t
us, but he suddenly returned through another door, leading with him
a gentleman clad in some sort of loose dressing-gown who moved slowly
towards us. As he came into the circle of dim light which enables me to
see him more clearly I was thrilled with horror at his appearance. He
was deadly pale and terribly emaciated, with the protruding, brilliant
eyes of a man whose spirit was greater than his strength. But what
shocked me more than any signs of physical weakness was that his face
was grotesquely criss-crossed with sticking-plaster, and that one large
pad of it was fastened over his mouth.

"'Have you the slate, Harold?' cried the older man, as this strange
being fell rather than sat down into a chair. 'Are his hands loose? Now,
then, give him the pencil. You are to ask the questions, Mr. Melas, and
he will write the answers. Ask him first of all whether he is prepared
to sign the papers?'

"The man's eyes flashed fire.

"'Never!' he wrote in Greek upon the slate.

"'On no condition?' I asked, at the bidding of our tyrant.

"'Only if I see her married in my presence by a Greek priest whom I
know.'

"The man giggled in his venomous way.

"'You know what awaits you, then?'

"'I care nothing for myself.'

"These are samples of the questions and answers which made up our
strange half-spoken, half-written conversation. Again and again I had to
ask him whether he would give in and sign the documents. Again and again
I had the same indignant reply. But soon a happy thought came to me. I
took to adding on little sentences of my own to each question, innocent
ones at first, to test whether either of our companions knew anything
of the matter, and then, as I found that they showed no signs I played a
more dangerous game. Our conversation ran something like this:

"'You can do no good by this obstinacy. Who are you?'

"'I care not. I am a stranger in London.'

"'Your fate will be upon your own head. How long have you been here?'

"'Let it be so. Three weeks.'

"'The property can never be yours. What ails you?'

"'It shall not go to villains. They are starving me.'

"'You shall go free if you sign. What house is this?'

"'I will never sign. I do not know.'

"'You are not doing her any service. What is your name?'

"'Let me hear her say so. Kratides.'

"'You shall see her if you sign. Where are you from?'

"'Then I shall never see her. Athens.'

"Another five minutes, Mr. Holmes, and I should have wor