Decision at Delphi (27 page)

Katherini said, “They took him ashore when darkness fell. I watched them, praying that the moon would rise so that someone in Nauplion, on the other side of the bay, might see what was happening. But they had planned everything carefully. Even I, standing on the yacht, could not see the little boat after the first few minutes.”

“Was he injured?” Strang asked.

“Drugged.”

“Why did they keep him alive?”

“Yes,” said Petros, grimly, “that is a good question.”

“Because of the photographs he took during the war. They will keep him alive until they can find out where he has sent them. They are afraid of these photographs, I think. Very afraid.”

Petros glanced at Strang, “Do you believe her?” he asked bluntly.

“She tried to help him in New York,” Strang said slowly. “And if that is known, then she is in danger.” He thought for a moment. “How did she recognise me? How did she find out my name?”

“They have their own photographs, too,” she said with a bitter smile. “I saw one of you, taken when you were walking on Madison Avenue. Nikos said you were the man who was coming to Greece with Stefanos. Oh, they knew all about you, about the magazine—”

“All about me?” Strang asked, unbelieving.

“Enough, at least,” she answered, “to decide whether you were only a business friend of Stefanos or a very close friend— like Petros—who might know much of his life. But they decided you were harmless. So no accident happened to you.”

He looked around at the listening faces. None seemed to find her last remark ridiculous. “And where,” he asked, “would that accident have happened?”

“In the middle of the Atlantic,” she said calmly.

“You seem to know a lot about. them,” he said, watching her.

“For years, I paid no attention. But since I found out that my father and brother were killed by Nikos Kladas I—I have paid attention. I listened. I watched. And I began to learn. And I did not know what to do with what I learned. I did try to warn Stefanos Kladas. I did try to tell you that we were coming-to Athens. But that was all I could do. So little. It is horrible to know something and not be able to do anything.”

“You could have gone to the police.”

“Police?” She was shocked. “But they would have said my aunt was guilty. And she is not. She is being used. That is all.”

“She doesn’t know what is going on, even on board her own yacht?” Strang asked sharply.

“But they explain it to her in such a way that she believes they are right,” the girl said. She wasn’t altogether happy about her own explanation, Strang thought.

“I owe her everything I had, “the girl went on, with sudden passion.” She took me out of a miserable village; she educated me and fed me and clothed me—”

“Half a dozen fur coats put your aunt beyond suspicion?” Strang asked. “Is that it?”

“Why doesn’t your aunt help you now?” asked Petros. “Why do you need help from us?” His distrust was still evident.

Katherini Roilos looked at him contemptuously. “I don’t ask your help, any more. All I do now is to give you the message from Stefanos. After that, I leave.”

“They let you talk to Stefanos?” Petros asked. “This is a fine story, a very fine story.”

“They did not let me talk,” she said with annoyance over his stupidity. “But I talked with him. Yesterday, at dawn, my aunt went ashore. Later, the others went, too, to sightsee. It was an excuse, to make the officials in Nauplion think that everything was normal. Many yachts come to Nauplion with people who want to visit Mycenae, Epidaurus. So they went, but I said I was ill and I stayed on board. I talked with Stefanos for five or six minutes. He had been drugged, but he was beginning to be conscious: I gave him a knife. I warned him that his food would be drugged again, that he would be taken off the ship that night. He promised he would not eat anything, or drink. That he would pretend. And go with them. And once he reached the shore, he would try to escape. If he managed, he said he would hide. I was to get this news to Petros, who lived on Erinna Street. That is how I knew to come here.”

“Where would Stefanos hide?”

“He said he would try to reach the old place.”

“Where is that?” asked the Cretan.

“He did not tell me. Just—the old place.” She looked anxiously at the watching faces.

Was this, wondered Strang, another devious trick, one to trap Petros this time? He, too, knew something about those damn photographs. The same idea had entered the old Cretan’s eyes. He said nothing, only tossed his head back twice, abruptly, which was the Greek way of making a silent but emphatic “no!”

Strangely enough, it was Petros and the woman, sitting so still at the side of the room, who believed the girl now. They looked at each other. Petros said, “He may be there.”

“If he escaped,” said the girl. She pulled the loose coat around her and began walking to the door.

“One minute,” Strang said in English. “How did you come here?”

The girl looked puzzled. “I walked,” she said.

“Alone?”

“But of course.” She paused. “I thought I was running away. Leaving my half-dozen fur coats—” she flashed a sharp glance at him—“beginning all over again.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“Who gave you this coat?” He touched the loose sleeve.

“My maid, Maria.”

“She knew you were coming here?”

“She is devoted to me.”

“Did she know you were coming here?”

“Someone had to find out where Erinna Street was. I’m a stranger in Athens. Maria went out this afternoon, and found it. Tonight, when they were all downstairs talking, she unlocked my bedroom door. I slipped down the back stairs and came here.” Katherini Roilos looked at him anxiously. “I
can
trust Maria. She helped me escape.”

The Cretan was muttering with annoyance at the use of English, his curiosity overreaching his polite patience. Petros began translating roughly.

Strang said, “Why were you locked in your room?”

“I was not told why. When I arrived this afternoon in Athens, my aunt locked me into my room. She had learned about my visit to
Perspective,
about my putting our names on the passenger list on the liner.” Katherini shivered. She forced herself to go on. “Tonight, there was a meeting of them all. They were discussing me. Maria brought me the news. She
guarded me while I went down the back staircase.”

“Two men followed you here.”

“No one followed me. I made sure.”

“Then two men came, afterward. They were waiting when we arrived here.”

The girl’s thin, white face turned toward Cecilia.

“Yes, that’s true,” Cecilia said, and rose a little stiffly. She came over to the girl, and took the slender white hands, so cold and trembling. “It’s all right, we’ll take care of you.” But how on earth, she wondered dismally, do we do that? She exchanged glances with Strang.

The Cretan had risen. “What is this? What is this?”

Petros said, “I’ve just told you. Two men are waiting.”

“What men?” The white eyebrows and moustache bristled..

In slow Greek, Strang described them. The girl’s cold hands tightened, fear spread across her face. “Boris. He is the little man. A Bulgarian.”

“A Bulgarian!” the old man repeated, with contempt and hatred. He spat on the floor and rubbed the mark out with his foot.

“And the tall man?” Strang asked her.

“Nikos.” She stared, at him helplessly.

“Nikos Kladas!” Petros was tight-lipped.

My God, thought Strang, we spoke to him. We actually spoke to him. Here, in Erinna Street... He recovered himself. Quickly, he asked the girl, “Did you tell your maid what house you were looking for in Erinna Street?”

She shook her head.

“Did you tell her you were searching for Petros?” She shook her head.

“You must have given
same
excuse,” he said in exasperation.

“Only that a cousin of my father lived in Erinna Street.”

“But no mention of Petros?” he insisted. Thank God for that, he thought, as she shook her head again. He glanced at his watch. “How long will they stay, out there?”

“All night, if necessary,” Petros said. He exchanged glances with his brothers. They moved towards the door.

“What?” the old man stopped them sharply. “We sit here for an hour of nothing, the door closed. And then you open the door and rush out to look? No, no. We must think of a better way. We must trick them a little.” The prospect pleased him. Yes, thought Strang, that’s wise: we had better think of what we are going to do before we start doing it. And as the men started thinking in close argument, he turned to Cecilia. “She can’t stay. She can’t leave. We are in one hell of a fix.”

“Well, at least she can sit,” Cecilia said, and led the girl to a chair. “She’s freezing cold.”

In this room, Strang wondered, with its closed high window and heavy door and thick walls? The temperature, with all the excitement, must have reached a communal ninety degrees. “I’ll get her a drink,” he said, a little abstractedly, for he had his own thinking to do. He walked slowly across the room to pick up the wine bottle and a glass. The boy followed him, ready to help, smoothing his badge of office, the undisturbed napkin which he never seemed to unfold, into its correct place over his arm. He looked a little astounded as the cats, one by one, began to emerged from under the table, pausing, stretching, picking their way slowly into the light. A dark, heavily striped tiger reached up, not too steadily, to try out its claws on Cecilia’s coat, lying over the back of a chair. “Damn and blast you,”
said Strang, making a grab for the coat. The boy, ever helpful, landed a kick. “They need some air,” Strang said as the boy— he must have seen the saucerless coffee cups—frowned and then looked under the table. He picked up the saucers, smelling them, and broke into a wide smile. He called over his shoulder to the men, and began to laugh as he talked.

A laugh was a strange sound in that room, but it was a good sound. The men stopped their argument, looked surprised, annoyed, and—as they understood—relaxed a little. Strang said, “There’s your excuse to open the door and send someone outside.” He pointed to the cats. Then he concentrated on pouring wine for Katherini.

The old Cretan was quick to see the chance and elaborate on it. “Take the cats out. Leave the door wide open. They will hear voices and music. Play!” he told one of the young men. “And you—” he said to the girl—“go into the kitchen. Keep out of sight. Not you!” he told Cecilia. “Sit there and listen to the music. If anyone is, near this house and looks inside, he will see what should be seen, hear what should be heard.”

“Unless he has climbed up to look in the window,” Strang told Petros.

Petros shook his head. “First, he would have to climb into our yard. The wall has spikes. And then there is also a dog.”

“Stop talking in that foolish tongue,” the old man said, “and tell your girl she’s to stay here.” For Cecilia was trying to follow Katherini into the kitchen, and the old man was holding her back by her wrist. “If she has so much strength, this one, why didn’t she kick the cats out of her way? Wasting good wine... Tell her that, too.”

“Oh!” Cecilia said, and sat down again, as Strang explained.

“I thought she was a woman without nerves,” the old man went on, as he signalled to Petros. The door was opened wide, and the cold sharp air streamed in. The cats ran out. The boy followed, shouting. The old man stood, looking down at Cecilia. “All evening, she sat. Very still. The cats at her feet. I said to myself, There’s a woman with great calm. But I now see she’s just a woman, with all the little tricks.” He was enjoying himself immensely.

“He is talking about me, isn’t he?” Cecilia was even forgetting she sat in full view of the open door.

Strang told her, amused by the expression on her face.

“You mean he actually noticed me this evening?”

“Probably counted every cigarette you smoked, and pitied Americans who have chimneys instead of women.” And so now the three of them were amused, quite naturally. Anyone looking in from the street through the door would find this harmless scene a little difficult to fit into any suspicions. One of the young men had picked up a strange-looking instrument with a single string, and was plucking a slow, lamenting accompaniment to his song. The others listened, eyes half closed. The woman had let her head scarf fall back over her shoulders. It was, thought Strang, a picture he would never shake out of his memory.

The boy stood at the threshold. “About time, too,” the old man said crossly. “It is cold. Shut that door!”

Indeed it was. Cecilia had gathered her coat round her shoulders. The door closed. And they all looked at the boy.

“Well?” asked his father.

“There was one man outside.”

“Which one?”

“He was my height.”

“Where?”

“Just across from this door. He hid behind the big tree.”

Petros said, “And you stared at him?”

“No, I didn’t.” The boy was hurt.

“He did well, Petros,” the old man said. “You could have done no better.”

“But where has Nikos gone?” Petros wanted to know.

“That is not our problem at this moment.” The old man looked at Strang and Cecilia. “You must leave together. You must be seen, walking away just as you walked in.”

“And the girl?”

“She can stay here—” The old man glanced at his wife, but there was neither approval nor objection from her. “They can wait and watch, outside, but it will do them no good. She can stay here for months, as Stefanos once did.”

“But no one knew Stefanos was here. These men know she came to the street. There will be danger.”

The old man looked at his son, his stepson, his brother-in-law. “We are enough,” he said.

“The girl has information she ought to tell.”

“She has told us all that is needed.”

“But there is more than Stefanos to think of,” Strange said desperately.

“What is more than Stefanos?” the old man asked sombrely. He looked around, sharply, as the girl came quietly to the kitchen doorway. “You stay here,” he told her. “No one will get near you.”

She looked past him at Strang. “I know what you mean,” she told him. “But I will not go to the police with my story. There
would be scandal, newspapers. My aunt does not deserve that.”