d in my hand, "is
certainly curious and suggestive." "Here I am," said Euphrosyne, with an
air that added, "I've not moved. What are you shouting for?"

"Yes, but you weren't there a minute ago," I observed, reaching the hall
and walking across to her.

She looked disturbed and embarrassed.

"Where have you been?" I asked.

"Must I give an account of every movement?" said she, trying to cover
her confusion with a show of haughty offence.

The coincidence was really a remarkable one; it was as hard to account
for Euphrosyne's disappearance and reappearance as for the vanished head
and body of old Stefan. I had a conviction, based on a sudden intuition,
that one explanation must lie at the root of both these curious things,
that the secret of which Alexander spoke was a secret still hidden,
hidden from my eyes but known to the girl before me, the daughter of the
Stefanopouloi.

"I won't ask you where you've been, if you don't wish to tell me," said
I, carelessly.

She bowed her head in recognition of my indulgence.

"But there is one question I should like to ask you," I pursued, "if
you'll be so kind as to answer it."

"Well, what is it?"

"Where was Stefan Stefanopoulos killed, and what became of his body?"

As I put my question I flung One-eyed Alexander's book open on the table
beside her.

She started visibly, crying, "Where did you get that?"

I told her how Denny had found it, and I added:

"Now, what does 'beneath the earth' mean? You are one of the house, and
you must know."

"Yes, I know, but I must not tell you. We are all bound by the most
sacred oath to tell no one."

"Who told you?"

"My uncle. The boys of our house are told when they are fifteen, the
girls when they are sixteen. No one else knows."

"And why is that?"

She hesitated, fearing perhaps that her answer would itself tend to
betray the secret.

"I dare tell you nothing," she said. "The oath binds me; and it binds
every one of my kindred to kill me if I break it."

"But you've no kindred left except Constantine," I objected.

"He is enough. He would kill me."

"Sooner than marry you?" I suggested, rather maliciously.

"Yes, if I broke the oath."

"Hang the oath!" said I, impatiently. "The thing might help us. Did they
bury Stefan somewhere under the house?"

"No, he was not buried," she answered.

"Then they brought him up, and got rid of his body when the islanders
had gone?"

"You must think what you will."