e hurrying to see
what had happened, and found the Turk lying in a heap at the bottom of
the stairs, with the breath almost knocked out of his body.

It took some time to bring him to himself.

It was just as he was recovering there was a loud knocking at the
street door.

On opening it, a body of Turkish soldiers appeared drawn up in front of
it.

"What is the cause of this disturbance?" inquired the leader of the
troop.

Bosja quickly gave his own version of what had happened.

Of course, it was highly exaggerated.

He, a true believer, had been assaulted, robbed of his turban, and
thrown downstairs by a rascally dog of a Giaour, who lodged in a room
next to him.

This was quite sufficient to arouse the indignation of the officer,
and, with three of his troop, that functionary ascended to seize the
delinquent.

But, on reaching the room, it was discovered to be empty.

"The Frankish hound laughs at our beards," said the officer. "He has
escaped by the window."

And such had been the intention of Mark Antony Figgins.

But not being accustomed to such perilous descents, he had found
himself baffled in his flight, and was now perched on a ledge, half way
between the window and the ground, unable either to proceed or to
return.

He was soon espied by the soldiers, and a shout announced his
detection.

A ladder was quickly procured, and the luckless orphan very shortly
found himself a prisoner.

"What dirt have you been eating?" demanded the officer, sternly.

"I haven't been eating dirt at all," returned the indignant Figgins,
"but I believe that fat Turk has swallowed half of my flute."

Bosja came forward at this with the missing portion in his hand, and
handed it to the officer.

The orphan made a snatch at it, but received only a box on the ear from
the officer.

The other half of his cherished instrument was wrested from him, and he
marched off to the lock-up until the case could be tried on the morrow
before the bashaw.

CHAPTER LXVI.

HOW THE FLUTE ADVENTURE TERMINATED.

The morrow had come.

Hearing that a Frank was to be tried, the court was crowded.

At the appointed hour Mark Antony Figgins, looking particularly
doleful, was conducted from his cell to the presence of the
administrator of the law.

Osman, the ruling bashaw, although a Turk, was a regular Tartar to deal
with.

He administered plenty of law, but very little justice; if the latter
was required, money w