A third Turk was sitting there on the ground in the shadow smoking, and as the others came up he said a word to them in Turkish which Mitsos did not understand. Then one of his captors turned to him, and speaking in Greek, "Tell us where Nicholas Vidalis is," he said, "and we will let you go." Silence. "We know who you are. You are Mitsos Codones, the son of Constantine, from Nauplia, and he is your uncle." Mitsos looked up. "That is so. But I have not seen him for a year--more than a year," he said. One of the men laughed. "Tell us where he is," he said, "and we will let you go, and this for your information, for you were seen with him yesterday in Nauplia," and he held out a handful of piastres. This time Mitsos laughed, though laughing was not in his thoughts, and the sound was strange to his own ears. "That is a lie," he said; "he has not been at Nauplia for a year. As for your piastres, if you think I am telling you a lie, do you suppose that I should speak differently for the sake of them? Be damned to your piastres," and he laughed again. "I will give you one minute," said the other, "and then you will hang from that tree if you do not tell us. One of your countrymen, I see, has cut the rope, but there will be enough for a tall boy like you." They strolled away towards where the third man was sitting, leaving him there bound. "Perhaps the end of the rope might help him to speak," said one. But the third man shook his head. What Mitsos thought of during these few seconds he never clearly knew, and as far as he wished for anything, he wished them to be quick. He noticed that the edge of the moon was free of the clouds again, and it would soon be lighter. He felt a breeze come up from the east, which fluttered the rag of tunic hanging from the rope, and once a small bird, clucking and frightened, flew out of a thicket near. Then the two men came up and pulled him under the tree. The end of the piece of tunic flapped against his forehead. They untied the rope, and the one made a noose in it, while the other turned back the collar of his coat. Then the rope was passed round his throat and tightened till he felt the knot behind, just where the hair grows short on the neck. "One more chance," said the man. "Will you tell us?" Mitsos had shut his eyes, and he clinched his teeth to help himself not to speak. For a moment they all waited, quite still. "Then up with him," said the man. He waited for the choking tension of the rope, still silent, still with clinched teeth and eyelids. But instead of that he felt two hands on his shoulders, and fingers at the knot behind, and he opened his eyes. The third man, who had been silent, was standing in front of him. "Mitsos," he said, "my great little Mitsos." For a moment the world spun dizzily round him, and he half fell, half staggered against Nicholas. "You!" he said.