He spoke to me in low, slow, suave tones, employing the Greek language, which he spoke fluently, although as a foreigner. For Mouraki was by birth an Armenian.
‘You must have much to tell me, Lord Wheatley,’ he said with a smile. ‘But first I must assure you with what pleasure I find you alive and unhurt. Be confident that you shall not want redress for the wrongs which these turbulent rascals have inflicted on you. I know these men of Neopalia: they are hard men; but they also know me, and that I, in my turn, can be a hard man if need be.’ His looks did not belie his words, as his sharp eye travelled with an ominous glance over the little town by the harbour. ‘But you will wish to speak with your friends first,’ he went on courteously. ‘May I ask your attention in half-an-hour’s time from now?’
I bowed obedience. The great man turned away, and Denny caught me by the arm, crying, ‘Now, old man, tell us all about it.’
‘Wait a bit,’ said I rather indignantly. ‘Just you tell me all about it.’
But Denny was firmer than I, and my adventures came before his. I told them all faithfully, save one incident; it may perhaps be guessed which. Denny and the other two listened with frequent exclamations of surprise, and danced with exultation at the final worsting of Constantine Stefanopoulos.
‘It’s all right,’ said Denny reassuringly. ‘Old Mouraki will hang him just the same.’
‘Now it’s your turn,’ said I.
‘Oh, our story’s nothing. We just got through that old drain, and came out by the sea, and all the fishermen had gone off to the fishing-grounds, except one old chap they left behind to look after their victuals. Well, we didn’t know how to get back to you, and the old chap told us that the whole place was alive with armed ruffians, so—’
‘Just tell the story properly, will you?’ said I sternly.