She looked up with surprise; my altered manner may well have amazed her. She did not know the reason of it. ‘You asked me kindly and--and pleasantly, and I would not. Now you ask me as if you threatened,’ she said. ‘Is it likely I should tell you now?’ Well, I was angry with myself and with her because she had made me angry with myself; and, the next minute, I became furiously angry with Denny, whom I found standing in the doorway that led to the kitchen with a smile of intense amusement on his face. ‘What are you grinning at?’ I demanded fiercely. ‘Oh, nothing,’ said Denny, and his face strove to assume a prudent gravity. ‘Bring a pickaxe,’ said I. Denny’s eyes wandered towards Phroso. ‘Is she as annoying as that?’ he seemed to ask. ‘A pickaxe?’ he repeated in surprised tones. ‘Yes, two pickaxes. I’m going to have this floor up, and see if I can find out the great Stefanopoulos secret.’ I spoke with an accent of intense scorn. Again Phroso laughed; her hands beat very softly against one another. Heavens, what did she do that for, when Denny was there, watching everything with those shrewd eyes of his? ‘The pickaxes!’ I roared. Denny turned and fled; a moment elapsed. I did not know what to do, how to look at Phroso, or how not to look at her. I took refuge in flight. I rushed into the kitchen, on pretence of aiding or hastening Denny’s search. I found him taking up an old pick that stood near the door leading to the compound. I seized it from his hand. ‘Confound you!’ I cried, for Denny laughed openly at me; and I rushed back to the hall. But on the threshold I paused, and said what I will not write. For, though there came from somewhere the ripple of a mirthful laugh, the hall was empty! Phroso was gone! I flung the pickaxe down with a clatter on the boards, and exclaimed in my haste: ‘I wish to heaven I’d never bought the island!’ But I did not really mean that. CHAPTER VII THE SECRET OF THE STEFANOPOULOI Was this a pantomime? For a moment I declared angrily that it was no better; but the next instant changed the current of my feelings, transforming irritation into alarm and perplexity into the strongest excitement. For Phroso’s laugh ended--ended as a laugh ends that is suddenly cut short in its career of mirth--and there was a second of absolute stillness. Then from the front of the house, and from the back, came the sharp sound of shots--three in rapid succession in front, four behind. Denny rushed out from the kitchen, rifle in hand. ‘They’re at us on both sides!’ he cried, leaping to his perch at the window and cautiously peering round. ‘Hogvardt and Watkins are ready at the back; they’re firing from the wood,’ he went on. Then he fired. ‘Missed, confound it!’ he muttered. ‘Well, they don’t come any nearer, I’ll see to that.’