“But where do you think he went?”
“Clearly to some one who acts as go-between for Papa Demetri and the Scythians—probably a brigand. The village is Greek, you see, so they would have to look elsewhere. Of course, the plan is to fetch Kirileff back with larger offers before we can get away. I distrusted that stipulation about your finishing the picture, you know. When are you likely to get it done?”
“Not for a good many years, if the monks are to be the judges. They expect a regular Byzantine arrangement, showing every stone in the walls and every tile that’s missing from the roof. They aren’t educated up to modern methods, you see, and I’m putting as much detail into it as I conscientiously can, just to please them. Still, with another day’s work I ought to be able to produce a daub that will pass, at any rate.”
“That’s all right. We couldn’t start to-night, anyhow. I am going up the ladders when it’s dark, so as to know my way about them. I couldn’t undertake to get Miss Smith down without. It’s a bad enough climb to take a woman anyhow, and in the dark——! But perhaps that’s just as well, since she won’t see what it’s like.”
“I wish I had your cool head. I suffer agonies every time I go up and down in the net, even. By the bye, to avoid further artistic controversy with the brethren, can you make a drawing, roughly to scale, of the place for me to-morrow, from the ground, and jot down the colours, so that I can paint from it afterwards? They’re so full of the church that they haven’t remembered the outside view yet, but Papa Demetri is quite capable of making use of it to delay us.”
“All right. It’ll be very rough, but that won’t signify. Meanwhile, you tip the wink to Papa Athanasios to lose his keys before locking-up time to-morrow night, will you?”
* * * * * * *
Only one incident occurred to trouble the conspirators during the following day, and this was a mishap to Brother Evangelos, who, in passing through a dark passage, tripped over one of the crutches on which the monks supported themselves during the long services, and sprained his ankle so severely that he could not leave his cell. But Wylie had ascended and descended the ladders safely during the night, and was confident that he knew his way from one to the other, so that there seemed no reason for delay. Papa Athanasios had warned Maurice to be ready when the semantron sounded for midnight service, and the judicious gift of a rosary from the Holy Mountain had induced old Marigo to convey the same message to Zoe. A dark robe and high cap, such as were worn by the monks, had also been smuggled into the cell of each, in case any belated brother, hurrying into church, should run across the two strangers.
Wylie was half-way up the ladders when the clangour of the semantron smote upon his ear, and he climbed the rest of the way in entire forgetfulness of the perilous nature of his path. The sound was still reverberating through the monastery when he reached the tower to which the ladders led, and he could see the last-awakened among the monks scurrying through the courtyard. Presently the noise died away, the brother who had been wielding the mallet followed the rest into church, and Wylie went softly across to the quarters of the Hegoumenos and laid upon his divan the second packet containing two hundred and fifty pounds, the first having been handed over as soon as the result of the conclave was declared. Then he returned to the shelter of his tower, and waited with beating heart, not daring to make his presence known, even when two figures appeared round the end of the church, for in the monkish garb it was impossible to distinguish who they were. But they came unhesitatingly straight to the tower, and stepping out from the doorway to meet them, he grasped a hand of each and led the way to the ladder, sternly silencing their eager questions. Without giving them time to consider the means by which they were to descend, he went a few steps down, with his face to the ladder, then told Zoe to follow him, and guided her feet to the steps, which were by no means evenly placed. Maurice came last, well behind Zoe, that she might have full liberty to cling to the sides of the ladder, and thus they worked their way down, the cold sweat standing on Wylie’s brow. The camp fire looked so small and so distant below—almost as distant as the great clear stars, which seemed unnaturally bright in that cloudless atmosphere. Had Maurice alone been in question, he would have faced the adventure with a laugh, but that Zoe should be hanging between heaven and earth on that rickety ladder, with the night-wind whistling round her, was something unspeakably horrible. His feet seemed like lead, and he could hardly feel the next rung as he moved down to it, but Zoe distinguished no trembling as he guided her slowly lower and lower. She followed his muttered directions as if in a dream, for the imaginary world in which she had spent the greater part of her captivity still lay about her, and it was as though her mind received and her body obeyed his orders, while her real self was not there at all.
At last they came to a ledge of rock, on which Wylie allowed a rest from sheer necessity, for he found himself forced to cling to the ladder even when standing on firm ground. But no sooner had Zoe’s feet touched the rock than an exclamation from her turned his nerves to iron again.