‘You are always so acute,’ he observed admiringly.
‘Though the precise form of it I confess I don’t understand.’
‘Well, our lamented Constantine, who had much experience but rather wanted imagination, was in favour of a fever. He told me that it was the usual device in Neopalia.’
‘His wife died of it, I suppose?’ I believe I smiled as I put the question. Great as my peril was, I still found a pleasure in fencing with the Pasha.
‘Oh, no. Now that’s unworthy of you. Never have a fiction when the truth will serve! Since he’s dead, he murdered his wife. If he had lived, of course—’
‘Ah, then it would have been fever.’
‘Precisely. We must adapt ourselves to circumstances: that is the part of wise men. Now in your case—’ He bent down and looked hard in my face.
‘In my case,’ said I, ‘you can call it what you like, Pasha.’
‘Don’t you think that the outraged patriotism of Neopalia—?’ he suggested, with a smile. ‘You bought the island—you, a stranger! It was very rash. These islanders are desperate fellows.’
‘That would have served with Constantine alive; but he’s dead. Your patriot is gone, Pasha.’