“But what has happened?” cried Eirene. “Did some one blow up the Seignorial Bank?”
“Yes, and a good many other places as well. I gave up trying to count the explosions at last. I am staying with Professor Panagiotis, and was driving back to his house when the first explosion came and the gas failed. My driver refused to take me any farther, saying the Professor’s house would certainly be one of those blown up. I tried to get there the nearest way on foot, but there were troops pursuing imaginary revolutionists in all the foreign streets, and too many bullets were flying about for the atmosphere to be healthy.”
“But are we going to the Professor’s house now? What is the good, if it’s blown up?”
“I have no reason to think that it is. As far as I can see, the outrages have been mostly directed against foreign buildings. I suppose the malcontents are displaying their disgust and contempt for the reforms forced on the Grand Seignior by the Powers. At any rate, as the Professor’s guest, I should be more likely to find shelter in the Greek quarter than elsewhere.”
“But why do you say the troops are shooting imaginary revolutionists? Who do you think threw the bombs? There was a monk who jumped up on the carriage—oh, it was terrible!”
“Agents of the Thraco-Dardanian Committees, certainly, but I don’t think they will wait to be shot. They will have provided for their escape, and it’s only poor wretched passers-by, who have nothing to do with the outrages, and are too terrified to get away, that will suffer in this moment of panic.”
“But how can I go to the Professor’s?” asked Eirene, her thoughts returning to her own situation, as, clinging to Wylie’s arm, she traversed the deserted streets.
“Well, I should think it was better than staying out of doors,” returned Wylie grimly. “I shall be thankful if we can get there.”
There was a significance in his tone which she did not at first understand, for his trained ear had caught sooner than she did the regular tramp of soldiers, disentangling it from the confusion of sounds which still filled the air—not close at hand, for the shuttered houses might have been the abodes of the dead, but coming from the quarter they were approaching. Reaching the corner of a street, Wylie peered round it cautiously, and drew Eirene back with an exclamation.
“There’s a detachment of the troops who are clearing the streets coming this way. There! they’ve got some poor devil,” as the sound of a volley and a piercing shriek rent the air. “Stand in this doorway. They may go straight on and not see us.”