Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Love stories
I smiled to myself. I was pleased again at my penetration; and in this
instance, unlike the other at which I have hinted, I do not think I
was wrong. The cordon had been here, then Constantine had; the cordon
was gone, and I made no doubt that Constantine was gone also.
The front of the cottage was dark, and the curtains of the windows
drawn, as they had been when I came before, on the night I killed
Vlacho the innkeeper and fell into the hands of Kortes and Demetri.
The whirligig had turned since then; for then this man Mouraki had
been my far-off much-desired deliverer, Kortes and Demetri open
enemies. Now Mouraki was my peril, Kortes my best friend,
Demetri--well, what and whom had Panayiota meant?
‘Shall we go in?’ asked Mouraki, as we came to the house. ‘Stay,
though, I’ll knock on the door with my stick. Madame Stefanopoulos is,
no doubt, within. I think she will probably not have joined her
husband.’
‘I imagine she’ll have heard of his escape with great regret,’ said I.
The Pasha knocked with the gold-headed cane which he carried. He
waited and then repeated the blow. No answer came.
‘Well,’ he said with a shrug, ‘we have given her fair warning. Let us
enter. She knows you, my dear Wheatley, and will not be alarmed.’
‘But if Constantine’s here?’ I suggested, with a mocking smile. ‘Your
life is a valuable one. Run no risks; he’s a desperate man.’
The Pasha shifted his cane to his left hand, smiled in answer to my
smile, and produced a revolver.
‘You’re wise,’ said I, and I took my revolver out of my pocket.
‘We are ready for--anything--now,’ said Mouraki.
I think ‘anything’ in that sentence was meant to include ‘one
another.’
The Pasha opened the door and passed in. Nothing seemed changed since
my last visit. The door of the room on the right was open, the table
was again spread, for two this time; the left-hand door was shut.
‘You see the fugitive is not in that room,’ observed the Pasha, waving
his hand to the right. ‘Let us try the other,’ and he turned the
door-handle of the room on the left, and preceded me into it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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