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Updated: June 26, 2025
Mr. Mole looked hard at him. "And what did he say about me?" "He said that all the intelligence of our party was centred in one person." "Well?" "And that the initials of the person in question were I. M." "Now, Jack." "Sir." "You two boys are conspiring against me." "You are rather hard upon us, sir," said Harry Girdwood, with an injured look.
Jack stood eagerly watching at the dungeon door. Young Jack was full of eagerness. Harry had disappeared, and he could not see or hear him. "All right." The answer came in a hollow, echoing sound, which indicated that Harry Girdwood had made some considerable progress. This increased his eagerness greatly. "Harry." No answer. He was too far for young Jack's voice to reach him.
Immovable. "The window, then," said Harry Girdwood. Back they ran on tip-toe to the window, and pushing open the casement, they looked out. The sea. Between thirty and forty feet below, and lashing the very base of the prison. They turned to each other simultaneously. "Ugh!" "No chance here." "This is a funny go."
See what is revealed under it." "Hurrah!" cried young Jack. "Hurrah!" yelled Harry Girdwood; "but stop. Let us see if there is any thing in it, for we may yet escape." Four Stones up. Two across. "Do you understand it now, Harry?" The latter scratched his head and looked about. "I understand it well enough," he replied; "but there is one difficulty." "What?" "A tool."
Words cannot describe the trouble of the Harkaway family at the loss of young Jack and his stout-hearted comrade, Harry Girdwood. At first their indignation had been so great, that their first impulse was to use violent means to effect the recovery of the boys. But the first person to oppose this was Jack Harkaway himself.
Young Jack, however, struck out and swam round the boat, so that his weight, clinging upon the further side of the boat, served to steady it while Harry Girdwood completed the rescue of the stranger. "Bravo!" cried young Jack. "It was a tough job," said Harry. "And a narrow squeak for all of us." "Right; but let's look after this poor fellow. He's alive." "Yes."
This singular individual, Geoffrey Martin, appeared greatly interested in the fate of the unfortunate boys, young Jack and Harry Girdwood, and he got Boulgaris to take him to the spot where the crosses had been erected over the graves by the pious hand of Theodora, the girl who had unwittingly lured them to the fatal trap. "So here you have buried them?" said Geoffrey Martin.
A dull settled feeling of loneliness and despair fell upon the two boy prisoners. "A swamp," said Harry Girdwood. "It looks like a bog," said young Jack, "but yet I can see something moving." "It is water." "A lake." "Yes." "How black how dismal it looks." It did, indeed. Silent and gloomy, like a table of metal, spread the darkling waters of this strange lake.
Honest Marion Sapples worked like a Trojan to the gloaming, but the light latheron never came back; at last, seeing no other help for it, she got one of the other women at the washing-house to go to Mrs Girdwood and to let her know what had happened, and how the best part of the washing would, unless help was sent, be obliged to lie out all night.
"I will," said Mr. Mole, with a show of determination, but shaking all over. "Now, O sceptic, what proof of my lore would ye have? Would ye know something of yourself?" "No." "Yes," said Harry Girdwood for him promptly. The wizard inclined his head gravely, and opened a large volume before him upon the table. After poring over this for a time, he said the following doggrel in a deep bass voice
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