“You will disappear—the mountains swallow you.”
“But not you, Monsieur. You are known to have tracked me to Brindisi; it is known at Brindisi that you followed me to Durazzo. This is a time of peace. If you shoot me, if I disappear, you will be suspected of murdering me, and whatever your services may have been to your Government, I think it will hardly protect you.”
A TENSE MOMENT
Rostopchin touched his chief on the arm, and spoke to him in low tones. The Count gnawed his moustache, frowned, muttered a curse. Then, with an angry gesture, he called to his men to take the prisoners into the house, and walked towards his Albanian allies. After a short conversation with them, he too entered the house.
The brothers, on reaching the first floor, were placed against the wall. Their legs were bound. Leaving two of his men to guard them, Slavianski mounted to the upper floor with Rostopchin. In a few moments the women and children came hurriedly down the ladder. On reaching the ground floor they were turned out of the house. Giulika and his men looked on sullenly; they were too few to oppose any resistance. The men from Elbasan laughed. They had no quarrel with them. Even though some of them had been wounded in the recent fighting, they were too much accustomed to hard knocks to bear a grudge on that account, so long as their honour was not concerned. They had been engaged to hunt down the Inglesi, and knew that if they raised a hand against the villagers, now that the Inglesi were captured, it would start a feud that might involve the whole countryside.
Slavianski and Rostopchin took up their quarters in the upper floor of the kula. By and by they summoned one of the men left to guard the prisoners to prepare a meal. After a time all three came down, descended to the lower floor, and passed out of the house.
“You were fine,” said George in a murmur to his brother. “I was in a most horrible funk. I’m glad I wasn’t put to the test.”
“Oh, you’d have come through all right. What I was most conscious of was a raging thirst. Monsieur,” he said, addressing the guard in French, “may I have some milk, rakia, coffee, or water, if it is drinkable?”
The man grinned.