"We're in for it, John, my boy! Don't be too proud to run. Legs, do your duty!"
With which remark Philander starts his lower extremities into action, turning his head to make sure that his companion has not hesitated to follow.
If the professor is a small man, he has the faculty for getting over ground at quite an astonishing rate of speed. His short legs fairly twinkle as they measure off the yards; and, given a fair show, he would lead any ordinary runner a race.
The darkness, the uneven street, and his unfamiliarity with his surroundings, are all against him now, so that he cannot do himself justice.
Suddenly he misses his companion. John was close beside him ten seconds before—John, who is a sprinter from athletic education, and who could have distanced the professor with only half an effort had he wished, but who moderated his speed to conform with that of his less favored friend.
The shouts have continued all this while, proving that the citizens of Valetta have steadfastly pursued them with some dark purpose in view.
Just as soon as Philander Sharpe makes this discovery, his action is one that proves him a hero.
He stops in his tracks, and no longer keeps up his flight.
"Turn the other way, boys! At 'em like thunder! As Sheridan said at Cedar Creek: 'We'll lick 'em out of their boots,'" is the astonishing cry he sends forth, as he begins to travel over the back trail.
This speedily brings him upon the scene of action. Several dark figures have come to a halt around a prostrate object. They are the men of Valetta, who have organized this secret vendetta against all foreigners.