Mr. Figgins did hark, and an awful sound reached him from behind the curtain.
It was more like the expiring groans of a hapless porker in the hands of a ruthless butcher, than any thing else you could compare it to.
A fatal struggle was going on behind the curtain.
Groans and dying wails were heard for awhile.
Awful sounds.
Then all was still.
"Oh, what is it?" murmured the orphan, in distress.
"Squiziz Wizen, the pasha's executioner, has dealt upon poor Nat Cringle."
"What!" gasped Figgins.
"Bowstrung," returned Captain Deering.