, dear, and my head's all bleeding from that sword cut. Run! Make haste, my dear boy; the wretches are firing at us!"
Reluctantly the two youths obeyed the instinct of self-preservation, by letting go the hands of the old tutor, and turning round, they immediately dived into one of the adjoining alleys.
It was just in time, for at that moment, two musket balls whizzed so close to them that the difference of a mere inch would have been certain death.
It was a narrow escape for them; but once out of sight of the soldiers, they finally reached a place of perfect safety, and after all, as Harry remarked—
"A miss is as good as a mile."
Meanwhile, Mole's catalogue of misfortunes were still being added to.