At that moment Yanni appeared at the door of the house, his face flushed, and the fire of fighting hot upon him.
"You here?" he cried to Nicholas. "We thought you must be dead. Oh, how wild Mitsos will be when he finds that he has been out of it!"
"It is of Mitsos, too, I am thinking," said Nicholas. "Oh, Yanni, come and help me; there are butchers enough. Help me to find her."
Yanni stared at him a moment before he understood.
"Suleima," he cried, "God forgive us all! She in this town, and I had forgotten, and the Mavromichales are gone mad! If she is there—oh," and he threw down his knife, and looked stupid-like at his hands which were red and caked with blood and dust.
"Come and search for her, Yanni," said Nicholas again; "she is not in the house of Abdul, and every moment that she is in the streets may be her last."
"She left the house! Are you sure?" asked Yanni. "Where is it? Let us run there."
"I have been already," said Nicholas. "See, Yanni, you go one way and I another, and we will meet here again in an hour. Speak in Greek to every woman you see."
"Yes, yes," said Yanni; "which way shall I go? Oh, Mitsos, poor little Mitsos, and I killed two women myself, for they had knives and tried to stab me."
"Here, go steady, and be sensible," said Nicholas, for the boy seemed half beside himself. "Pick up your knife again; you were going unarmed. Do not stop, even to kill. Walk about, go where you hear a woman cry—God forgive us, but that is a task for a hundred—and speak to all in Greek. And be back here in an hour. Where is Petrobey?"