take his stand, and
pick off the enemy with the rifle.

It was a dangerous game, but it served its purpose.

Several of the besiegers fell before the well-aimed shots of the
besieged.

The Turks began to think that they were being opposed by a considerable
force of well armed men.

Their own shots failed to reach the highly-placed and narrow windows,
which were now so many portholes for the fire of the besieged.

The captain and Abdullah accordingly ordered their troops to fall back.

The excited crowd gave a yell of disappointment.

"I do believe we've defeated them, after all," cried Harry Girdwood.

But it was only a lull in the storm--a fatal presage of overwhelming
disaster.

The Turkish commanders now resolved to make certain of victory by
bringing up a cannon.

If, by this means, their troops could once effect an entrance--and this
was almost certain--what could stop their progress.

What were Harkaway's mere handful of men against the thousands they
would have to encounter!

Once more, and at greater peril than ever, Jack went on the housetop to
reconnoitre.

He laid himself down flat that he might not be seen, but yet contrived
to take a rapid glance of the position.

The house was detached on three sides; the fourth side was built
against the wall of a mosque.

Upon those three sides the building was entirely surrounded by troops.

The only chance of escape would be by the mosque.

But how was this to be effected?

The wall of the sacred building rose high above that of the house.

Jack raised himself to examine it more closely.

A flash--a report--and the whiz of a bullet told him that he was
observed.

A volley followed from all sides.

It would therefore be impossible for his party to raise a ladder, and
thus escape from their own roof on to that of the mosque.

Jack, the bullets whistling thickly around him, managed to crawl unhurt
to the trapdoor and again descend into the courtyard.

"Well, Jack, what think you of the situation now?" asked Harry.

"Desperate, indeed."

"They gave you a very warm reception, my boy," said Mr. Mole.

"It will be warmer still when they capture us," said Harkaway.

"Oh, gracious, gracious! how shall we ever get out of this? Oh, dear!
oh, dear! I wish I was in London once more," cried the orphan, wringing
his hands.

His distress contrasted strongly with the calm, self-possessed
demeanour of the beautiful Thyra at this time of supreme per