The moment was enough. It was the end, the end of that brief fierce drama on the rocky slope, the end of any power I might have had to aid Demetri; for he did not try to defend himself. He stood still as a statue where he was, holding the knife up to heaven, the smile which his loud laugh left still on his lips. Phroso’s head sank on my shoulder. She would not look; but the sight drew my eyes with an irresistible attraction. The bayonets flashed in the air and buried themselves in Demetri’s body. He sank with a groan. Again the blades, drawn back, were driven into him, and again and again. He was a mangled corpse, but in hot revenge for their leader they thrust and thrust. It turned me sick to look; yet I looked till at last they ceased, and stood for an instant over the two bodies, regarding them. Then I loosed Phroso’s arms off me; she sank back in the stern. Again I took the sculls and laid to with a will. Where we were to go, or what help we could look for, I did not know; but a fever to be away from the place had come on me, and I pulled, thinking less of life and safety than of putting distance between me and that hideous scene. ‘They don’t move,’ whispered Phroso, whose eyes were now turned away from me and fixed on the beach. ‘They stand still. Row, my lord, row!’ A moment passed. I pulled with all my strength. She was between me and the land; I could see nothing. Her voice came again, low but urgent: ‘Now they move, they’re coming down to the shore. Ah, my lord, they’re taking aim!’ ‘God help us!’ said I between my teeth. ‘Crouch in the boat. Low down, get right down. Lower down, Phroso, lower down!’ ‘Ah, one has knocked up the barrels! They’re talking again. Why don’t they fire?’ ‘Do they look like hesitating?’ ‘Yes. No, they’re aiming again. No, they’ve stopped. Row, my lord, row!’ I was pulling as I had not pulled since I rowed in my college boat at Oxford nine years before. I thought of the race at that moment with a sort of amusement. But all the while Phroso kept watch for me; by design or chance she did not move from between me and the shore. ‘They’re running to the boat now. They’re getting in. Are they coming after us, my lord?’ ‘Heaven knows! I suppose so.’ I was wondering why they had not used their rifles; they had evidently thought of firing at first, but something had held their hands. Perhaps they, mere humble soldiers, shrank from the responsibility. Their leader, whose protection would have held them harmless and whose favour rewarded them, lay dead. They might well hesitate to fire on a man whom they knew to be a person of some position and who had taken no part in Mouraki’s death. ‘They’re launching the boat. They’re in now,’ came in Phroso’s breathless whisper. ‘How far off are we?’ ‘I don’t know; two hundred yards, perhaps. They’ve started now.’ ‘Do they move well?’ ‘Yes, they’re rowing hard. Oh, my dear lord, can you row harder?’ She turned to me for an instant, clasping her hands in entreaty.