“Oh, but everything must have come out since—or at least, half of everything,” said M. Ladoguin, generalising unwisely on a common-sense basis. “The man and his sister, who are new to the idea of their dignity, could not possibly keep silence.” Mitsopoulo nodded, remembering Zoe’s confidence to Wylie about the gold medal, and his brother-in-law went on, much encouraged. “With the Princess it is different. She must be capable of determined secrecy, from the skill with which she concealed her preparations for escape, and she has long believed herself the heir of the Eastern Empire. Finding herself confronted with a claim antagonistic and superior to her own, what will be her impulse? Will it not be to retain her secret haughtily, watching for the chance of crushing her rival? I should say that if you want her back, you will find her thankful to come.”
“Do you want her back?” asked Mme. Ladoguin.
“Most certainly,” replied her brother; “she is an invaluable asset, tracing an uninterrupted Greek and Orthodox descent from John Theophanis. The Englishman’s claim is the best by the ordinary law of Europe, but would break down hopelessly when tried by the Imperial family statutes. She ought to have been married long ago, and her claim carried into the Scythian Imperial house; but she is in a troublesome position—too important and yet not important enough. It is believed that she aspired to an alliance with the Emperor himself—and if I had had the direction of affairs I fancy I should have settled it in that way. But it was otherwise decided, and she rejected with contumely the Grand Duke Ivan Petrovitch, who was suggested to her as a suitor. She also took matters into her own hands, or Panagiotis persuaded her that she did.”
“Then she must be taken care of, I suppose,” drawled Mme. Ladoguin, “which is a pity, or she might have been disposed of with the other inconveniences. They are merely inconveniences, are they not? A judicious massacre, now, or an accident with the dynamite which these reprehensible bands of brigands manage somehow to get hold of?”
“No, I think not,” said her brother, after a moment’s reflection. “You forget Panagiotis, and that blue-eyed swashbuckler who was captured with them. They will make out that we were anxious to get rid of the man and his claims, and there will be unpleasantness. What must be done is to make him confess the baselessness of his pretensions. He must own that he was tempted by Panagiotis to put himself forward as a Theophanis, without the slightest ground for the assertion. That will dispose of both him and his sister. How the details are to be arranged we must discuss another day.”
“I should recommend the monastery of Hadgi-Antoniou if you want any one kept out of the way for an indefinite time,” smiled M. Ladoguin.
“Just so; and plenty of palm-oil to obviate any difficulties. I must get an order for funds from Pavelsburg,” said Mitsopoulo.
Wylie also was seeking funds at that moment. A letter to his lawyers was directing them to sell out all his securities, and to mortgage to its utmost value the little Border estate which called him master. However onerous the conditions, he must have fifteen thousand pounds in ten days.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE FALLING-OUT OF FAITHFUL FRIENDS.
Cheerless though the underground prison might be, it offered a respite from further journeying, and for the moment the captives could think of nothing else. Exhausted by the long night spent in tramping through the rain, the girls asked only for rest, and a sack of corn for pillow, with a rug for coverlet, furnished as luxurious a couch as they could need. They were asleep in a moment, and Maurice envied them. He had chosen his own sleeping-place close to the door, but he could not rest until he had built up the boxes and sacks into a barricade which might shelter the girls from prying eyes. It seemed to him that the noise he made would wake anybody, but Zoe and Eirene never stirred, and he erected a very fair partition, and retired thankfully to his own sack and rug on the threshold. He was not allowed to sleep, however, for a beam of light appeared at the other end of the cellar, and a voice called him. Rising with much reluctance, he found that a board of the crazy flooring above had been lifted, and a basket containing writing materials was being lowered down, while Milosch instructed him through the hole as to the terms of the letter he was to write to Wylie. The circumstances might excuse a certain acerbity in the wording, and Maurice was conscious of a savage satisfaction as he added his postscript, scarcely able to see, so drowsy was he. Even when he had finished his letter, it was sent down to him again that the girls might add their signatures, and he was obliged to wake them in turn, and actually guide their hands over the paper. Then at last he was left in peace, and lay down and slept for eight hours without waking. It was the girls’ voices that roused him at last. He could hear them talking.