HATS OFF TO ST TRYPHON!
A man’s mind can move on more than one line; even the most engrossing
selfish care may fail entirely to occupy it or to shut out intruding
rivals. Not only should I have been wise, but I should have chosen, in
that risky walk of mine through the wood that covered the hill-slope,
to think of nothing but its risk. Yet countless other things exacted a
share of my thoughts and figured amongst my brain’s images. Sometimes
I was with Denny and his faithful followers, threading dark and
devious ways in the bowels of the earth, avoiding deep waters on the
one side, sheer falls on the other, losing the track, finding it
again, deluded by deceptive glimmers of light, finding at last the
true outlet; now received hospitably by the Cypriote fishermen, now
fiercely assailed by them, again finding none of them; now making
allies of them, now carried prisoners by them to Constantine, again
scouring the sea with vain eagerness for a sight of their sails. Then
I was off, far away, to England, to my friends there, to the gaiety of
London now in its full rushing tide, to Mrs Hipgrave’s exclusive
receptions, to Beatrice’s gay talk and pretty insolence, to Hamlyn’s
gilded dulness, in rapid survey of all the panorama that I knew so
well. Then I would turn back to the scene I had left, and again bid my
farewell under the quiet sky, in prospect of the sea that turned to
gold. So I passed back and forward till I seemed myself hardly a
thinking man, but rather a piece of blank glass, across which the
myriad mites of the kaleidoscope chased one another, covering it with
varying colours, but none of them imparting their hue to it. Yet all
this time, by the strange division of mental activity of which I have
spoken, I was crawling cautiously but quickly up the mountain side,
with eyes keen to pierce the dusk that now fell, with ears apt to find
an enemy in every rustling leaf and a hostile step in every woodland
sound. Of real foes I had as yet seen none. Ah! Hush! I dropped on my
knees. Away there on the right--what was it leaning against that
tree-trunk? It was a tall lean man; his arms rested on a long gun, and
his face was towards the old grey house. Would he see me? I crouched
lower. Would he hear me? I was as still as dead Spiro had lain in the
passage. But then I felt stealthily for the butt of my revolver, and
a recollection so startling came to me that I nearly betrayed myself
by some sudden movement. In the distribution of burdens for our
proposed journey, Denny had taken the case containing the spare
cartridges which remained after we had all reloaded. Now I had one
barrel only loaded, one shot only left. That one shot and Hogvardt’s
lance were all my resources. I crouched yet lower. But the man was
motionless, and presently I ventured to move on my hands and knees,
sorely inconvenienced by the long lance, but determined not to leave
it behind me. I passed another sentry a hundred yards or so away on
the left; his head was sunk on his breast and he took no notice of me.
I breathed a little more freely as I came within fifty feet of the
cottage.
Immediately about the house nobody was in sight. This however, in
Neopalia, did not always mean that nobody was near, and I abated none
of my caution. But the last step had to be taken; I crawled out from
the shelter of the trees, and crouched on one knee on the level space
in front of the cottage. The cottage door was open. I listened but
heard nothing. Well, I meant to go in; my entrance would be none the
easier for waiting. A quick dart was safest; in a couple of bounds I
was across, in the verandah, through the entrance, in the house. I
closed the door noiselessly behind me, and stood there, Hogvardt’s
lance ready for the first man I saw; but I saw none. I was in a narrow
passage; there were doors on either side of me. Listening again, I
heard no sound from right or left. I opened the door to the right. I
saw a small square room: the table was spread for a meal, three places
being laid, but the room was empty. I turned to the other door and
opened it. This room was darker, for heavy curtains, drawn, no doubt,
earlier in the day to keep out the sun, had not been drawn back, and
the light was very dim. For a while I could make out little, but, my
eyes growing more accustomed to the darkness, I soon perceived that I
was in a sitting-room, sparsely and rather meanly furnished. Then my
eyes fell on a couch which stood against the wall opposite me. On the
couch lay a figure. It was the figure of a woman. I heard now the
slight but regular sound of her breath. She was asleep. This must be
the woman I sought. But was she a sensible woman? Or would she scream
when I waked her, and bring those tall fellows out of the wood? In
hesitation I stood still and watched her. She slept like one who was
weary, but not at peace: restless movements and, now and again,
broken incoherent exclamations witnessed to her disquiet. Presently
her broken sleep passed into half-wakeful consciousness, and she sat
up, looking round her with a dazed glance.
‘Is that you, Constantine?’ she asked, rubbing her hands across her
eyes. ‘Or is it Vlacho?’
With a swift step I was by her.
‘Neither. Not a word!’ I said, laying my hand on her shoulder.
I was, I daresay, an alarming figure, with the butt of my revolver
peeping out of my pocket and Hogvardt’s lance in my right hand. But
she did not cry out.
‘I am Wheatley. I have escaped from the house there,’ I went on; ‘and
I have come here because there’s something I must tell you. You
remember our last meeting?’
She looked at me still in amazed surprise, but with a gleam of
recollection.
‘Yes, yes. You were--we went to watch you--yes, at the restaurant.’
‘You went to watch and to listen? Yes, I supposed so. But I’ve been
near you since then. Do you remember the man who was on your
verandah?’
‘That was you?’ she asked quickly.
‘Yes, it was. And while I was there I heard--’
‘But what are you doing here? This house is watched. Constantine may
be here any moment, or Vlacho.’
‘I’m as safe here as I was down the hill. Now listen. Are you this
man’s wife, as he called you that night?’
‘Am I his wife? Of course I’m his wife. How else should I be here?’
The indignation expressed in her answer was the best guarantee of its
truth, and became her well. And she held her hand up to me, as she had
to the man himself in the restaurant, adding, ‘There is his ring.’
‘Then listen to me, and don’t interrupt,’ said I brusquely. ‘Time’s
valuable to me, and even more, I fear, to you.’
Her eyes were alarmed now, but she listened in silence as I bade her.
I told her briefly what had happened to me, and then I set before her
more fully the conversation between Constantine and Vlacho which I had
overheard. She clutched the cushions of the sofa in her clenched hand;
her breathing came quick and fast; her eyes gleamed at me even in the
gloom of the curtained room. I do not believe that in her heart she
was surprised at what she heard. She had mistrusted the man; her
manner, even on our first encounter, had gone far to prove that. She
received my story rather as a confirmation of her own suspicions than
as a new or startling revelation. She was fearful, excited, strung to
a high pitch; but astonished she was not, if I read her right. And
when I ended, it was not astonishment that clenched her lips and
brought to her eyes a look which I think Constantine himself would
have shrunk from meeting. I had paused at the end of my narrative, but
I recollected one thing more. I must warn her about the secret
passage; for that offered her husband too ready and easy a way of
relieving himself of his burden. But now she interrupted me.
‘This girl?’ she said. ‘I have not seen her. What is she like?’
‘She is very beautiful,’ said I simply. ‘She knows what I have told
you, and she is on her guard. You need fear nothing from her. It is
your husband whom you have to fear.’
‘He would kill me?’ she asked, with a questioning glance.
‘You’ve heard what he said,’ I returned. ‘Put your own meaning on it.’
She sprang to her feet.
‘I can’t stay here; I can’t stay here. Merciful heaven, they may come
any moment! Where are you going? How are you going to escape? You are
in as much danger as I am.’
‘I believe in even greater,’ said I. ‘I was going straight from here
down to the sea. If I can find my friends, we’ll go through with the
thing together. If I don’t find them, I shall hunt for a boat. If I
don’t find a boat--well, I’m a good swimmer, and I shall live as long
in the water as in Neopalia, and die easier, I fancy.’
She was standing now, facing me, and she laid her hand on my arm.
‘You stand by women, you Englishmen,’ she said. ‘You won’t leave me to
be murdered?’
‘You see I am here. Doesn’t that answer your question?’
‘My God, he’s a fiend! Will you take me with you?’
What could I do? Her coming gave little chance to her and robbed me of
almost all prospect of escape. But of course I could not leave her.
‘You must come if you can see no other way,’ said I.
‘Why, what other is there? If I avoid him he will see I suspect him.
If I appear to trust him, I must put myself in his power.’
‘Then we must go,’ said I. ‘But it’s a thousand to one that we don’t
get through.’
I had hardly spoken when a voice outside said, ‘Is all well?’ and a
heavy step echoed in the verandah.
‘Vlacho!’ she hissed in a whisper. ‘Vlacho! Are you armed?’
‘In a way,’ said I, with a shrug. ‘But there are at least two besides
him. I saw them in the wood.’
‘Yes, yes, true. There are four generally. It would be death. Here,
hide behind the curtains. I’ll try to put him off for the moment.
Quick, quick!’
She was hurried and eager, but I saw that her wits were clear. I
stepped behind the curtains and she drew them close. I heard her fling
herself again on the couch. Then came the innkeeper’s voice, its
roughness softened in deferential greeting.
At the same time a strong smell of eau de Cologne pervaded the room.
‘Am I well?’ said Madame Stefanopoulos fretfully. ‘My good Vlacho, I
am very ill. Should I sit in a dark room and bathe my head with this
stuff if I were well?’
‘My lady’s sickness grieves me beyond expression,’ said Vlacho
politely. ‘And the more so because I am come from my Lord Constantine
with a message for you.’
‘It is easier for him to send messages than to come himself,’ she
remarked, with an admirable pretence of resentment.
‘Think how occupied he has been with this pestilent Englishman!’ said
the plausible Vlacho. ‘We have had no peace. But at last I hope our
troubles are over. The house is ours again.’
‘Ah, you have driven them out?’
‘They fled themselves,’ said Vlacho. ‘But they are separated and we
shall catch them. Oh, yes, we know where to look for most of them.’
‘Then you’ve not caught any of them yet? How stupid you are!’
‘My lady is severe. No, we have caught none yet.’
‘Not even Wheatley himself?’ she asked. ‘Has he shown you a clean pair
of heels?’
Vlacho’s voice betrayed irritation as he answered:
‘We shall find him also in time, though heaven knows where the rascal
has hidden himself.’
‘You’re really very stupid,’ said Francesca. I heard her sniff her
perfume. ‘And the girl?’ she went on.
‘Oh, we have her safe and sound,’ laughed Vlacho. ‘She’ll give no more
trouble.’
‘Why, what will you do with her?’
‘You must ask my lord that,’ said Vlacho. ‘If she will give up the
island, perhaps nothing.’
‘Ah, well, I take very little interest in her. Isn’t my husband coming
to supper, Vlacho?’
‘To supper here, my lady? Surely no. The great house is ready now.
That is a more fitting place for my lady than this dog-hole. I am
here to escort you there. There my lord will sup with you. Oh, it’s a
grand house!’
‘A grand house!’ she echoed scornfully. ‘Why, what is there to see in
it?’
‘Oh, many things,’ said Vlacho. ‘Yes, secrets, my lady! And my lord
bids me say that from love to you he will show you to-night the great
secret of his house. He desires to show his love and trust in you, and
will therefore reveal to you all his secrets.’
When I, behind the curtain, heard the ruffian say this, I laid firmer
hold on my lance. But the lady was equal to Vlacho.
‘You’re very melodramatic with your secrets,’ she said contemptuously.
‘I am tired, and my head aches. Your secrets will wait; and if my
husband will not come and sup with me, I’ll sup alone here. Tell him I
can’t come, please, Vlacho.’
‘But my lord was most urgent that you should come,’ said Vlacho.
‘I would come if I were well,’ said she.
‘But I could help you. If you would permit, I and my men would carry
you down all the way on your couch.’
‘My good Vlacho, you are very tedious, you and your men. And my
husband is tedious also, if he sent all these long messages. I am ill
and I will not come. Is that enough?’
‘My lord will be very angry if I return alone,’ pleaded Vlacho humbly.
‘I’ll write a certificate that you did your best to persuade me,’ she
said with a scornful laugh.
I heard the innkeeper’s heavy feet move a step or two across the
floor. He was coming nearer to where she lay on the couch.
‘I daren’t return without you,’ said he.
‘Then you must stay here and sup with me.’
‘My lord does not love to be opposed.’
‘Then, my good Vlacho, he should not have married me,’ she retorted.
She played the game gallantly, fencing and parrying with admirable
tact, and with a coolness wonderful for a woman in such peril. My
heart went out to her, and I said to myself that she should not want
any help that I could give.
She had raised her voice on the last words, and her defiant taunt rang
out clear and loud. It seemed to alarm Vlacho.
‘Hush, not so loud!’ he said hastily. There was the hint of a threat
in his voice.
‘Not so loud!’ she echoed. ‘And why not so loud? Is there harm in what
I say?’
I wondered at Vlacho’s sudden fright. The idea shot into my head--and
the idea was no pleasant one--that there must be people within
earshot, perhaps people who had not been trusted with Constantine’s
secrets, and would, for that reason, do his bidding better.
‘Harm! No, no harm; but no need to let every one hear,’ said Vlacho,
confusedly and with evident embarrassment.
‘Every one? Who is here, then?’
‘I have brought one or two men to escort my lady,’ said he. ‘With
these cut-throat Englishmen about’ (Bravo, bravo, Vlacho!) ‘one must
be careful.’
A scornful laugh proclaimed her opinion of his subterfuge, and she met
him with a skilful thrust.
‘But if they don’t know--yes, and aren’t to know that I am the wife of
Constantine, how can I go to the house and stay with him?’ she asked.
‘Oh,’ said he, ready again with his plausible half-truths, ‘that is
one of the secrets. Must I tell my lady part of it? There is an
excellent hiding-place in the house, where my lord can bestow you most
comfortably. You will want for nothing, and nobody will know that you
are there, except the few faithful men who have guarded you here.’
‘Indeed, if I am still to be a stowaway, I’ll stay here,’ said she.
‘If my lord will announce me publicly to all the island as his wife,
then I will come and take my place at the head of his house; but
without that I will not come.’
‘Surely you will be able to persuade him to that yourself,’ said
Vlacho. ‘But dare I make conditions with my lord?’
‘You will make them in my name,’ she answered. ‘Go and tell him what I
say.’
A pause followed. Then Vlacho said in sullen obstinate tones:
‘I’ll not go without you. I was ordered to bring you, and I will.
Come.’
I heard the sudden rustle of her dress as she drew back; then a little
cry: ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘You must come,’ said Vlacho. ‘I shall call my men and carry you.’
‘I will not come,’ she said in a low voice, resolute and fierce.
Vlacho laughed. ‘We’ll see about that,’ said he, and his heavy steps
sounded on the floor.
‘What are you going to the window for?’ she cried.
‘To call Demetri and Kortes to help me,’ said he; ‘or will you come?’
I drew back a pace, resting against the windowsill. Hogvardt’s lance
was protruded before me. At that moment I asked nothing better than to
bury its point in the fat innkeeper’s flesh.
‘You’ll repent it if you do what you say,’ said she.
‘I shall repent it more if I don’t obey my lord,’ said Vlacho. ‘See,
my hand is on the curtains. Will you come, my lady?’
‘I will not come,’ said she.
There was one last short interval. I heard them both breathing, and I
held my own breath. My revolver rested in my pocket; the noise of a
shot would be fatal. With God’s help I would drive the lance home with
one silent sufficient thrust. There would be a rogue less in the world
and another chance for her and me.
‘As you will, then,’ said the innkeeper.
The curtain-rings rattled along the rod; the heavy hangings gave back.
The moon, which was newly risen, streamed full in Vlacho’s eyes and on
the pale strained face behind him. He saw me; he uttered one low
exclamation: ‘Christ!’ His hand flew to his belt. He drew a pistol out
and raised it; but I was too quick for him. I drove the great
hunting-knife on the end of the sapling full and straight into his
breast. With a groan he flung his arms over his head and fell
sideways, half-supported by the curtain till the fabric was rent away
from the rings and fell over his body, enveloping him in a thick pall.
I drew my lance back. The force of the blow had overstrained
Hogvardt’s wire fastenings; the blade was bent to an angle with the
shaft and shook loosely from side to side. Vlacho’s blood began to
curl in a meandering trickle from beneath the curtain. Madame
Stefanopoulos glared at me, speechless. But my eyes fell from her to
the floor; for there I saw two long black shadows. A sudden and
desperate inspiration seized me. She was my ally, I hers. If both were
held guilty of this act we could render no service to each other. If
she were still unsuspected--and nobody except myself had heard her
talk with Vlacho--she might yet help herself and me.
‘Throw me over,’ I whispered in English. ‘Cry for help.’
‘What?’
‘Cry. The men are there. You may help me afterwards.’
‘What, pretend--?’
‘Yes. Quick.’
‘But they’ll--’
‘No, no. Quick, for God’s sake, quick!’
‘God help us,’ she whispered. Then she cried loudly, ‘Help! help!
help!’
I sprang towards her. There was the crash of a man leaping through the
open window. I turned. Behind him I saw Demetri standing in the
moonlight. Other figures hurried up; feet pattered on the hard ground.
The man who had leaped in--a very tall, handsome and athletic fellow,
whom I had not seen before--held to my head a long old-fashioned
pistol. I let my hands drop to my side and faced him with a smile on
my lips. It must be death to resist--death to me and death to my new
friend; surrender might open a narrow way of safety.
‘I yield,’ said I.
‘Who are you?’ he cried.
‘I am Lord Wheatley,’ I answered.
‘But did you not fly to the--?’ He stopped.
‘To the passage?’ said I. ‘No, I came here. I was trying to escape. I
came in while Madame here was asleep and hid behind the curtain.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said she. ‘It is so, Kortes, it is as he says; and then
Vlacho came--’
‘And,’ said I, ‘when the lady had agreed to go with Vlacho, Vlacho
came to the window to call you; and by misadventure, sir, he came on
me behind the curtain. And--won’t you see whether he’s dead?’
‘Kill him, Kortes, kill him!’ cried Demetri, fiercely and suddenly,
from the window.
Kortes turned round.
‘Peace!’ said he. ‘The man has yielded. Do I kill men who have
yielded? The Lady of the island and my Lord Constantine must decide
his fate; it is not my office. Are you armed, sir?’
It went to my heart to give up that last treasured shot of mine. But
he was treating me as an honourable man. I handed him my revolver with
a bow, saying:
‘I depend on you to protect me from that fellow and the rest till you
deliver me to those you speak of.’
‘In my charge you are safe,’ said Kortes, and he stooped down and
lifted the curtain from Vlacho’s face. The innkeeper stirred and
groaned. He was not dead yet. Kortes turned round to Demetri.
‘Stay here and tend him. Do what you can for him. When I am able, I
will send aid to him; but I don’t think he will live.’
Demetri scowled. He seemed not to like the part assigned to him.
‘Are you going to take this man to my Lord Constantine?’ he asked.
‘Leave another with Vlacho, and let me come with you to my lord.’
‘Who should better stay with Vlacho than his nephew Demetri?’ asked
Kortes with a smile. (This relationship was a new light to me.) ‘I am
going to do what my duty is. Come, no questioning. Do not I command,
now Vlacho is wounded?’
‘And the lady here?’ asked Demetri.
‘I am not ordered to lay a finger on the lady,’ answered Kortes.
‘Indeed I don’t know who she is.’
Francesca interposed with great dignity:
‘I will come with you,’ said she. ‘I have my story to tell when this
gentleman is put on his trial. Who I am you will know soon.’
Demetri had climbed in at the window. He passed me with a savage
scowl, and I noticed that one side of his head was bound with a
bloodstained bandage. He saw me looking at it.
‘Aye,’ he growled, ‘I owe you the loss of half an ear.’
‘In the passage?’ I hazarded, much pleased.
‘I shall pay the debt,’ said he, ‘or see it paid handsomely for me by
my lord.’
‘Come,’ said Kortes, ‘let us go.’
Fully believing that the fact of Kortes being in command instead of
Demetri had saved me from instant death, I was not inclined to dispute
his orders. I walked out of the house and took the place he indicated
to me in the middle of a line of islanders, some ten or twelve in
number. Kortes placed himself by my side, and Madame Stefanopoulos
walked on his other hand. The islanders maintained absolute silence. I
followed their example, but my heart (I must confess) beat as I
waited to see in what direction our column was to march. We started
down the hill towards the house. If we were going to the house I had
perhaps twenty minutes to live, and the lady who was with us would not
long survive me. In vain I scanned Kortes’s comely grave features. He
marched with the impassive regularity of a grenadier and displayed
much the same expressionless steadiness of face. Nearer to the fatal
house we came; but my heart gave a sudden leap of hope and excitement,
for Kortes cried softly, ‘To the right.’ We turned down the path that
led up from the town, leaving the house on the left. We were not going
straight to death then, and every respite was pregnant with unforeseen
chances of escape. I touched Kortes on the shoulder.
‘Where are we going?’ I asked.
‘To the town,’ he answered.
Again in silence we pursued our way down the hillside. The path
broadened and the incline became less steep; a few lights twinkled
from the sea, which now spread before us. Still we went on. Then I
heard the bell of a church strike twelve. The strokes ended, but
another bell began to ring. Our escort stopped with one accord. They
took off their caps and signed the cross on their breasts. Kortes did
the same as the rest. I looked at him in question, but he said
nothing till the caps were replaced and we were on our way again. Then
he said:
‘To-day is the feast of St Tryphon. Didn’t you know?’
‘No,’ said I. ‘St Tryphon I know, but his feast is not kept always on
this day.’
‘Always on this day in Neopalia,’ he answered, and he seemed to look
at me as though he were asking me some unspoken question.
The feast of St Tryphon might have interested me very much at any
ordinary time, but just now my study of the customs of the islanders
had been diverted into another channel, and I did not pursue the
subject. Kortes walked in silence some little way farther. We had now
reached the main road and were descending rapidly towards the town. I
saw again the steep narrow street, empty and still in the moonlight.
We held on our way till we came to a rather large square building,
which stood back from the road and had thus escaped my notice when we
passed it on the evening of our arrival. Before this Kortes halted.
‘Here you must lodge with me,’ said he. ‘Concerning the lady I have no
orders.’
Madame Stefanopoulos caught my arm.
‘I must stay too,’ said she. ‘I can’t go back to my house.’
‘It is well,’ said Kortes calmly. ‘There are two rooms.’
The escort ranged themselves outside the building, which appeared to
be either a sort of barrack or a place of confinement. We three
entered. At a sign from Kortes, Madame Stefanopoulos passed into a
large room on the right. I followed him into a smaller room, scantily
furnished, and flung myself in exhaustion on a wooden bench that ran
along the wall. For an instant Kortes stood regarding me. His face
seemed to express hesitation, but the look in his eyes was not
unfriendly. The bell, which had continued to ring till now, ceased.
Then Kortes said to me in a low voice:
‘Take courage, my lord. For a day you are safe. Nor even Constantine
would dare to kill a man on the feast of St Tryphon.’
Before I could answer he was gone. I heard the bolt of the door run
home. I was a prisoner.
Yet I took courage as he bade me. Four-and-twenty hours’ life was more
than I had been able to count on for some time past. So I also doffed
my hat in honour of the holy St Tryphon. And presently I lifted my
legs on to the bench, took off my coat and made a pillow of it, and
went to sleep.