‘There’s nothing anywhere, my lord.’
‘Then the game’s up,’ said I; and I rested on my oars and began to pant. I was not in training for a race.
The boat containing the soldiers drew near. Our boat, now motionless, awaited their coming. Phroso sank on the seat and sat with a despairing look in her eyes. But my mood was not the same. Mouraki was dead. I knew the change his death made was great. Mouraki was dead. I did not believe that there was another man in Neopalia who would dare to take any extreme step against me. For why had they not fired? They did not fire now, when they could have shot me through the head without difficulty and without danger.
Their boat came alongside of ours. I leant forward and touched Phroso’s hand; she looked up.
‘Courage,’ said I. ‘The braver we look the better we shall come off.’ Then I turned to the pursuers and regarded them steadily, waiting for them to speak. The first communication was in dumb show. The man who was steering—he appeared to be a subordinate officer—covered me with his barrel.
‘I’m absolutely unarmed,’ I said. ‘You know that. You took my revolver away from me.’
‘You’re trying to escape,’ said he, not shifting his aim.
‘Where’s your warrant for stopping me?’ I demanded.
‘The Pasha—’
‘The Pasha’s dead. Be careful what you do. I am an Englishman, and in my country I am as great a man as your Pasha was.’ This assertion perhaps was on, or beyond, the confines of strict truth; it had considerable effect, however.