Like lightning, Theseus seized a great stone jar, a pithoi. Muscles bulging, with unbelievable strength he swung it high above his head, poised to dash down on Burke.
Burke jerked his revolver up and fired in one spasmodic movement, straight at the pithoi.
Gun-thunder echoed through the chamber. The great jar shattered, cascading slack-jawed Theseus with shards and oil.
Burke rolled from the couch and stumbled to a new defense-point against the nearest wall.
But one shot had been enough for the Hero of Athens. He still stood blank-eyed, looking more stupid than ever as he stared in a sort of numb fascination at the shattered stoneware about his feet.
As for the maid, she'd fainted. And the expression lovely Ariadne now wore was beyond Burke's power to read.
But already, feet were pounding in the corridor outside. Guards poured into the room, half-a-dozen of them—great, strapping blacks with spears and swords and shields.
Six guards ... and only three shots left in the revolver.
Now the Cretan who seemed to be in command of the Negroes looked about uncertainly. "What happened, princess?" he asked. "Who are these men, these strangers?"
For a moment, Burke thought, a smile almost flickered at the corners of Ariadne's mouth.