"Monsieur will pardon me," said Lindbohm, when he had overtaken Hassan Bey. "I wish to ask a question on behalf of my friend here, which you will use your own discretion in answering."
Hassan bowed gravely.
"My friend is interested in a young Cretan girl, Panayota Nicolaides, whom Kostakes Effendi has abducted. We have been following Kostakes, but he has disappeared. Do you know anything of him or the girl?"
"I know it all. He and the Bashi Bazouks passed by here with the girl, who is now locked up in Kostakes' harem at Canea. He has gone wild over her. That is why he was not here to-day with his band to support the blockhouse as he promised. He cannot be depended on. He passes half his time laying siege to the affections of a girl who is already in his power. Bah! Kostakes is no good. He is only half a man—he is half Greek."
Hassan had grown suddenly voluble. Kostakes, with his incomprehensible doings, was evidently a thorn in his flesh. Rage, indignation, pity, swooped down upon Curtis like a flood, now hot, now cold, as he thought of Panayota, restrained in the house of that square-jawed, cruel, supercilious Turk, subject to his vile solicitations.
"You do not think he would dare to do her violence?" he cried, as the thought that he knew where Panayota was and might yet save her, seemed almost to lift him from the ground.
"And why not?" demanded Hassan. "But, bah! It is the Christian blood in him, I tell you. He wants her to love him—bah!"
Curtis' face was flushed and he was trembling with eagerness. Lindbohm, pale as death, was leaning against a rock, biting his lip. A bugle sang out sweet and clear, in the distance.
"It is the Cretan trumpeter," remarked the Turk. "So, once more au revoir, and a thousand, thousand thanks."
"I am done with the troop," said Lindbohm. "I cannot control them, and I am a soldier. I will not fight where discipline is impossible. My friend and I wish to go to Canea. We—we—desire to take ship and leave the island."