Pasha, the same name as your
excellency, is outside with a body of troops, and insists upon
admission."

Mole started from his seat, and almost immediately sank exhausted with
fright and horror.

He saw now the peril in which he stood, and devoutly wished he were
safe at home, and in the arms of Mrs. Mole.

"A--pasha--calling himself Moley!" he exclaimed. "What does he want?"

"He declares he has been appointed to this government by the firman of
his imperial majesty the sultan, and that you--you--pardon, your
highness--are an impostor."

Mole now knew the worst.

It was all up with him.

But desperation inspired him with an artificial courage; he resolved to
die game, and keep it up to the last.

"Tell the so-called Moley Pasha," he exclaimed, "that he is the
impostor. Here, guards, stand round me, and defend your rightful
governor."

The soldiers wavered.

They began to fear that all was not quite right.

Karam, the captain, also hesitated in enforcing the commands of Mole.

At this moment the scale was turned by Abdullah, the interpreter,
rushing into the hall, and thundering forth, to the utter amazement and
consternation of Mole--

"Down with the impostor, my friends. We have all been deceived by this
usurper, who has forged the sacred signature of our mighty sultan."

Shouts of "Down with the impostor!" now resounded on all sides, and a
rush was made to drag Mole from his seat.

Poor Mole, he was entirely defenceless.

Jack and Harry did not return; probably they had been secured by the
enemy.

Mole gave himself up for lost.

He was surrounded by an infuriated crowd, still shouting "Down with the
impostor! Death to the infidel who dares to wear the colours of the
blessed Prophet!"

It seems, indeed, that the luckless Mole would have fallen a sacrifice
to Lynch law, but at this moment the real Moley Pasha, with his troops,
entered the hall, and at once commanded the infuriated crowd to stop,
and relinquish their victim.

"Now," said the real Moley Pasha, "bring before me the stranger who has
so audaciously assumed my title and dignity."

Poor Mole, now a trembling "prisoner at the bar," was brought, bound
and guarded by soldiers, before the magnate whom of late he had defied.

"Prisoner," said the pasha, sternly, "what do you dare to say for
yourself in defence of the crime you have committed?"

Mr. Mole, in the deepest fright and humility, made shift to stammer in
Turkish--

"I d