‘I am a servant of the Stefanopouloi.’
‘Your sister will tell her before I come? I couldn’t tell her myself.’
‘Yes; she shall be told before you come.’
‘In an hour, then?’
‘Yes.’ And without another word, he strode by me. I caught his hand as he went, and pressed it. Then I was alone in the darkness again, but with a plan in my head and a weapon in my hand, and no more empty useless cursings in my mouth. Busily rehearsing the part I was to play, I resumed my quick pacing. It was a hard part, but a good part. I would match Mouraki with his own weapons; my cynicism should beat his, my indifference to the claims of honour overtop his shameless use of terror or of force. The smiles should now be not all the Pasha’s. I would have a smile too, one that would, I trusted, compel a scowl even from his smooth inscrutable face.
I was walking quickly; on a sudden I came almost in contact with a man, who leapt on one side to avoid me. ‘Who’s there?’ I cried, standing on my defence, as I had learnt was wise in Neopalia.
‘It is I, Demetri,’ answered a sullen voice.
‘What are you doing here, Demetri? And with your gun!’
‘I walk by night, like my lord.’
‘Your walks by night have had a meaning before now.’