In his hand he holds a cudgel, which he snatched from the street as he arose.  It is the spoke of a wheel belonging to some light vehicle, and which no doubt one of the assailants carried.

With this flourishing about his head, Doctor Chicago leaps in among the Maltese and belabors them right and left.

As Philander, seeing what is going on, and knowing his assistance would be appreciated, springs to his side, the dusky sons of Malta break and run.

They realize, perhaps, that they have waked up the wrong customers, and immediate flight is the only thing that will save them from the result of their impetuosity.

The two Americans make a pretense of pursuing them, but truth to tell their course really lies in an altogether different direction, and, as if by mutual consent, they suddenly turn right about face.

Taking advantage of the enemy’s discomfiture, they are enabled to make good their escape, and presently reach the vicinity of the hotel, rather out of breath, and looking somewhat the worse for their strange adventures.

Professor Sharpe has been glowing with pride and satisfaction up to the moment they reach the caravansary, then all of a sudden he seems to collapse.

A sound comes from a window above; a clear, sibilant sound; a human voice uttering one word, but investing it with a volume of reproach beyond description.

That word: 

“Philander!”

The doughty little professor, who has proved himself as brave as a lion in the face of actual and overwhelming danger, now shows positive signs of flunking.  He clutches the arm of his fellow-adventurer, and whispers: 

“John Craig, remember your solemn promise.”

“Never fear; I’ll stand by you, professor.”

“Philander Sharpe!”

This time the inflection is more positive and acrid.  It is no longer a tone of plaint and entreaty, but touches the Caudle lecture style.  Of course, he can no longer ignore the presence of his better half.

“It’s I, Gwendolin,” he says, meekly.

“Oh, it is!  You’ve condescended to take some notice of me at last.  Well, I’m glad to see you.  Come up stairs at once, and confess that you’ve treated me abominably, you bad man.”

“For Heaven’s sake let’s get in before a crowd gathers,” groans the professor, with a glance of horror up in the direction of the white-capped head protruding from, the second-story window.

Craig is amused, but takes pity on his companion, so they enter the hotel together.

“Will you tell her all?” he asks.

“She’ll never rest content now until she discovers it,” says Philander, sadly.

“Then make a clean breast.  I give you permission to speak of my affairs, only—­”

“What?”

“Somehow I’d rather not have Lady Ruth know about Pauline Potter, and the foolish whim that causes her to pursue me.”