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Updated: June 2, 2025
"You know I always said there was a mystery about that boy?" "Well, what of it?" "Did you notice the way he bound your shoulder last night?" "What of it?" "Did you ever see a man bind a wound like that?" "What do you mean?" "I mean simply that the mystery about our Jack Harkaway was just this: Jack Harkaway was no boy at all but just a girl; a brick of a dare-devil girl!" Better Than Duck.
"Stop a bit," said Joe Basalt, feeling the stowaway's chest. "He's not dead yet. I can feel something moving here. Yes, it's beating." "He's only fainting, then." "Yes." "Quite enough, top. I'll go up and let them know, before he can go on again about it." Up he ran. Joe Basalt used his best exertions to bring the swooning man round. Tiller found Harkaway on deck.
"What do you mean?" "What I say. We must not give up the search." "Ah, Dick, you would persuade me, if you can't persuade yourself." "You are wrong," replied Harvey. "I have the deepest conviction on the point." "To what effect?" "That they live both live." Jack Harkaway looked positively frightened at this reply. "Dick, Dick," he exclaimed, mournfully, "what are you saying, old friend?"
"Tell me, sir, what could I say that would restore happiness to you to your wife to your friends and home? What could I say to lift the veil of mourning from your house and hearts? to restore the former gaiety to this tomb-like place." Jack Harkaway listened as one in a dream. "Girl," he said, in a voice that was almost inaudible, "you know not what you say."
But no one saw him quail or give an inch. Those who watched his face declared that his lips were white with rage and quivered with passion. To tell the words which passed between them after that would require Homer's pathos and Homer's imagination. The two old men scowled and scolded at each other, and, had Mr. Fairlawn attempted to pass, Mr. Harkaway would certainly have struck him with his whip.
"That I can not help, but at all events I leave here to-morrow, at daybreak, and may the shade of one of their victims aid me to throw dust in the eyes of Hunston and the Italian villain Toro." "Amen," said Harkaway, seriously.
Harkaway is a clever man. He is surrounded also by clever people; there is a curious old gentleman there, too, an old gentleman of great learning, and he might be enabled to throw some light upon the secret, which even the closest scrutiny can not penetrate." Hunston listened to the end, but not without having to exercise a certain amount of self-control.
Mole, who had felt a tingling sensation at the nose, and fearing that he was about to disgrace his manly reputation by a tear, had retired, came stumping back with some news. "Here comes Jack old Jack, I mean. Here's luck for us." A well-known footstep was heard, and Jack Harkaway entered the room. As his eye fell upon Harry Girdwood, he started back, and the colour forsook his cheek.
He was a sincere, honest, taciturn, and withal, affectionate man, who could on an occasion be very angry with those who offended him. He knew well what he could do, and never attempted that which was beyond his power. "How are you, Mr. Harkaway?" said Harry. "How are you, Mr. Annesley? how are you?" said the master, with all the grace of which he was capable.
But we were not long left to continue our speculations, being presently interrupted by the arrival of exciting news news which, I need hardly say, promptly drove all thought of "Jack Harkaway" out of Charlie Webster's head, though it was not so soon to be banished from mine. The news came in the form of a note from Father Serapion.
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