Professor Panagiotis flung up his hands in despair. “Then Maurice Teffany and his sister are as good as dead! My hopes are destroyed.”
“Don’t blither about your hopes,” said Wylie savagely, “but think what we can do. What chance have we of saving them?”
“If we can raise the ransom by the very day stipulated—the brigands are generally faithful to their word—but if it is an hour late——”
“Then the ransom must be raised, by hook or by crook. Can you advance it? I will give you my bond for all I am worth, and I am certain Smith will regard the rest as a debt of honour.”
“Alas, no! It is not in my power,” groaned the Professor.
“Nonsense! you are well known to be a rich man. How much can you lay your hands upon in ten days?”
“I—I must explain to you,” said the Professor diffidently, “that events have advanced since I had the good fortune to discover Mr Teffany. In view of the happy prospects of the Greek cause, I have felt justified in promoting a certain degree of organisation among its adherents—enabling them to defend their homes against their ruthless Slavic assailants——”
“And institute reprisals, no doubt?” said Wylie. “This means, of course, that you have been arming the Emathian Greeks against the Slavs, by way of improving matters?”
“And the cost has been very heavy,” pursued the Professor, with humility, “and one large consignment of—defence weapons—fell, unfortunately, into the hands of one of the Thracian committees, so that I am actually straitened.”
“Well, can you beg, borrow, or steal five thousand pounds by the end of next week? I think I ought to be able to manage the other fifteen thousand, by realising everything I have in the world. If not, you must scrape together the difference. At any cost we must stop Mr Mitsopoulo’s little games.”