Sylvia had seen enough violence in the last month to accept the murder of one Greek officer as a mere incident on such a night; but somehow she was conscious of a force of passion behind the corporal's action that lifted it far above her recent experience of bloodshed. She paused to see if Michael was going to think the same, unwilling to let her emotion run away with her now in such a way as to deprive them of making use of the deed for their own purpose. Michael lay on the brow of the cliff, gazing in perplexity at the man below, whose form shook with sobs in the gray moonlight and whose victim seemed already nothing more important than one of the stones in the rocky bed of the ravine. "I'm hanged if I know what to do," Michael whispered at last. "Personally," Sylvia whispered back, "it's almost worth while to spend the rest of our life in a Bulgarian prison-camp, if we can only find out first the meaning of this murder." "Yes, I was rather coming to that conclusion," he agreed. "Don't think me absurd," she went on, hurriedly. "But I've got a quite definite fancy that he's going to play an important part in our escape. Would you mind if I went down and spoke to him?" "No, I'll go," Michael said. "You don't know Greek." "Do you?" she retorted. "No. But he might be alarmed and attack you." "He'll be less likely to attack a gentle female voice," Sylvia argued; and before Michael could say another word she began to slide down the side of the gully, repeating very quickly, "Don't make a noise; we're English," laughing at herself for the probable uselessness of the explanation, and yet all the time laughing with an inward conviction that there was nothing to fear from the encounter. The corporal jumped up and held high his bayonet, which was gleaming black with moonlit blood. "English?" he repeated, doubtfully, in a nasal voice. "Yes, English prisoners escaped from the Bulgarians," Sylvia panted as she reached him. "That's all right," said the corporal. "You got nothing to be frightened of. I'm an American citizen from New York City." Sylvia called to Michael to come down, whereupon the corporal took hold of her wrist and reminded her that they were still in Bulgaria. "Don't you start hollering so loud," he said, severely. She apologized, and presently Michael reached them. "Wal, mister," said the Greek, "I guess you saw me kill that dog. Come and look at him." He turned the dead man's face to the moon. On the forehead, on the chin, and on each cheek the flesh had been sliced away to form Π.