He bowed low.
“Mr. Walter Brand,” he said, “is fortunate. He is welcome to depart.”
“Wait!”
She crossed the room, and from a cedar box on the mantelshelf drew out a small shining revolver. She stood facing Domiloff.
“My friend,” she said, “so I shall remain until Mr. Brand has left the house and waves to me from the street below. And if there is treachery I give you my word that I shall fire. You have seen me use a revolver. You know that this is not play with me.”
“Mr. Brand,” he repeated, “is fortunate indeed.”
CHAPTER XLIII
Once more the beacons flared in a long, lurid line from the mountain-tops, rockets screamed into the night, and away from south of Solika came the heavy roll of guns plainly to be heard in the anxious city. Rumours were plentiful. The Turks were already streaming through the passes! A great battle was on hand! Solika had fallen! The streets and squares of Theos were filled with an excited and restless mob, mostly composed of old men, children, and women, with a sprinkling of foreigners. The outdoor cafés were filled, people stood about in little knots together, talking eagerly. Up at the railway station a constant stream of refugees waited patiently for trains to take them northwards.