Burt Standish - Dick Merriwell's Pranks - or, Lively Times in the Orient

“After your bloody duel, professor,” laughed Dick. “That was a fearful encounter, from which you came forth the victor.”

“But somewhat damaged myself,” confessed Zenas. “Boys, you want to remember what will happen to you if you ever relate that affair to any one.”

Buckhart grinned.

“Miss Ketchum was some excited when she arrived on the scene of action. She thought the major was dying. I don’t wonder, for the sounds he emitted after being struck in the mouth by that egg sure sounded like he was coughing up the ghost.”

“She certainly was disgusted when she found the major’s yellow blood was smashed rotten eggs,” said Dick.

“She had the stuff all over her hands after putting her arms about him. Partner, that was a great racket!”

“Hum! haw!” coughed the professor. “Of course, on the major’s account I was willing to carry out the programme and use eggs, but it was beneath my dignity, and I should have preferred a regular duel with pistols or swords.”

“Professor!” exclaimed Dick. “Why, you know you were somewhat timid over the result before you learned what sort of weapons were to be used.”

“Because I did not wish to have human blood on my hands. It was entirely for Major Fitts that I was worried.”

“I opine,” said Brad, “that old Aziz Achmet was just about as disgusted as any one. It is my judgment that the old pirate wanted to see the professor and the major carve each other up, though just what his reason for it was I can’t say.”

“He disappeared at the same time when Sarah and the major vanished,” said Dick. “He was becoming a nuisance, and I thought we might have no end of trouble with him while in this place. However, I fancy he found out he was wasting his time spying on us. I’m still confident that Bunol and Marsh caused us to be placed under surveillance by the Turkish secret police.”

“The Turkish secret police?” exclaimed Zenas. “You don’t mean to say – ”

“There is such a body, and Aziz Achmet belonged to it. We were suspicious characters, and he watched us. But I have an idea that he finally decided that we were exactly what we represented ourselves to be, ordinary travelers. Miss Ketchum, however, belongs to a society that is seeking to investigate and correct the wrongs of the Armenians in Turkey, and, therefore, Achmet transferred his attention wholly to her.”

“Good gracious!” spluttered the professor. “Although she turned out to be a hatchet-faced old maid, I hope no harm has come to her in this heathen land.”

“Don’t you worry,” laughed Dick. “Major Fitts will look out for her. All I ask is that he keeps her away from us.”

“I don’t think the major wants to see us again,” chuckled Brad. “I’m sure he wouldn’t fancy having the story of that duel get back to Natchez, Mississippi.”

“Well, boys, shall we spend the afternoon in talk, or shall we go out and see something?” asked the professor.

They quickly decided that they were ready to go out, and once more rose the question of what they should see.

“I have it!” cried the old pedagogue.

“Name it,” urged Dick.

“The Underground Palace.”

“What’s that?”

“You haven’t heard of it? Good! It’s the very place for us to visit this day. Wait; I’ll send for Mustapha. Hope he’s not engaged, for we must go over into Stamboul, and I do not fancy visiting that place without a good guide and interpreter.”

“I should say not!” exclaimed Dick. “If ever there was a place just made to get lost in it’s Stamboul, with its maze of narrow, crooked, unnamed streets and unnumbered houses.”

“Correct, pard,” agreed Brad. “I can get lost quicker and a heap sight worse in Stamboul than on a trackless desert. We sure must take a dragoman if we’re going to amble over there.”

So the black Nubian, who seemed always waiting for a call, was summoned and instructed to send out for the dragoman engaged by Dick on their arrival, to pilot them from the steamer to their hotel.

In less than thirty minutes Mustapha appeared, salaming in true Turkish fashion, the tassel of his fez sweeping the floor.

“I here, effendi,” he said, addressing the professor. “What you haf of me?”

“We want to visit Stamboul.”

“I good dragoman. I guide you, effendi.”

“Our purpose is to see the great underground cistern sometimes called the Underground Palace.”

“Effendi, go not! Keep from there!” Mustapha showed great concern.

“Why should we not go there?” questioned the professor. “It is one of the great sights.”

“You haf for your life some valuement?”

“Certainly; but what can there be dangerous about a visit to the Underground Palace?”

“Maybe you haf not hear it, effendi?”

“Have not heard what?”

“One time some Engleeshman go there. They nefer come back.”

“What happened to them?”

Mustapha made a gesture with his hands indicative of vanishing into the air.

“Who answer it the question?” he said.

“Well, well!” muttered Zenas. “What do you think about this matter, boys?”

“My interest is aroused now,” answered Dick. “I want to see this mysterious place.”

“That’s right, pard. I’m sure some wrought up to see it myself. Of course we’ll go.”

“Too young to haf wisdom,” said Mustapha, with a gesture toward the boys.

“Come on, professor!” cried Dick. “If this dragoman will not act as guide for us, we can easily secure another.”

Instantly Mustapha hastened to assure them that he would be only too glad to act as their guide; but that they should pay him before visiting the Underground Palace, as they might never return, in which case he would lose his honestly earned due by neglecting to collect ahead.

They agreed to pay him in advance, and soon they set out from the hotel in Pera, eager to see the mysterious place that was said to hold so much of mystery and danger.

In the afternoon sunshine Stamboul was magnificent when seen from a distance. But when they had crossed the Golden Horn and plunged into the city all its impressiveness vanished. At intervals they came upon some splendid mosques, but mosques were far more impressive when seen from the proper distance.

Mustapha knew his business, and he conducted them to the place where they could descend and inspect the Underground Palace, but he declined to enter with them. For that purpose he called another man, with close-set, shifty eyes and a thin-lipped mouth.

“This dragoman, Bayazid,” he said. “He tak’ you.”

“Is he trustworthy?” asked the professor, with a slight show of nervousness.

“You not find one more so, effendi.”

So Bayazid, or “Pigeon,” as he was called in English, was engaged to show them the Underground Palace.

“I haf very good boat, effendi,” he declared.

“Whatever is that?” asked Buckhart. “Do we have to take a boat?”

“You will see,” answered Zenas.

The entrance was somewhat like that of a sewer, but there were stone steps leading down into the darkness of the place. The guide found and lighted two torches, which it seemed were kept for the use of those who wished to visit the Palace.

“Say, this is some boogerish!” said Brad, as they found themselves in a dark and damp cemented passage.

“The old city was built above a huge system of cisterns,” explained the professor. “Their purpose was to guard against a famine of water in time of war. Some of the old cisterns are dry now and are used by silk spinners. We shall visit one that still contains water.”

“But I thought we were going to see a palace,” said Dick, in disappointment.

“You shall see one – so called.”