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.’

Denny was a sure defence in front. I turned towards the kitchen, for more shots came from that direction, and although it was difficult to do worse than harass us from there, our perpendicular bank of rock being a difficult obstacle to pass in face of revolver-fire, I wanted to see that all was well and to make the best disposition against this unexpected onset. Yet I did not reach the kitchen; half way to the door which led to it I was arrested by a cry of distress. Phroso’s laugh had gone, but the voice was still hers. ‘Help!’ she cried, ‘help!’ Then came a chuckle from Denny at the window, and a triumphant, ‘Winged him, by Jove!’ And then from Phroso again, ‘Help!’—and at last an enlightening word, ‘Help! Under the staircase! Help!’

At this summons I left my friends to sustain the attack or the feigned attack; for I began to suspect that it was no more than a diversion, and that the real centre of operations was ‘under the staircase;’ thither I ran. The stairs rose from the centre of the right side of the hall, and led up to the gallery; they rose steeply, and a man could stand upright up to within four feet of the spot where the staircase sprang from the level floor. I was there now; and under me I heard no longer voices, but a kind of scuffle. The pick was in my hand, and I struck savagely again and again at the boards; for I did not doubt now that there was a trap-door, and I was in no mind to spend my time seeking for its cunning machinery. And yet where knowledge failed, chance came to my help; at the fifth or sixth blow I must have happened on the spring, for the boards yawned, leaving a space of about three inches. Dropping the pick, I fell on my knees and seized the edge nearest me. With all my strength I tugged and pulled. My violence was of no avail, the boards moved no more. Impatient yet sobered I sought eagerly for the spring which my pick had found. Ah, here it was! It answered now to a touch light as Phroso’s own. At the slightest pressure the boards rolled away, seeming to curl themselves up under the base of the staircase; and there was revealed to me an aperture four feet long by three broad; beneath lay a flight of stone steps. I seized my pick again, and took a step downwards. I heard nothing except the noise of retreating feet. I went on. Down six steps I went, then the steps ended, and I was on an incline. At that moment I heard again, only a few yards from me, ‘Help!’ I sprang forward. A loud curse rang out, and a shot whistled by me. The open trap-door gave a glimmer of light. I was in a narrow passage, and a man was coming at me. I did not know where Phroso was, but I took the risk. I fired straight at him, having shifted my pick to the left hand. The aim was true, he fell prone on his face before me. I jumped on and over his body, and ran along the dark passage; for I still heard retreating steps. But then came a voice I knew, the voice of Vlacho the innkeeper. ‘Then stay where you are, curse you!’ he cried savagely. There was a thud, as though some one fell heavily to the ground, a cry of pain, and then the rapid running of feet that fled now at full pace and unencumbered. Vlacho the innkeeper had heard my shot and had no stomach for fighting in that rat-run, with a girl in his arms to boot! And I, pursuing, was brought up short by the body of Phroso, which lay, white and plain to see, across the narrow passage.

‘Are you hurt?’ I cried eagerly.

‘He flung me down violently,’ she answered. ‘But I’m not hurt otherwise.’

‘Then I’ll go after him,’ I cried.

‘No, no, you mustn’t. You don’t know the way, you don’t know the dangers; there may be more of them at the other end.’

‘True,’ said I. ‘What happened?’

‘Why, I came down to hide from you, you know. But directly I reached the foot of the steps Vlacho seized me. He was crouching there with Spiro—you know Spiro. And they said, “Ah, she has saved us the trouble!” and began to drag me away. But I would not go, and I called to you. I twisted my feet round Vlacho, so that he couldn’t go fast; then he told Spiro to catch hold of me, and they were just carrying me off when you came. Vlacho kept hold of me while Spiro went to meet you and—’

‘It seems,’ I interrupted, ‘that Constantine was less scrupulous about that oath than you were. Or how did Vlacho and Spiro come here?’

‘Yes, he must have told them,’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘Well, come along, come back; I’m wanted,’ said I; and (without asking leave, I fear) I caught her up in my arms and began to run back. I jumped again over Spiro—friend Spiro had not moved—and regained the hall.

‘Stay there, under the stairs; you’re sheltered there,’ I said hastily to Phroso. Then I called to Denny, ‘What cheer, Denny?’ Denny turned round with a radiant smile. I don’t think he had even noticed my absence.

‘Prime,’ said he. ‘This is a rare gun of old Constantine’s; it carries a good thirty yards farther than any they’ve got, and I can pick ’em off before they get dangerous. I’ve got one and winged another, and the rest have retired a little way to talk it over.’

Seeing that things were all right in that quarter I ran into the kitchen. It was well that I did so. We were indeed in no danger; from that side, at all events, the attack was evidently no more than a feint. There was desultory firing from a safe distance in the wood. I reckoned there must be four or five men hidden behind trees and emerging every now and then to pay us a compliment. But they had not attempted a rush. The mischief was quite different, being just this, that Watkins, who was not well instructed in the range of fire-arms, was cheerfully emptying his revolver into space, and wasting our precious cartridges at the rate of about two a minute. He was so magnificently happy that it went to my heart to stop him, but I was compelled to seize his arm and command him very peremptorily to wait till there was something to fire at.

‘I thought I’d show them that we were ready for them, my lord,’ said he apologetically.

I turned impatiently to Hogvardt.

‘Why did you let him make a fool of himself like that?’ I asked.

‘He would miss, anyhow, wherever the men were,’ observed Hogvardt philosophically. ‘And,’ he continued, ‘I was busy myself.’

‘What were you doing?’ I asked in a scornful tone.

Hogvardt made no answer in words; but he pointed proudly to the table. There I saw a row of five long and strong saplings; to the head of each of these most serviceable lances there was bound strongly, with thick wire wound round again and again, a long, keen, bright knife.

‘I think these may be useful,’ said Hogvardt, rubbing his hands, and rising from his seat with the sigh of a man who had done a good morning’s work.

‘The cartridges would have been more useful still,’ said I severely.

‘Yes,’ he admitted, ‘if you would have taken them away from Watkins. But you know you wouldn’t, my lord. You’d be afraid of hurting his feelings. So he might just as well amuse himself while I made the lances.’

I have known Hogvardt for a long while, and I never argue with him. The mischief was done; the cartridges were gone; we had the lances; it was no use wasting more words over it. I shrugged my shoulders.

‘Your lordship will find the lances very useful,’ said Hogvardt, fingering one of them most lovingly.

The attack was dying away now in both front and rear. My impression was amply confirmed. It had been no more than a device for occupying our attention while those two daring rascals, Vlacho and Spiro, armed with the knowledge of the secret way, made a sudden dash upon us, either in the hope of getting a shot at our backs and finding shelter again before we could retaliate, or with the design of carrying off Phroso. Her jest had forestalled the former idea, if it had been in their minds, and they had then endeavoured to carry out the latter. Indeed I found afterwards that it was the latter on which Constantine laid most stress; for a deputation of the islanders had come to him, proposing that he should make terms with me as a means of releasing their Lady. Now since last night Constantine, for reasons which he could not disclose to the deputation, was absolutely precluded from treating with me; he was therefore driven to make an attempt to get Phroso out of my hands in order to satisfy her people. This enterprise I had happily frustrated for the moment. But my mind was far from easy. Provisions would soon be gone; ammunition was scanty; against an attack by day our strong position, aided by Denny’s coolness and marksmanship, seemed to protect us very effectually; but I could feel no confidence as to the result of a grand assault under the protecting shadow of night. And now that Constantine’s hand was being forced by the islanders’ anxiety for Phroso, I was afraid that he would not wait long before attempting a decisive stroke.

‘I wish we were well out of it,’ said I despondently, as I wiped my brow.

All was quiet. Watkins appeared with bread, cheese and wine.

‘Your lordship would not wish to use the cow at luncheon?’ he asked, as he passed me on his way to the hall.

‘Certainly not, Watkins,’ I answered, smiling. ‘We must save the cow.’

‘There is still a goat, but she is a poor thin creature, my lord.’

‘We shall come to her in time, Watkins,’ said I.

But if I were depressed, the other three were very merry over their meal. Danger was an idea which found no hospitality in Denny’s brain; Hogvardt was as cool a hand as the world held; Watkins could not believe that Providence would deal unkindly with a man of my rank. They toasted our recent success, and listened with engrossed interest to my account of the secret of the Stefanopouloi. Phroso sat a little apart, saying nothing, but at last I turned to her and asked, ‘Where does the passage lead to?’

She answered readily enough; the secret was out through Constantine’s fault, not hers, and the seal was removed from her lips.

‘If you follow it to the end, it comes out in a little cave in the rocks on the seashore, near the creek where the Cypriote fishermen come.’

‘Ah,’ I cried, ‘it might help us to get there!’

She shook her head, answering:

‘Constantine is sure to have that end strongly guarded now, because he knows that you have the secret.’

‘We might force our way.’

‘There is no room for more than one man to go at a time; and besides—’ she paused.

‘Well, what besides?’ I asked.

‘It would be certain death to try to go in the face of an enemy’ she answered.

Denny broke in at this point.

‘By the way, what of the fellow you shot? Are we going to leave him there, or must we get him up?’

Spiro had been in my mind; and now I said to Phroso:

‘What did they do with the body of Stefan Stefanopoulos? There was not time for them to have taken it to the end of the way, was there?’

‘No, they didn’t take it to the end of the way,’ said she. ‘I will show you if you like. Bring a torch; you must keep behind me, and right in the middle of the path.’

I accepted her invitation eagerly, telling Denny to keep guard. He was very anxious to accompany us, but another and more serious attack might be in store, and I would not trust the house to Hogvardt and Watkins alone. So I took a lantern in lieu of a torch and prepared to follow. At the last moment Hogvardt thrust into my hand one of his lances.

‘It will very likely be useful,’ said he. ‘A thing like that is always useful.’

I would not disappoint him, and I took the lance. Phroso signed to me to give her the lantern and preceded me down the flight of stairs.

‘We shall be in earshot of the hall?’ I asked.

‘Yes, for as far as we are going,’ she answered, and she led the way into the passage. I prayed her to let me go first, for it was just possible that some of Constantine’s ruffians might still be there.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘He would tell as few as possible. You see, we have always kept the secret from the islanders. I think that, if you had not killed Spiro, he would not have lived long after knowing it.’

‘The deuce!’ I exclaimed. ‘And Vlacho?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Constantine is very fond of Vlacho. Still, perhaps, some day—’ The unfinished sentence was expressive enough.

‘What use was the secret?’ I asked, as we groped our way slowly along and edged by the body of Spiro which lay, six feet of dead clay, in the path.

‘In the first place, we could escape by it,’ she answered, ‘if any tumult arose in the island. That was what Stefan tried to do, and would have done, had not his own kindred been against him and overtaken him here in the passage.’

‘And in the second place?’ I asked.

Phroso stopped, turned round, and faced me.

‘In the second place,’ she said, ‘if any one of the islanders became very powerful—too powerful, you know—then the ruling lord would show him great favour; and, as a crowning mark of his confidence, he would bid him come by night and learn the great secret; and they two would come together down this passage. But the lord would return alone.’

‘And the other?’

‘The body of the other would be found two, three, four days, or a week later, tossing on the shores of the island,’ answered Phroso. ‘For look!’ and she held the lantern high above her head so that its light was projected in front of us, and I could see fifteen or twenty yards ahead.

‘When they reached here, Stefanopoulos and the other,’ she went on, ‘Stefanopoulos would stumble, and feign to twist his foot, and he would pray the other to let him lean a little on his shoulder. Thus they would go on, the other a pace in front, the lord leaning on his shoulder; and the lord would hold the torch, but he would not hold it up, as I hold the lantern, but down to the ground, so that it should light no more than a pace or two ahead. And when they came there—do you see, my lord—there?’

‘I see,’ said I, and I believe I shivered a bit.

‘When they came there the torch would suddenly show the change, so suddenly that the other would start and be for an instant alarmed, and turn his head round to the lord to ask what it meant.’

Phroso paused in her recital of the savage, simple, sufficient old trick.

‘Yes?’ said I. ‘And at that moment—’

‘The lord’s hand on his shoulder,’ she answered, ‘which had rested lightly before, would grow heavy as lead and with a great sudden impulse the other would be hurled forward, and the lord would be alone again with the secret, and alone the holder of power in Neopalia.’

This was certainly a pretty secret of empire, and none the less although the empire it protected was but nine miles long and five broad. I took the lantern from Phroso’s hand, saying, ‘Let’s have a look.’

I stepped a pace or two forward, prodding the ground with Hogvardt’s lance before I moved my feet: and thus I came to the spot where the Stefanopoulos used with a sudden great impulse to propel his enemy down. For here the rocks, which hitherto had narrowly edged and confined the path, bayed out on either side. The path ran on, a flat rock track about a couple of feet wide, forming the top of an upstanding cliff; but on either side there was an interval of seven or eight feet between the path and the walls of rock, and the path was unfenced. Even had the Stefanopoulos held his hand and given no treacherous impulse, it would have needed a cool-headed man to walk that path by the dim glimmer of a torch. For, kneeling down and peering over the side, I saw before me, some seventy feet down as I judged, the dark gleam of water, and I heard the low moan of its wash. And Phroso said:

‘If the man escaped the sharp rocks he would fall into the water; and then, if he could not swim, he would sink at once; but if he could swim he would swim round, and round, and round, like a fish in a bowl, till he grew weary, unless he chanced to find the only opening; and if he found that and passed through, he would come to a rapid, where the water runs swiftly, and he would be dashed on the rocks. Only by a miracle could he escape death by one or other of these ways. So I was told when I was of age to know the secret. And it is certain that no man who fell into the water has escaped alive, although their bodies came out.’

‘Did Stefan’s body come out?’ I asked, peering at the dark water with a fascinated gaze.

‘No, because they tied weights to it before they threw it down, and so with the head. Stefan is there at the bottom. Perhaps another Stefanopoulos is there also; for his body was never found. He was caught by the man he threw down, and the two fell together.’

‘Well, I’m glad of it,’ said I with emphasis, as I rose to my feet. ‘I wish the same thing had always happened.’

‘Then,’ remarked Phroso with a smile, ‘I should not be here to tell you about it.’

‘Hum,’ said I. ‘At all events I wish it had generally happened. For a more villainous contrivance I never heard of in all my life. We English are not accustomed to this sort of thing.’

Phroso looked at me for a moment with a strange expression of eagerness, hesitation and fear. Then she suddenly put out her hand, and laid it on my arm.

‘I will not go back to my cousin who has wronged me, if—if I may stay with you,’ she said.

‘If you may stay!’ I exclaimed with a nervous laugh.

‘But will you protect me? Will you stand by me? Will you swear not to leave me here alone on the island? If you will, I will tell you another thing—a thing that would certainly bring me death if it were known I had told.’

‘Whether you tell me or whether you don’t,’ said I, ‘I’ll do what you ask.’

‘Then you are not the first Englishman who has been here. Seventy years ago there came an Englishman here, a daring man, a lover of our people, and a friend of the great Byron. Orestes Stefanopoulos, who ruled here then, loved him very much, and brought him here, and showed him the path and the water under it. And he, the Englishman, came next day with a rope, and fixed the rope at the top, and let himself down. Somehow, I do not know how, he came safe out to the sea, past the rocks and the rapids. But, alas, he boasted of it! Then, when the thing became known, all the family came to Orestes and asked him what he had done. And he said:

‘“Sup with me this night, and I will tell you.” For he saw that what he had done was known.

‘So they all supped together, and Orestes told them what he had done, and how he did it for love of the Englishman. They said nothing, but looked sad; for they loved Orestes. But he did not wait for them to kill him, as they were bound to do; but he took a great flagon of wine, and poured into it the contents of a small flask. And his kindred said: “Well done, Lord Orestes!” And they all rose to their feet, and drank to him. And he drained the flagon to their good fortune, and went and lay down on his bed, and turned his face to the wall and died.’

I paid less attention to this new episode in the family history of the Stefanopouloi than it perhaps deserved: my thoughts were with the Englishman, not with his too generous friend. Yet the thing was handsomely done—on both sides handsomely done.

‘If the Englishman got out!’ I cried, gazing at Phroso’s face.

‘Yes, I mean that,’ said she simply. ‘But it must be dangerous.’

‘It’s not exactly safe where we are,’ I said, smiling; ‘and Constantine will be guarding the proper path. By Jove, we’ll try it!’

‘But I must come with you; for if you go that way and escape, Constantine will kill me.’

‘You’ve just as good a right to kill Constantine.’

‘Still he will kill me. You’ll take me with you?’

‘To be sure I will,’ said I.

Now when a man pledges his word, he ought, to my thinking, to look straight and honestly in the eyes of the woman to whom he is promising. Yet I did not look into Phroso’s eyes, but stared awkwardly over her head at the walls of rock. Then, without any more words, we turned back and went towards the secret door. But I stopped at Spiro’s body, and said to Phroso:

‘Will you send Denny to me?’

She went, and when Denny came we took Spiro’s body and carried it to where the walls bayed, and we flung it down into the dark water below. And I told Denny of the Englishman who had come alive through the perils of the hidden chasm. He listened with eager attention, nodding his head at every point of the story.

WE TOOK SPIRO’S BODY AND FLUNG IT DOWN.