“Her name was Eurynomé Andropoulos, and she was the niece of the Prince’s servant Petros. Donna Olimpia wrote that she had always disliked Petros, and would not have had a relation of his in the house, but her husband had a fancy for the child to be brought up on the Striote nursery tales and songs.”
“How long ago exactly did Donna Olimpia die?” asked Maurice.
“Janni calls Kalliopé Nono,” murmured Zoe.
“She told us that Petros would say he was her uncle, but he denied it as earnestly as she did,” said Wylie.
“Then that child is a descendant of John Theophanis, after all!” said Eirene. “But his mother—his mother was a schismatic! There is no need to fear him.”
“Fear him—a baby like that!” said Maurice, with a mingling of scorn and affection in his tone. “My dear Eirene, would you propose to turn the poor little chap out in the cold, if we had reason to fear him, as you call it?”
“We ought to be thankful that we have been able to save anyone from such a wholesale murder,” said Zoe.
“Wait!” said Wylie suddenly. “Please remember, all of you, that we know nothing yet for certain. We do know enough of this girl—Kalliopé or Eurynomé or whatever else she may call herself—to be sure that if we have her in and cross-question her she will deny everything without a qualm, and probably seize the first opportunity of taking the baby and running away somewhere else. She may be in the pay of Romanos—paid to keep out of the way until the story of Donna Olimpia has died down—or she may have been merely mad with fright when she told us her rigmarole of contradictory stories at first. Or—she may even not be the girl we are thinking of at all. At any rate, we have her here safe, and the child too. I should advise very strongly that we say nothing whatever to her at present, but that we get old Pazzi up from Therma, and spring the thing upon her in his presence. I doubt if we shall get the truth from her even then, but there’s just a chance of it.”
“Then I think Romanos should be asked to come as well,” said Maurice, “and perhaps Panagiotis too. There is so much at stake that we ought——”
“Please, ma’am, may I have Master Harold?” Linton’s voice, reproving at first, became insensibly frightened as she looked round the room and failed to see her charge anywhere.