CHAPTER XVIII
THE UNKNOWN FRIEND
The boat still moved a little from the impulse of my last stroke, andwe floated slowly past Mouraki who stood, like some great sea-bird onthe rock. To his cynical question--for it revealed shamelessly the usehe had meant to make of his tool--I returned no answer. I could smilein amused bitterness but for the moment I could not speak. Phroso satwith downcast eyes, twisting one hand round the other; the Pasha wascontent to answer my smile with his own. The boat drew past the rockand, as we came round its elbow, I found across our path a largerboat, manned by four of Mouraki's soldiers, who had laid down theiroars and sat rifles in hand. In the coxswain's place was Demetri. Itseemed strange to find him in that company. One of the soldiers tookhold of the nose of our boat and turned it round, impelling it towardsthe beach. A moment later we grated on the shingle, where the Pasha,who had leapt down nimbly from his perch, stood awaiting us. Thoughtshad been running rapidly through my brain, wild thoughts ofresistance, of a sudden rush, of emptying my revolver haphazard intothe other boat, aye, even of assassinating Mouraki with an unexpectedshot. All that was folly. I let it go, sprang from the boat, and,giving my hand to Phroso, helped her to land, and led her to a broadsmooth ledge of rock, on which she seated herself, still silent, butgiving me a look of grief and despair. Then I turned to the Pasha.
'I think,' said I, 'that you'll have to wait a day or two for CousinConstantine. I'm told that bodies don't find their way out so soon asliving men.'
'Ah, I thought that must be it! You threw him down into the pool?' heasked.
'No, not I. My friend Kortes.'
'And Kortes?'
'They fell together.'
'How very dramatic,' smiled the Pasha. 'How came you to let Korteshave at him first?'
'Believe me, it was unintentional. It was without any design ofdisappointing you, Pasha.'
'And there's an end of both of them!' said he, smiling at my hit.
'They must both be dead. Forgive me, Pasha, but I don't understandyour comedy. We were in your power at the house. Why play this farce?Why not have done then what I presume you will do now?'
'My dear lord,' said he, after a glance round to see that nobodylistened, 'the conventions must be observed. Yesterday you had notcommitted the offences of which I regret to say you have now beenguilty.'
'The offences? You amuse me, Pasha.'
'I don't grudge it you,' said Mouraki. 'Yes, the offences of aiding myprisoner--that lady--to escape, and--well, the death of Constantine isat least a matter for inquiry, isn't it? You'll admit that? The manwas a rogue, of course, but we must observe the law, my dear Wheatley.Besides--' He paused, then he added, 'You mustn't grudge me myamusement either. Believe me, your joy at finding that boat, which Icaused to be placed there for your convenience, and the touchinglittle scene which I interrupted, occasioned me infinite diversion.'
I made no answer, and he continued:
'I was sure that if--well, if Constantine failed in perpetrating hislast crime--you follow me, my dear lord?--you would make for thepassage, so I obtained the guidance of that faithful fellow, Demetri,and he brought us round very comfortably. Indeed we've been waitingsome little while for you. Of course Phroso delayed you.'
Mouraki's sneers and jocularity had no power in themselves to angerme. Indeed I felt myself cool and calm, ready to bandy retorts andbanter with him. But there was another characteristic of hisconversation on which my mind fastened, finding in it matter forthought: this was his barefaced frankness. Plainly he told me that hehad employed Constantine to assassinate me, plainly he exposed to methe trick by which he had obtained a handle against me. Now to whom,if to any one, does a man like Mouraki Pasha reveal such things asthese? Why to men, and only to men, who will tell no tales. And thereis a proverb which hints that only one class of men tells no tales.That was why I attached significance to the Governor's frankness.
I believe the man followed my thoughts with his wonderfully acuteintelligence and his power of penetrating the minds of others; for hesmiled again as he said:
'I don't mind being frank with you, my dear Wheatley. I'm sure youwon't use the little admissions I may seem to make against me. Howgrieved you must be for your poor friend Kortes!'
'We've both lost a friend this morning, Pasha.
'Constantine? Ah, yes. Still--he's as well where he is, just as wellwhere he is.'
'He won't be able to use your little admissions either?'
'How you catch my meaning, my dear lord! It's a pleasure to talk toyou.' But he turned suddenly from me and called to his men. Three cameup at once. 'This gentleman,' he said, indicating me, and speaking nowin sharp authoritative tones, 'is in your custody for the the present.Don't let him move.'
I seated myself on a rock; the three men stood round me. The Pashabowed slightly, walked down to where Phroso sat, and began to speakwith her. So, at least, I supposed, but I did not hear anything thathe said. His back was towards me, and he hid Phroso from my view. Itook out my flask and had a pull at my brandy-and-water; it was a poorbreakfast, but I was offered no other.
Up to this time the fourth soldier and Demetri had remained in theboat. They now landed and hauled their boat up on to the beach; thenthey turned to the smaller boat which the Pasha had provided inmalicious sport for our more complete mortification. The soldier laidhold of its stern and prepared to haul it also out of the water; butDemetri said something--what I could not hear--and shrugged hisshoulders. The soldier nodded in apparent assent, and they left theboat where it was, merely attaching it by a rope to the other. Thenthey walked to the rocks and sat down at a little distance from whereI was, Demetri taking a hunch of bread and a large knife from hispocket and beginning to cut and munch. I looked at him, but he refusedto meet my eye and glanced in every direction except at me.
Suddenly, while I was idly regarding Demetri, the three fellows sprangon me. One had me by each arm before I could so much as move. Thethird dashed his hand into the breast-pocket of my coat and seized myrevolver. They leapt away again, caught up the rifles they haddropped, and held them levelled towards me. The thing was done in amoment, I sitting like a man paralysed. Then one of the ruffianscried:
'Your Excellency, the gentleman moved his hand to his pocket, to hispistol.'
'What?' asked Mouraki, turning round. 'Moved his hand to a pistol? Hadhe a pistol?'
My revolver was held up as damning evidence.
'And he tried to use it?' asked Mouraki, in mournful shocked tones.
'It looked like it,' said the fellow.
'It's a lie. I wasn't thinking of it,' said I. I was exasperated atthe trick. I had made up my mind to fight it out sooner than give upthe revolver.
'I'm afraid it may have been so,' said Mouraki, shaking his head.'Give the pistol to me, my man. I'll keep it safe.' His eye shottriumph at me as he took my revolver and turned again to Phroso. I wasnow powerless indeed.
Demetri finished his hunch of bread, and began to clean his knife,polishing its blade leisurely and lovingly on the palm of his hand,and feeling its point with the end of his thumb. During this operationhe hummed softly and contentedly to himself. I could not help smilingwhen I recognised the tune; it was an old friend, the chant thatOne-eyed Alexander wrote on the death of Stefan Stefanopoulos twohundred years ago. Demetri polished, and Demetri hummed, and Demetrilooked away across the blue water with a speculative eye. I did notchoose to consider what might be in the mind of Demetri as he hummedand polished and gazed over the sea that girt his native island.Demetri's thoughts were his own. Let Mouraki look to them, if theywere worth his care.
There, I have made that confession as plainly as I mean to make it. Iput out of my mind what Demetri might be planning as he polished hisknife and hummed One-eyed Alexander's chant.
Apparently Mouraki did not think the matter worth his care. He hadapproached very near to Phroso now, leaning down towards her as shesat on the rock. Suddenly I heard a low cry of terror, and 'No, no,'in horrified accents;
but Mouraki, raising his voice a little,answered, 'Yes, yes.'
I strained my ears to hear; nay, I half rose from where I sat, andsank back only under the pointed hint of a soldier's bayonet. I couldnot hear the words, but a soft pleading murmur came from Phroso, ashort relentless laugh from Mouraki, a silence, a shrug of Mouraki'sshoulders. Then he turned and came across to me.
'Stand back a little,' said he to the soldiers, 'but keep your eyes onyour prisoner, and if he attempts any movement--' He did not finishthe sentence, which indeed was plain enough without a formal ending.Then he began to speak to me in French.
'A beautiful thing, my dear lord,' said he, 'is the devotion of women.Fortunate are you who have found two ladies to love you!'
'You've been married twice yourself, I think you told me?'
'It's not exactly the same thing--not necessarily. I am very likely tobe married a third time, but I fear I should flatter myself if Ithought that much love would accompany the lady's hand. However it wasof you that I desired to speak. This lady here, my dear lord, is soattached to you that I believe she will marry me, purely to ensureyour safety. Isn't it a touching sacrifice?'
'I hope she'll do nothing of the sort,' said I.
'Well, it's little more than a polite fiction,' he conceded; 'forshe'll be compelled to marry me anyhow. But it's the sort of idea thatcomforts a woman.'
He fixed his eyes on me as he made this remark, enjoying the study ofits effect on me.
'Well,' said I, 'I never meant to marry her. I'm bound, you know. Itwas only another polite fiction designed to annoy you, my dear Pasha.'
'Ah, is that so? Now, really, that's amusing,' and he chuckled. He didnot appear annoyed at having been deceived. I wondered a little atthat--then.
'We have really,' he continued, 'been living in an atmosphere ofpolite fictions. For example, Lord Wheatley, there was a politefiction that I was grieved at Constantine's escape.'
'And another that you were anxious to recapture him.'
'And a third that you were not anxious to escape frommy--hospitality.'
'And a fourth that you were so solicitous for my friends' enjoymentthat you exerted yourself to find them good fishing.'
'Ah, yes, yes,' he laughed. 'And there is to be one more politefiction, my dear lord.'
'I believe I can guess it,' said I, meeting his eye.
'You are always so acute,' he observed admiringly.
'Though the precise form of it I confess I don't understand.'
'Well, our lamented Constantine, who had much experience but ratherwanted imagination, was in favour of a fever. He told me that it wasthe usual device in Neopalia.'
'His wife died of it, I suppose?' I believe I smiled as I put thequestion. Great as my peril was, I still found a pleasure in fencingwith the Pasha.
'Oh, no. Now that's unworthy of you. Never have a fiction when thetruth will serve! Since he's dead, he murdered his wife. If he hadlived, of course--'
'Ah, then it would have been fever.'
'Precisely. We must adapt ourselves to circumstances: that is the partof wise men. Now in your case--' He bent down and looked hard in myface.
'In my case,' said I, 'you can call it what you like, Pasha.'
'Don't you think that the outraged patriotism of Neopalia--?' hesuggested, with a smile. 'You bought the island--you, a stranger! Itwas very rash. These islanders are desperate fellows.'
'That would have served with Constantine alive; but he's dead. Yourpatriot is gone, Pasha.'
'Alas, yes, our good Constantine is dead. But there are others.There's a fellow whom I ought to hang.'
'Ah!' My eye wandered towards where Demetri hummed and polished.
'And who has certainly not earned his life merely by bringing me tomeet you this morning, though I give him some credit for that.'
'Demetri?' I asked with a careless air.
'Well, yes, Demetri,' smiled the Pasha. 'Demetri is very open toreason.'
Across the current of our talk came Demetri's soft happy humming. ThePasha heard it.
'I hanged his brother three years ago,' he observed.
'I know you did,' said I. 'You seem to have done some characteristicthings three years ago.'
'And he went to the gallows humming that tune. You know it?'
'Very well indeed, Pasha. It was one of the first things I heard inNeopalia; it's going to be one of the last, perhaps.'
'That tune lends a great plausibility to my little fiction,' saidMouraki.
'It will no doubt be a very valuable confirmation of it,' I rejoined.
The Pasha made no further remark for a moment. I looked past him andpast the four soldiers--for the last had now joined his comrades--toPhroso. She was leaning against the cliff side; her head was thrownback and her face upturned, but her eyes were closed. I think she hadswooned, or at least sunk into a half-unconscious state. Mourakidetected my glance.
'Look at her well, use your time,' he said in a savage tone. You'venot long to enjoy the sight of her.'
'I have as long as it may happen to please God,' said I. 'Neither younor I know how long.'
'I can make a guess,' observed Mouraki, a quiet smile succeeding hisfrown.
'Yes, you can make a guess.'
He stood looking at me a moment longer; then he turned away. As hepassed the soldiers he spoke to them. I saw them smile. No doubt hehad picked his men for this job and could rely on them.
The little bay in which we were was surrounded by steep andprecipitous cliffs except in one place. Here there was a narrow cleft;the rocks did not rise abruptly; the ground sloped gradually upwardsas it receded from the beach. Just on this spot of gently-risingground Demetri sat, and the Pasha, having amused himself with me foras long as it pleased him, walked up to Demetri. The fellow sprang tohis feet and saluted Mouraki with great respect. Mouraki beckoned tohim to come nearer, and began to speak to him.
I sat still where I was, under the bayonets of the soldiers, who facedme and had their backs to their commander. My eyes were fixed steadilyon the pair who stood conferring on the slope; and my mind was in aferment. Scruples troubled me no more; Mouraki himself had made themabsurd. I read my only chance of life in the choice or caprice of thewild passionate barbarian--he was little else--who stood with headmeekly bowed and knife carelessly dangled in his hand. This man was heof whom Panayiota had spoken so mysteriously; he was the friend whom Ihad 'more than I knew of.' In his blood feud with the Pasha, in hisrevengeful wrath, lay my chance. It was only a chance, indeed, for thesoldiers might kill me; but it was a chance, and there was no other;for if Mouraki won him over by promises or bribes, or intimidated himinto doing his will, then Demetri would take the easier task, thatwhich carried no risk and did not involve his own death, as an attackon the Pasha almost certainly would. Would he be prudent and turn hishand against the single helpless man? Or would his long-nursed ragestifle all care for himself and drive him against Mouraki? If so, ifhe chose that way, there was a glimmer of hope. I glanced at Phroso'smotionless figure and pallid face; I glanced at the little boat thatfloated on the water (why had Demetri not beached it?); I glanced atthe rope which bound it to the other boat; I measured the distancebetween the boats and myself; I thrust my hand into the pocket of mycoat and contrived to open the blade of my clasp-knife, which was nowthe only weapon left to me.
Mouraki spoke and smiled. He made no gesture but there was just amovement of his eyes towards me. Demetri's eyes followed his for aninstant, but would not dwell on my face. The Pasha spoke again.Demetri shook his head, and Mouraki's face assumed a persuasivegood-humoured expression. Demetri glanced round apprehensively. ThePasha took him by the arm, and they went a few paces further up theslope, so as to be more private in their talk--but was that theobject with both of them? Still Demetri shook his head. The Pasha'ssmile vanished, his mouth grew stern, his eyes cold, and he frowned.He spoke in short sharp sentences, the snap of his lips showing whenhis mind was spoken. Demetri seemed to plead. He looked uneasy, heshifted from foot to
foot, he drew back from the imperious man, asthough he shunned him and would fain escape from him. Mouraki wouldnot let him go, but followed him in his retreat, step for step. Thusanother ten yards were put between them and me. Anger and contemptblazed now on Mouraki's face. He raised his hand and brought it downclenched on the palm of the other. Demetri held out his hand as thoughin protest or supplication. The Pasha stamped with his foot. Therewere no signs of relenting in his manner.
My eyes grew weary with intent watching. I felt like a man who hasbeen staring at a bright white light, too fascinated by its intensityto blink or turn away, even though it pains him to look longer. Thefigures of the two seemed to become indistinct and blurred. I rubbedmy knuckles into my eyes to clear my vision, and looked again. Yes;they were a little further off, even still a little further off thanwhen I had looked before. It could not be by chance and unwittinglythat Demetri always and always and always gave back a pace, luringthe Pasha to follow him. No, there was a plan in his head; and in myheart suddenly came a great beat of savage joy--of joy at the chanceHeaven gave, yes, and of lust for the blood of the man against whom Ihad so mighty a debt of wrong. And, as I gazed now, for an instant--asingle, barely perceptible instant--came the swiftest message fromDemetri's eyes. I read it. I knew its meaning. I sat where I was, butevery muscle of my body was tense and strung in readiness for thatdesperate leap, and every nerve of me quivered with a repressedexcitement that seemed almost to kill. Now, now! Was it now? I waswithin an ace of crying 'Strike!' but I held the word in and stillgazed. And the soldiers leant easily on their bayonets, exchanging aword or two now and again, yawning sometimes, weary of a dull job,wondering when his Excellency would let them get home again; of whatwas going on behind their backs, there on the slope of the cliff, theytook no heed.
Ah, there was a change now! Demetri had ceased to protest, todeprecate and to retreat. Mouraki's frowns had vanished, he smiledagain in satisfaction and approval. Demetri threw a glance at me.Mouraki spoke. Demetri answered. For an instant I looked at thesoldiers: they were more weary and inattentive than ever. Back wentmy eyes. Now Mouraki, with suave graciousness, in condescendingrecognition of a good servant, stepped right close up to Demetri and,raising his hand, reached round the fellow's shoulder and patted himapprovingly on the back.
'It will be now!' I thought; nay, I believe I whispered, and I drew mylegs up under me and grasped the hidden knife in my pocket. 'Yes, itmust be now.'
Mouraki patted, laughed, evidently praised. Demetri bowed his head.But his long, lithe, bare, brown right arm that had hung so weary atime in idle waiting by his side--the arm whose hand held the greatbright blade so lovingly polished, so carefully tested--the arm beganslowly and cautiously to crawl up his side. It bent at the elbow, itrested a moment after its stealthy secret climb; then, quick aslightning, it flew above Demetri's head, the blade sparkled in thesun, the hand swooped down, and the gleams of the sunlit steel werequenched in the body of Mouraki. With a sudden cry of amazement, ofhorror and of agony, the Pasha staggered and fell prone on the rockyground; and Demetri cried, 'At last, my God, at last!' and laughedaloud.
"AT LAST, MY GOD, AT LAST!"]