I thought that I had seen the Pasha safely and finally to bed when he left me in the hall after our interview. I myself had gone to bed almost immediately, and, tired out with the various emotions I had passed through, had slept soundly. But now, looking back, I wonder whether the Governor spent much of the night on his back. I doubt it, very much I doubt it; nay, I incline to think that he had a very active night of goings to and fro, of strange meetings, of schemes and bargainings; and I fancy he had not been back in his room long before I rose for my morning walk. However of that I knew nothing at the time, and I met him at breakfast, prepared to resume our discussion as he had promised. But, behold, he was surrounded by officers. There was a stir in the hall. Orders were being given; romance and the affairs of love seemed forgotten.
‘My dear lord,’ cried Mouraki, turning towards me with every sign of discomposure and vexation on his face, ‘I am terribly annoyed. These careless fellows of mine—alas, I am too good-natured and they presume on it!—have let your friend Constantine slip through their fingers.’
‘Constantine escaped!’ I exclaimed in genuine surprise and vexation.
‘Alas, yes! The sentry fell asleep. It seems that the prisoner had friends, and they got him out by the window. The news came to me at dawn, and I have been having the island scoured for him; but he’s not to be found, and we think he must have had a boat in readiness.’
‘Have you looked in the cottage where his wife is?’
‘The very first thought that struck me, my dear friend! Yes, it has been searched. In vain! It is now so closely guarded that nobody can get in. If he ventures there we shall have him to a certainty. But go on with your breakfast; we needn’t spoil that for you. I have one or two more orders to give.’
In obedience to the Pasha I sat down and began my breakfast; but as I ate, while Mouraki conferred with his officers in a corner of the hall, I became very thoughtful concerning this escape of Constantine. Sentries do sleep—sometimes; zealous friends do open windows—sometimes; fugitives do find boats ready—sometimes. It was all possible: there was nothing even exactly improbable. Yet—yet—! Whether Mouraki’s account were the whole truth, or something lay below and unrevealed, at least I knew that the escape meant that another enemy, and a bitter one, was loosed against me. I had fought Constantine, I had touched Mouraki’s shield in challenge the night before: was I to have them both against me? And would it be two against one, or, as boys say, all against all? If the former, the chances of my catching the fever were considerably increased; and somehow I had a presentiment that the former was nearer the truth than the latter. I had no real evidence. Mouraki’s visible chagrin seemed to contradict my theory. But was not Mouraki’s chagrin just a little too visible? It was such a very obvious, hearty, genuine, honest, uncontrollable chagrin; it demanded belief in itself the least bit too loudly.
The Pasha joined me over my cigarette. If Constantine were in the island, said the Pasha, with a blow of his fist on the table, he would be laid by the heels before evening came; not a mole—let alone a man—could escape the soldiers’ search; not a bird could enter the cottage (he seemed to repeat this very often) unobserved, nor escape from it without a bullet in its plumage. And when Constantine was caught he should pay for this defiance. For the Pasha had delayed the punishment of his crimes too long. This insolent escape was a proper penalty on the Pasha’s weak remissness. The Pasha blamed himself very much. His honour was directly engaged in the recapture; he would not sleep till it was accomplished. In a word, the Pasha’s zeal beggared comparison and outran adequate description. It filled his mind; it drove out last night’s topic. He waved that trifle away; it must wait, for now there was business afoot. It could be discussed only when Constantine was once more a prisoner in the hands of justice, a suppliant for the mercy of the Governor.
I escaped at length from the torrent of sincerity with which Mouraki insisted on deluging me, and went into the open air. There were no signs of Phroso. Kortes was not to be seen either. I saw the yacht in the harbour, and thought of strolling down; but Denny had, no doubt, heard the great news, and I was reluctant to be out of the way, even for an hour. Events came quick in Neopalia. People appeared and disappeared in no time, escaped and—were not recaptured. But I told myself that I would send a message to the yacht soon; for I wanted Denny and the others to know what I—what I was strangely inclined to suspect regarding this occurrence.