The cadets found their hands full. The stranger fought like one possessed. He bit and kicked and rained blows upon his antagonists, but they clung to him with unswerving courage until he at last sank to the ground exhausted.
“Bring a rope here, quick!” gasped Clif, as Mr. Windom, accompanied by a number of servants, ran up. “Bring a rope to tie this fellow. We’ve got a prize.”
“My pearls, my pearls!” wailed the old merchant, wringing his hands. “They are gone. I tried to save them, but the robber——”
“We’ve got the robber all right,” interrupted Clif, cheerily. “And there are your pearls over yonder.”
He inclined his head toward an indistinct object lying upon the path. Mr. Windom snatched it up with a cry of joy. It was a bag containing his priceless collection.
The servants returned with a rope and several lanterns. Several of the men assisted the cadets to bind the prisoner, then he was turned over with his face to the light.
Cries of amazement came from all save Clif.
“Great guns!” gasped Joy, “it’s the Englishman! It’s J. Chesire-Cheshire Cate!”
“The would-be assassin!” cried Clif. “Seize him!”
There was a desperate struggle, in the midst of which several neighbors and two mounted policemen arrived.