Phroso Part 36

I was struck with his advice; but I was also bent on carrying out my reconnaissance of the cottage.

'I'll send it directly I come back,' said I, and I ran to the angle of the wall, climbed up, and started at a quick walk through the wood. I met n.o.body till I was almost at the cottage. Then I came suddenly on a sentry; another I saw to the right, a third to the left. The cottage seemed ringed round with watchful figures. The man barred my way.

'But I am going to see the lady--Madame Stefanopoulos,' I protested.

'I have orders to let n.o.body pa.s.s,' he answered. 'I will call the officer.'

The officer came. He was full of infinite regrets, but his Excellency's orders were absolute. Nay, did I not think they were wise? This man was so desperate a criminal, and he had so many friends. He would, of course, try to communicate with his wife.

'But he can't expect his wife to help him,' I exclaimed. 'He wanted to murder her.'

'But women are forgiving. He might well persuade her to help him in his escape; or he might intimidate her.'

'So I'm not to pa.s.s?'

'I'm afraid not, my lord. If his Excellency gives you a pa.s.s it will be another matter.'

'The lady is there still?'

'Oh, I believe so. I have not myself been inside the cottage. That is not part of my duty.'

'Is anyone stationed in the cottage?'

The officer smiled and answered, with an apologetic shrug, 'Would not you ask his Excellency anything you desire to know, my lord?'

'Well, I daresay you're right,' I admitted, and I fixed a long glance on the windows of the cottage.

'Even to allow anybody to linger about here is contrary to my orders,'

suggested the officer, still civil, still apologetic.

'Even to look?'

'His Excellency said to linger.'

'Is it the same thing?'

'His Excellency would answer that also, my lord.'

The barrier round the place was impregnable. That seemed plain. To loiter near the cottage was forbidden, to look at it a matter of suspicion. Yet looking at the cottage would not help the escape of Constantine.

There seemed nothing to be done. Slowly and reluctantly, with a conviction that I was turning away baffled from the heart of the mystery, that the clue lay there were I but allowed to take it in my fingers, I retraced my steps down the hill through the wood. I believed that the strict guard was to prevent my intrusion and mine alone; that the Pasha's search for Constantine was a pretence; in fine, that Constantine was at that moment in the cottage, with the knowledge of Mouraki and under his protection. But I could not prove my suspicions, and I could not unravel the plan which the Pasha was pursuing. I had a strange uneasy sense of fighting in the dark. My eyes were blindfolded, while my antagonist could make full use of his.

In that case the odds were against me.

I pa.s.sed through the house. All was quiet, n.o.body was about. It was now the middle of the afternoon, and, having accomplished my useless inspection of the cottage, I sat down and wrote a note to Denny, bidding him be on the alert day and night. He or Hogvardt must always be on watch, the yacht ready to start at a moment's notice. I begged him to ask no questions, only to be ready; for life or death might hang on a moment. Thus I paved the way for carrying out my resolution; and my resolution was no other than to make a bold dash for the yacht with Phroso and Kortes, under cover of night. If we reached it and got clear of the harbour, I believed that we could show a clean pair of heels to the gunboat. Moreover I did not think that the wary Mouraki would dare to sink us in open sea with his guns. The one point I held against him was his fear of publicity. We should be safer in the yacht than among the hidden dangers of Neopalia. I finished my note, sealed it, and strolled out in front of the house, looking for somebody to act as my messenger.

Standing there, I raised my eyes and looked down to the harbour and the sea. At what I saw, forgetting Kortes's reproof, I again uttered an oath of surprise and dismay. Smoke poured from the funnel of the yacht. See, she moved! She made for the mouth of the harbour. She set her course for the sea. Where was she going? I did not care to answer that. She must not go. It was vital that she should stay ready for me by the jetty. My scruples about leaving the house vanished before this more pressing necessity. Without an instant's delay, with hardly an instant's thought, I put my best foot foremost and ran, as a man runs for his life, along the road towards the town. As I started I thought I heard Mouraki's voice from the window above my head beginning in its polite wondering tones, 'Why in the world, my dear Wheatley--?' Ah, did he not know why? I would not stop for him. On I went. I reached the main road. I darted down the steep street. Women started in surprise at me, children scurried hastily out of my way. I was a very John Gilpin without a horse. I did not think myself able to run so far or so fast; but apprehension gave me legs, excitement breath, and love--yes, love--why deny it now?--love speed; I neither halted nor turned nor failed till I reached the jetty. But there I sank exhausted against the wooden fencing, for the yacht was hard on a mile out to sea and putting yards and yards between herself and me at every moment. Again I sprang up and waved my handkerchief. Two or three of Mouraki's soldiers who were lounging about stared at me stolidly; a fisherman laughed mockingly; the children had flocked after me down the street and made a gaping circle round me. The note to Denny was in my hand. Denny was far out of my reach. What possessed the boy? Hard were the names that I called myself for having neglected Kortes's advice. What were the cottage and the whereabouts of Constantine compared with the presence of my friends and the yacht?

A hope ran through me. Perhaps they were only pa.s.sing an hour and would turn homewards soon. I strained my eager eyes after them. The yacht held on her course, straight, swift, relentless. She seemed to be carrying with her Phroso's hopes of rescue, mine of safety; her buoyant leap embodied Mouraki's triumph. I turned from watching, sick at heart, half-beaten and discouraged; and, as I turned, a boy ran up to me and thrust a letter into my hand, saying:

'The gentleman on the yacht left this for my lord. I was about to carry it up when I saw my lord run through the street, and I followed him back.'

The letter bore Denny's handwriting. I tore it open with eager fingers.

'Dear Charley,' it ran, 'I don't know what your game is, but it's pretty slow for us. So we're off fis.h.i.+ng. Old Mouraki has been uncommon civil, and sent a fellow with us to show us the best place. If the weather is decent we shall stay out a couple of nights, so you may look for us the day after to-morrow. I knew it was no good asking you to come. Be a good boy, and don't get into mischief while I'm away. Of course Mouraki will bottle Constantine again in no time. He told us he had no doubt of it, unless the fellow had found a boat. I'll run up to the house, as soon as we get back. Yours ever, D.

P. S.--As you said you didn't want Watkins up at the house, I've taken him along to cook.'

_Beati innocentes!_ Denny was very innocent, and so, I suppose, very blessed; and my friend the Pasha had got rid of him in the easiest manner possible. Indeed it was 'uncommon civil' of Mouraki! They would be back the day after to-morrow, and Denny would 'run up to the house.' The thing was almost ludicrous in the pitiful unconsciousness of it. I tore the note that I had written into small pieces, put Denny's in my pocket, and started to mount the hill again. But I turned once and looked on the face of the sea. To my anxious mind it seemed not to smile at me as was its wont. It was not now my refuge and my safety, but the prison-bars that confined me--me and her whom I had to serve and save.

And he had taken Watkins along to cook; for I did not want him at the house! I would have given every farthing I had in the world for any honest brave man, Watkins or another. And I was not to 'get into mischief.' I knew very well what Denny meant by that. Well, he might be rea.s.sured. It did not appear likely that I should enjoy much leisure for dalliance of the sort he blamed.

'Really, you know, I shall have something else to do,' I said to myself.

Slowly I walked up the hill, too deep in reflection even to hasten my steps; and I started like a man roused from sleep when I heard, from the side of the street, a soft cry of 'My lord!' I looked round. I was directly opposite the door of Vlacho's inn. On the the threshold stood the girl Panayiota, who was Demetri's sweetheart, and had held in her lap the head of Constantine's wife whom Demetri could not kill. She cast cautious glances up and down the street, and withdrew swiftly into the shadow of the house, beckoning to me to follow her. In a strait like mine no chance, however small, is to be missed or refused.

I followed her. Her cheek glowed with colour; she was under the influence of some excitement whose cause I could not fathom.

'I have a message for you, my lord,' she whispered. 'I must tell it you quickly. We must not be seen.' She shrank back farther into the shelter of the doorway.

'As quickly as you like, Panayiota,' said I. 'I have little time to lose.'

'You have a friend more than you know of,' said she, setting her lips close to my ear.

'I'm glad to hear it,' said I. 'Is that all?'

'Yes, that's all--a friend more than you know of, my lord. Take courage, my lord.'

I bent my eyes on her face in question. She understood that I was asking for a plainer message.

'I can tell you no more,' she said. 'I was told to say that--a friend more than you know of. I have said it. Don't linger, my lord. I can say no more, and there is danger.'

'I'm much obliged to you. I hope he will prove of value.'

'He will,' she replied quickly, and she waved aside the piece of money which I had offered her, and motioned me to be gone. But again she detained me for a moment.

'The lady--the wife of the Lord Constantine--what of her?' she asked in low hurried tones.

'I know nothing of her,' said I. 'I believe she's at the cottage.'

'And he's loose again?'

'Yes.' And I added, searching her face, 'But the Governor will hunt him down.'

I had my answer: a plain explicit answer. It came not in words, but in a scornful smile, a lift of the brows, a shrug. I nodded in understanding. Panayiota whispered again, 'Courage--a friend more than you know of--courage, my lord,' and, turning, fairly ran away from me down the pa.s.sage towards the yard behind the inn.

Who was this friend? By what means did he seek to help me? I could not tell. One suspicion I had, and I fought a little fight with myself as I walked back to the house. I recollected the armed man I had met in the night, whom I had rebuked and threatened. Was he the friend, and was it my duty to tell Mouraki of my suspicions? I say I had a struggle. Did I win or lose? I do not know; for even now I cannot make up my mind. But I was exasperated at the trick Mouraki had played on me, I was fearful for Phroso, I felt that I was contending against a man who would laugh at the chivalry which warned him. I hardened my heart and shut my eyes. I owed nothing, less than nothing, to Mouraki Pasha. He had, as I verily believed, loosed a desperate treacherous foe on me. He had, as I knew now, deluded my friends into forsaking me. Let him guard his own head and his own skin. I had enough to do with Phroso and myself. So I reasoned, seeking to justify my silence.

I have often since thought that the question raised a nice enough point of casuistry. Men who have nothing else to do may amuse themselves with the answering of it. I answered it by the time I reached the threshold of the house. And I held my tongue.

Mouraki was waiting for me in the doorway. He was smiling as he had smiled before my bold declaration of love for Phroso had spoilt his temper.