“Perhaps,” I replied triumphantly, “but Jonah, anyway,” and I pointed him out on the wall, in two shades of brown, a good deal faded, being precipitated into the jaws of a green whale with paws and horns and a smile, also a curled body and a three-forked tail.  The wicked deed had two accomplices only, who had apparently stopped rowing to do it.  Underneath was a companion sketch of the restitution of Jonah, in perfect order, by the whale, which had, nevertheless, grown considerably stouter in the interval, while an amiable stranger reclined in an arbor, with his hand under his head, and looked on.

“As a child your intelligence promised well,” said Dicky; “that is Jonah, though not of the Revised Version.  I don’t think Bible stories ought to be illustrated, do you, Mrs. Portheris?  It has such a bad effect on the imagination.”

“We can talk of that at another time, Mr. Dod.  At present I wish to be restored to my daughter.  Let us push on at once.  And please explain how it is that we have had to walk so far to get to this place, which was only a few yards from where we were standing when Brother Demetrius left us!” Mrs. Portheris’s words were commanding, but her tone was the tone of supplication.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” said Dicky, “but for that very reason I think we had better stay where we are.  They are pretty sure to look for us here.”

“I cannot possibly wait to be looked for.  I must be restored to my daughter!  You must make an effort, Mr. Dod.  And, now that I think of it, I have left the key of our boxes in the drawer of the dressing-table, and the key of that is in it, and the housemaid has the key of the room.  It is absolutely necessary that I should go back to the hotel at once.”

“My dear lady,” said Dicky, “don’t you realize that we are lost?”

“Lost!  Impossible! Shout, Mr. Dod!”

Dicky shouted, and all the Early Christians answered him.  There are said to be seven millions.  Mrs. Portheris grasped his arm convulsively.

“Don’t do that again,” she said, “on any account.  Let us go on!”

“Much better not,” protested Dicky.

“On! on!” commanded Mrs. Portheris.  There was no alternative.  We put Dicky in the middle again, and cautiously stepped out.  A round of blue paper under our chaperone’s arm caught the eye of Mr. Dod.  “What luck!” he exclaimed, “you have brought the liqueur with you, Mrs. Portheris.  I think we’d better all have some, if you don’t mind.  I’ve been in warmer cemeteries.”

As she undid the bottle, Mrs. Portheris declared that she already felt the preliminary ache of influenza.  She exhorted us to copious draughts, but it was much too nasty for more than a sip, though warming to a degree.

“Better take very little at a time,” Dicky suggested, but Mrs. Portheris reaffirmed her faith in the virtues of eucalyptus, and with such majesty as was compatible with the neck of the bottle, drank deeply.  Then we stumbled on.  Presently Mrs. Portheris yawned widely twice, thrice, and again.  “I beg your pardon,” said she, “I don’t seem able to help it.”