"Gentlemen, I see that a general massacre of Christians is taking place in Canea. If you go there, you will surely be killed. I beg of you to come with me to my country place near here, where I will protect you till the danger is over." "Never!" cried the Swede. "We go to the rescue of a lady." "You can do nothing," replied the Major, impatiently. "If she has not already escaped, it is too late, and our own position here is becoming dangerous, for I and my men are unarmed, and a band of armed Christians may appear at any moment. Join your voice with mine, Monsieur," turning to Curtis. "I assure you, on the honor of a Turk, you will never even get to the city alive." Curtis hesitated. "Doubtless the lady is at the English consul's?" hazarded the Major. "No; she is in the most fearful danger. She is a Cretan in the house of a Turk." "Ah, I remember. But then she is not in danger. At present she couldn't be in a safer place. Whatever her position is, it will remain the same, and you can find her later on. While if you go and get killed--" He shrugged his shoulders and snapped his fingers. "By Jove, he's right, old man," cried Curtis. "He's right. Panayota's safe enough, and we'd only get her into trouble by going now. Of course, if you go, I'm with you, but he's right, by Jove, he's right." Lindbohm who had been impatiently fencing with his invisible enemy, looked absent-mindedly away towards Canea the while he rammed the imaginary sword home into its sheath. "Adieu, Monsieur," he said, sweetly, "and if I do not see you again, _merci bien_." "All right, old man, I'm with you," shouted Curtis, grasping the sheath of the heavy simitar and starting after. At a motion from the Major, his four soldiers fell upon Lindbohm, and, after a mighty struggle, held him fast. The Turkish officer ran to Curtis. "'Monsieur, as a friend, I do this. It is the only chance to save your lives! To advance is certain death!" So they bore Lindbohm away to a little vine-clad stone tower in a garden; bore him away cursing in three languages, and sputtering vain Berserker froth from his white lips. And Curtis ran at his side shouting: "But, listen, old man, damn it, listen a minute. The Turk is right, don't you see that he's right?" CHAPTER XXXVII YE WHO ENTER HERE