ied
back to the hall, and found him at the window, with Constantine's
rifle rested on the sill.

"I could pick him off pat," said Denny, laughingly, and he pointed to
a figure which was approaching the house. It was a man riding a stout
pony. When he came within about two hundred yards of the house he
stopped, took a leisurely look, and then waved a white handkerchief.

"The laws of war must be observed," said I, smiling. "This is a
flag of truce." And I opened the door, stepped out, and waved my
handkerchief in return. The man, reassured, began to mop his brow with
the flag of truce, and put his pony to a trot. I now perceived him to
be the innkeeper Vlacho, and a moment later he reined up beside me,
giving an angry jerk at his pony's bridle.

"I have searched the island for you," he cried. "I am weary and hot.
How came you here?"

I explained to him briefly how I had chanced to take possession of my
house, and added, significantly:

"But has no message come to you from me?"

He smiled with equal meaning as he answered:

"No. An old woman came to speak to a gentleman who is in the village."

"Yes, to Constantine Stefanopoulos," said I with a nod.

"Well, then, if you will, to the Lord Constantine," he admitted, with
a careless shrug; "but her message was for his ear only. He took her
aside, and they talked alone."

"You know what she said, though."

"That is between my Lord Constantine and me."

"And the young lady knows it, I hope--the Lady Euphrosyne?"

Vlacho smiled broadly.

"We could not distress her with such a silly tale," he answered; and
he leant down toward me. "Nobody has heard the message but the lord
and one man he told it to; and nobody will. If that old woman spoke,
she--well, she knows, and will not speak."

"And you back up this murderer?" I cried.

"Murderer?" he repeated, questioningly. "Indeed, sir, it was an
accident, done in hot blood. It was the old man's fault, because he
tried to sell the island."

"He did sell the island," I corrected. "And a good many other people
will hear of what happened to him."

He looked at me again, smiling.

"If you shouted in the hearing of every man in Neopalia, what would
they do?" he asked, scornfully.

"Well, I should hope," I returned, "that they'd hang Constantine to
the tallest tree you've got here."

"They would do this," he said, with a nod; and he began to sing softly
the chant I had heard the night before.

I was disgusted at