igners.

There are many secret societies on the famous island besides the Knights
of Malta, and it is not at all improbable that an organization exists
which has for its main object the eventual uprising of the Maltese and
their freedom from the British yoke.

This would naturally be kept a secret, and not proclaimed from the flat
roofs of Valetta, or the platform of St. Lazarus.

Philander has shown remarkable traits upon this night of nights, traits
which Doctor Chicago never suspected he possessed. He now proves that,
in addition to these other commendable qualities, he has wonderful
presence of mind, and that no sudden emergency can stupefy his senses.

Just as soon as the outcry is heard, he draws the small, cimeter-shaped
paper-knife, which he claimed would make a serviceable weapon.

At the same time he cries out:

"We're in for it, John, my boy! Don't be too proud to run. Legs, do your
duty!"

With which remark Philander starts his lower extremities into action,
turning his head to make sure that his companion has not hesitated to
follow.

If the professor is a small man, he has the faculty for getting over
ground at quite an astonishing rate of speed. His short legs fairly
twinkle as they measure off the yards; and, given a fair show, he would
lead any ordinary runner a race.

The darkness, the uneven street, and his unfamiliarity with his
surroundings, are all against him now, so that he cannot do himself
justice.

Suddenly he misses his companion. John was close beside him ten seconds
before--John, who is a sprinter from athletic education, and who could
have distanced the professor with only half an effort had he wished, but
who moderated his speed to conform with that of his less favored friend.

The shouts have continued all this while, proving that the citizens of
Valetta have steadfastly pursued them with some dark purpose in view.

Just as soon as Philander Sharpe makes this discovery, his action is one
that proves him a hero.

He stops in his tracks, and no longer keeps up his flight.

"Turn the other way, boys! At 'em like thunder! As Sheridan said at
Cedar Creek: 'We'll lick 'em out of their boots,'" is the astonishing
cry he sends forth, as he begins to travel over the back trail.

This speedily brings him upon the scene of action. Several dark figures
have come to a halt around a prostrate object. They are the men of
Valetta, who have organized this secret vendetta against all for