At this, a fierce yell rose upon the air.
"Down with the wretch!"
"Tear him to pieces!"
"Let him be impaled!" cried the multitude.
With these dire threats, the angry crowd rushed towards Mr. Figgins, headed by a short, fat Turk, who was particularly indignant.
The luckless orphan, anxious to avoid the terrible doom that was threatening him, rushed away in an opposite direction.
The Turks are not, as a rule, remarkable for swift running.
Mr. Figgins, whose pace was quickened by the dreadful prospect of a stake through his body, would have easily distanced them.
But unfortunately, his green and yellow striped turban, dislodged from its position, fell—as his hat had previously done—over his eyes, and almost smothered him.
He tugged away at it as he ran, in order to get rid of it.