hy, here, of course," said I, coming to the top of the bank and
dropping over.

I have no doubt that it was the cry uttered by Denny which gave pause to
Constantine's pursuit. He would not desire to face all four of us. At
any rate the sound of his pursuing feet died away and ceased. I suppose
he went back to look after Vlacho and show himself safe and sound to
that most unhappy woman, his wife. As for me, when I found myself safe
and sound in the compound, I said, "Thank God!" And I meant it, too.
Then I looked round. Certainly the sight that met my eyes had a touch of
comedy in it.

Denny, Hogvardt, and Watkins stood in the compound. Their backs were
toward me, and they were all staring up at the roof of the kitchen, with
expressions which the cold light of morning revealed in all their
puzzled foolishness. On the top of the roof, unassailable and out of
reach--for no ladder ran from roof to ground now--stood Euphrosyne, in
her usual attitude of easy grace. And Euphrosyne was not taking the
smallest notice of the helpless three below, but stood quite still, with
unmoved face, gazing up toward the cottage. The whole thing reminded me
of nothing so much as of a pretty, composed cat in a tree, with three
infuriated, helpless terriers barking round the trunk. I began to laugh.

"What's all the shindy?" called out Denny. "Who's doing revolver
practice in the wood? And how the dickens did she get there, Charlie?"

But when the still figure on the roof saw me, the impassivity of it
vanished. Euphrosyne leant forward, clasping her hands, and said to me:

"Have you killed him?"

The question vexed me. It would have been civil to accompany it, at all
events, with an inquiry as to my own health.

"Killed him?" I answered gruffly. "No, he's sound enough."

"And--" she began; but now she glanced, seemingly for the first time, at
my friends below. "You must come and tell me," she said; and with that
she turned and disappeared from our gaze behind the battlements. I
listened intently. No sound came from the wood that rose gray in the new
light behind us.

"What have you been doing?" demanded Denny, surlily; he had not enjoyed
Euphrosyne's scornful attitude.

"I have been running for my life," said I, "from the biggest scoundrels
unhanged. Denny, make a guess who lives in that cottage."

"Constantine?"

"I don't mean him."

"Not Vlacho--he's at the inn."

"No, I don't mean Vlacho."

"Who, then, man?"

"Some one y