ankle boots. There was a pistol holster on the broad leather belt round his waist.
“Evening, chum,” he said as they came up to him.
“Hullo,” said George. “Miss Kolin, this is Arthur.”
“Pleased to meet you, miss.” The tone was humbly respectful, but George could see the shrewd, insolent eyes summing her up.
Miss Kolin nodded. “Good evening.” Her hostility was clearly audible.
Arthur pursed his lips at the sound. “No trouble getting here, I hope, Mr. Carey?” he asked anxiously. He was suddenly like a week-end host apologizing for the inadequacies of the local train service.
“None to speak of. Will that old man wait for us?”
“Oh, you don’t want to worry about him. Shall we go?”
“Sure. Where to?”
“It’s not far. I’ve got transport. Just up the road here.”
He led the way. They followed in silence. About a quarter of a mile further on, the road ended again. This time the obstruction was due to a landslide from the hill above, which had obliterated a section of about fifty yards. However, a narrow track had been beaten out over the debris, and they stumbled along this cautiously until the road reappeared. That is, George and Miss Kolin stumbled; Arthur went forward as sure-footedly as if he were on a city street. He was waiting for them when they got back to the road.
“Only a little way now,” he said.
They walked on for another quarter of a mile. There were tamarisks growing out of the hillside here, and the moonlight cast their distorted shadows across the road. Then the shadows became solid and Arthur slowed down. Parked on a section of road which was wide enough for a vehicle to turn was a small covered truck.
“Here we are, chums. You hop in the back.”
He shone a flashlight below the tailboard as he spoke. “You first, miss. Now careful. We don’t want to spoil the nylons, do we? See that stirrup there? Well, just put your foot-”
He broke off as Miss Kolin climbed easily into the back of the truck. “I have been in a British army truck before,” she said coldly.
“ Have you now, miss? Well, well! That’s nice, isn’t it? By the way,” he went on as George followed her, “I’m going to have to do the canvas up. It’ll be a bit warmish, I’m afraid, but we haven’t got far to go.”
George groaned. “Do you have to?”
“Afraid so, chum. My pals are a bit touchy about people knowing where they are. You know-security.”
“This had better be worth while. All right. Let’s get on.”
George and Miss Kolin sat on two box-shaped fixtures in the body of the truck, while their escort lashed down the canvas flaps. When he had finished, they heard him get into the driver’s seat and start up. The truck lurched off over the stones.
Arthur was a forceful driver and the truck bucked and swayed about fantastically. Inside, it was impossible to remain seated and they stood crouched under the canvas top, clinging to the metal supports. The air inside, which was soon mixed with exhaust fumes, became almost unbreathable. George was dimly aware of the truck turning several hairpin bends and he knew that they were climbing steeply, but he quickly lost all sense of direction. After ten minutes or more of excruciating discomfort, he was beginning to think that he would have to shout to Arthur to pull up, when, after yet another turn, the truck ran on to a comparatively smooth surface and stopped. A moment later the rear canvas was unlashed, moonlight and air streamed in, and Arthur’s face appeared at the tailboard.
He grinned. “Bit bumpy, was it?”
“Yes.”
They climbed out stiffly and found themselves standing on what had once been the flagged courtyard of a small house. All that remained of the house itself was a ruined wall and a pile of debris.
“ELAS boys did that,” Arthur explained; “the other lot were using it as a stronghold. We go this way.”
The ruined house was on the summit of a pine-clad hill. They followed Arthur along a track which led from the house down through the trees.
They walked silently over pine needles for about fifty yards, then Arthur halted.
“Wait a tick,” he said.
They waited while he went on ahead. It was very dark under the trees and there was a strong smell of pine resin. After the atmosphere in the truck, the soft, cool air was delicious. A faint murmur of voices came from the darkness ahead.
“Did you hear that, Miss Kolin?”
“Yes. They were speaking Greek, but I could not distinguish the words. It sounded like a sentry challenging and receiving a reply.”
“What do you make of all this?”
“I think we should have left word with someone where we were going.”
“We didn’t know where we were going, but I did what I could. If we’re not back by the time the femme de chambre cleans my room in the morning, she’ll find a letter addressed to the manager on my bureau. In it there’s the number of that old man’s car and a note of explanation for the Captain.”
“That was wise, Mr. Carey. I have noticed something-” She broke off. “He’s coming back.”
Her hearing was very acute. Several seconds went by before George was able to hear the soft rustle of approaching footsteps.
Arthur appeared out of the darkness. “O.K., chums,” he said. “Here we go. We’ll have a bit of light on the scene in half a tick.”
They followed him down the path. It was getting less steep now. Then, as it levelled off, Arthur switched on a flashlight and George saw the sentry leaning against a tree with his rifle under his arm. He was a thin, middle- aged man in khaki drill trousers and a ragged singlet. He watched them intently as they went by.
They were clear of the pine trees now and there was a house in front of them.
“Used to be a village down the hill there,” said Arthur. “Wiped out by some of the boys. All flat except our place, and we had to patch that up a good bit. Left to rot, it was. Belonged to some poor bastard of a deviationist who got his throat cut.” He had become the week-end host again, proud and fond of his house and wanting his guests to share his enthusiasm.
It was a two-story building with stuccoed walls and broad overhanging eaves. The shutters over the windows were all closed.
There was another sentry by the door. Arthur said something to him and the man shone a light on their faces before nodding to Arthur and motioning them on. Arthur opened the door and they followed him into the house.
There was a long narrow hall with a staircase and several doorways. An oil lamp hung from a hook by the front door. There was no plaster on the ceiling and very little left on the walls. It looked like what it was, a house which had been gutted by bomb blast or shellfire and temporarily repaired.
“Here we are,” said Arthur; “H.Q. mess and anteroom.”
He had opened the door of what appeared to be a dining-room. There was a bare trestle table with benches on either side. On the table there were bottles, glasses, a pile of knives and forks, and another oil lamp. In a corner of the room, on the floor, there were empty bottles.
“Nobody at home,” said Arthur. “I dare say you could do with a snifter, eh? Help yourselves. The you-know- what is just across the hall on the right if anybody’s interested. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
He went out of the room, shutting the door after him. They heard him clattering up the stairs.
George looked at the bottles. There was Greek wine and plum brandy. He looked at Miss Kolin.
“Drink, Miss Kolin?”
“Yes, please.”
He poured out two brandies. She picked hers up, drank it down at a gulp, and held the glass out to be filled again. He filled it.
“Pretty strong stuff this, isn’t it?” he said tentatively.
“I hope so.”
“Well, I didn’t expect to be taken to a place like a military headquarters. What do you think it is?”
“I have an idea.” She lit a cigarette. “You remember four days ago in Salonika there was a bank
