Jack Harkaway and His Son's Escape from the Brigands of Greece Part 20

"What is that?"

"Murder."

"Murder!"

And the German traveller looked inexpressibly shocked.

"Murder is a capital crime in every land."

"And rightly too," said the visitor, "rightly, too. But, sir, excuse my curiosity--"

"Ask all you will," returned the governor.

"This man had, I was told, a bold, dashing fellow to second him in all his exploits."

"An Italian?"

"No."

"An Englishman?"

"No, no, sir, you mistake; I mean a Greek--a handsome, dashing fellow-- a great favourite with the ladies--brave and daring."

"And how is this Apollo called?"

"Tomaso."

The governor burst into a loud fit of laughter at this,

"You are altogether mistaken about that brigand--that Tomaso. He is a scrubby and ill-favoured scamp--a sneaking, crawling rascal, capable of all the villany of his master, but not possessed of his courage."

Had the governor been looking at the visitor's face just then, he might have had his suspicions aroused.

The sham German philanthropist glared ferociously as this description was given.

The prisoner, who was seated at a rough deal table at the further end of the cell, here arose at the gaoler's order, and came to the window.

A single glance sufficed to show that a very noticeable change had taken place in the appearance of Mathias.

His face was pale and haggard, and the whole of one side of it, the eye, cheek bone, and forehead were bruised.

This was the mark that Jefferson had set upon him.

This was the bold American's only vengeance for the deathblow which the brigand had dealt upon his faithful friend and companion Magog Brand.

Jefferson's right arm came down like a steam hammer, and any man who had felt its full force as the scoundrel Mathias had did not forget it very readily.

Such a desperate shaking had it given Mathias that he had not yet recovered.

The bold, defiant bearing of the man was gone, and he looked ten years older than when Tomaso and he had last met.

It struck the visitor at once.

"Dear, dear me," exclaimed the latter, "is it possible that this can be the redoubtable Mathias?"

"It is he," said the governor, "yet scarcely so gay as is his wont, eh, Mathias?"

The prisoner shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

"Laugh on, your excellency," he said, rather bitterly, "it is your turn now."

"Now!"

"Aye, now. It may not always be."

"Why, surely you never think of getting out of this?"

"Indeed, I think of nothing else morning, noon, and night."

The governor gave a sharp glance about.

He looked toward the gaoler.

Now the gaoler was a huge fellow, over six feet high and broad in proportion, one who could have tackled Toro himself, as far as weight and sheer brute strength went.

"Your excellency," replied Mathias, "when I leave this place, my exit will be due to no violence. Bad as I am, I am not altogether what they would make out."

"Poor Mathias!" said the governor ironically, "one would almost think that murder was not his line of business."

"Your excellency," said the prison, drawing near to the grated window, "I repent sincerely of that poor little gentleman's death; it was no a.s.sa.s.sin's stab in the dark, but a most unfortunate blow in a fight, remember,"

"Bravo! Mathias! bravo!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the visitor.

The prisoner looked up.

A strange expression flitted across his face.

Mathias was an adept in the art of dissimulation, and his face was schooled to tell neither more nor less than he wished.

"Now, your excellency," said the visitor, "this rascal appears strangely self-possessed."

"He does."

"What does it mean?"

"Brag."

"Humph!"