Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Islands -- Fiction; Love stories
Well, then we shook hands all round, and went in and bolted the door,
and sat down to wait. We heard the death-chant through the walls now;
it was coming nearer.
CHAPTER IV
A RAID AND A RAIDER
It was between eight and nine o’clock when the first of the enemy
appeared on the road in the persons of two smart fellows in gleaming
kilts and braided jackets. It was no more than just dusk, and I saw
that they were strangers to me. One was tall and broad, the other
shorter and of very slight build. They came on towards us confidently
enough. I was looking over Denny’s shoulder; he held Constantine’s
rifle, and I knew that he was impatient to try it. But, inasmuch as
might was certainly not on our side, I was determined that right
should abide with us, and was resolute not to begin hostilities.
Constantine had at least one powerful motive for desiring our
destruction; I would not furnish him with any plausible excuse for
indulging his wish: so we stood, Denny and I at one window, Hogvardt
and Watkins at the other, and quietly watched the approaching figures.
No more appeared; the main body did not show itself, and the sound of
the fierce chant had suddenly died away. But the next moment a third
man came in sight, running rapidly after the first two. He caught the
shorter by the arm, and seemed to argue or expostulate with him. For a
while the three stood thus talking; then I saw the last comer make a
gesture of protest as though he yielded his point unwillingly, and
they all came on together.
‘Push the barrel of that rifle a little farther out,’ said I to Denny.
‘It may be useful to them to know it’s there.’
Denny obeyed; the result was a sudden pause in our friends’ advance;
but they were near enough now for me to distinguish the last comer,
and I discerned in him, although he had discarded his tweed suit and
adopted the national dress, Constantine Stefanopoulos himself.
‘Here’s an exercise of self-control!’ I groaned, laying a detaining
hand on Denny’s shoulder.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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