They couldn’t very well hustle him out, because they were dressed in their Sunday best whereas he had arrived armed to the teeth and backed by a crowd of armed retainers. What is more, as he was the equivalent of a member of the local Hunt, a lot of the wedding guests took his side against Perseus, who was a stranger.
Perseus, being the sort of chap he was, naturally defied Phineus and refused to give up his girl. For answer Phineus chucked his spear at him. That started a free-for-all, and for a few minutes it looked as if Perseus and the King’s friends, who stuck by him, were going to get the worst of it. But Perseus had taken Medusa’s head along with him to his wedding. It must have been a bit high by that time, but I suppose he didn’t want to let it out of his sight. Anyhow, with a shout of ‘All of you who are on my side shut your eyes,’ he pulled the head out of its bag and showed it to the company.
That was that as far as Phineus and his pals were concerned. But it must have been rather a gloomy wedding afterwards, with a crowd of gentry who had just been turned to stone looking on.
Now that Perseus was married he wanted to go home; but Andromeda could not fly, so he had to build a ship to take her. When they reached Seriphos he learned that Polydectes had never let up from chasing his mother—not his own mother, of course, but Danaë—round the gooseberry bushes. In fact his behaviour had been so caddish that poor Danaé had found it necessary to take sanctuary in Athene’s temple.
Straight away Perseus strode up to the castle to give this old wolf-whistler a piece of his mind. But Polydectes got in first. He was very rude to Perseus about his mother not having been married to his father, then he taunted him with coming home with his tail between his legs and no Medusa’s head.
‘That’s what you think,’ said Perseus, and promptly pulled the head out of the bag. This put paid to Polydectes and no doubt he was removed to decorate the local park. Perseus then made the good Dictys chief of the island and went off to tell his mother, I mean his own mother not Dictys’, that she need no longer be afraid to leave the temple.
Apparently she had never let on to him that he was the grandson of the King of Argos, but she told him now; so he decided to go and pay his respects to his grandfather. But before setting out he returned to the gods the wonderful things with which they had equipped him, and he made a present of Medusa’s head to Athene. She set the head in the middle of her shield, and you can see it there in most of the statues of her.
Someone tipped King Acrisius off that his grandson was on the way to see him and, recalling the prophecy, the old chap properly got the wind up. Rather than remain in Argos and face Perseus, he fled north to Larissa in Thessaly. When Perseus heard about this he followed him with the intention of assuring him that he bore him no ill-will about his treatment of his mother—oh, bother, I don’t mean his own mother but Perseus’ mother—and only wanted to say ‘Hello!’
When Perseus arrived in Larissa, the King of that place was holding one of those sessions of Public Games which with the Greeks took the place of our Test matches and Cup Finals. As anyone could join in and our Hero rather fancied himself as an athlete he entered his name for all the events. My gentle reader will not be surprised to learn that he took all the prizes one after the other, but when it came to throwing the quoit Fate took a hand. Not only did his quoit go further than those of any of the other competitors, but a gust of wind gave it a sudden lift, carrying it right into the Royal Box. As a V.I.P. guest his grandpop had naturally been given a seat there. It hit the wicked old man slap on the head, killing him outright, and thus the prophecy was fulfilled.
Perseus was very upset about this and, even when he had had himself purified, he still didn’t feel happy about taking over the kingdom of Argos, owing to his having come into it by killing his grandfather. In consequence he swapped it with a neighbour of his for the kingdom of Tiryns. There he built the great city of Mycenae, of which I shall have a lot to tell you later.
By his beautiful Andromeda he had lots of children and they lived happily ever after. The gods were so pleased about this that when they died they were granted immortality, and as bright stars given a place side by side in the heavens.
* * * * *
Having finished reading his chapter and put the manuscript away, Robbie went to bed in a more cheerful frame of mind than he had enjoyed for some time. He was pleased with his work and now looking forward to an end to the drudgery he had to endure at the Travel Agency. With his usual optimism and faith in people cleverer than himself, he was by now convinced that Luke would think of some new line of investigation which he could pursue, so that, without suffering the humiliation of having abandoned his quest, he could give Krajcir notice on Monday.
The Greeks being a hardworking people, comparatively few of the shops in Athens close for a half-day, and those that do shut on Wednesdays; so that, although next day was a Saturday, the agency was open for its usual hours. In the morning business was slack, but it became brisker when the office re-opened at four o’clock, as another Czechoslovakian cruise ship had docked that day at the Piraeus.
At about half past five a small crowd of these tourists-on-a-shoestring were collecting folders and enquiring how, with their very limited funds, they could see something of the nightlife of Athens—a diversion not included in their Government-subsidised itinerary. Pani Sebesta had gone out to see a printer about some new stationery that was required, Rudolph and Ludmilla were fully occupied at the counter answering enquiries and Robbie was seated at a small table in the background, engaged in a chore that he had been given of cleaning Pani Sebesta’s typewriter.
The bell on the door jangled again, and Robbie glanced up to see a tall, tanned, well-dressed man come in. With an impatient frown at the backs of the little crowd of tourists, the newcomer thrust his way through them and, seeing that both Rudolph and Ludmilla were engaged, called across to Robbie:
‘Hi, you! Is Comrade Krajcir in?’
As the man spoke, Robbie’s mouth fell open. He had at that moment recognised the lean, sunken cheeks, hard jaw, and black hair-line moustache of this impatient customer. It was he who had been discussing the tobacco-oil deal over lunch with the Czech First Secretary at Toyrcolimano ten days previously, and so a prime cause for the upheaval in Robbie’s life that had since occurred.
‘What … what name shall I give, sir?’ he stammered.
‘Barak,’ replied the other. ‘Comrade Václav Barak. He knows me; so if he’s disengaged, I’ll go straight in.’
‘I’ll just see, sir,’ countered Robbie diplomatically, although he knew that Krajcir had no one with him. Stepping over to the door of the manager’s office, he opened it a few inches and announced the visitor. Krajcir gave a quick nod, so he walked back to the counter, opened a low gate in it, and showed Mr. Barak in.
Breathless with excitement, Robbie sat down again at his table. Here was the break for which he had been praying. Barak must know all about the secret negotiations. But how could his visit be used to get hold of that knowledge?
Laboriously, Robbie’s mind revolved the question. Perhaps he could follow Barak when he left, and find out where he lived? That would be a good start. How could he do that, though? Krajcir always saw his visitors out personally. To push past him and calmly walk off after the man to whom he had just said good-bye would be hardly possible. Krajcir would call him back and demand to know where he was going, Barak would hear them, look round and, having seen Robbie leave the agency in spite of Krajcir’s protests, would soon realise that he was being followed. He would then turn upon Robbie and demand an explanation.
How about leaving the office now and lying in wait for Barak out in the street? That would mean questions from Ludmilla and Rudolph, but he could ignore them. However, a snag to that quickly presented itself. At about three o’clock, it had come on to rain so he had returned to the office in a macintosh. The agency’s premises were modest and, having been constructed out of a part of the old courtyard, were also awkward. The only place a
vailable for the staff to keep their hats and coats was a small closet, to reach which they had to pass through Krajcir’s office. In the circumstances, although it was still raining, and quite hard too, that would not have deterred most men from going out without a macintosh. But all his life Robbie had been trained for his own protection to follow habits. Being unused to thinking for himself, it never occurred to him that he would take little harm from going out unprotected into the rain, and what possible excuse could he make to Krajcir for going through his office, then emerging from the closet wearing or carrying his mac?
Agitated and frustrated, he sat on, staring at Mrs. Sebesta’s typewriter. Here was a real chance thrown in his way, a perfect lead to solving the riddle which had become a nagging obsession with him; yet it seemed there was no way in which he could take advantage of it. He would have given even half a year’s income to hear what Krajcir and Barak were saying to one another in the private office. The door to it was at his elbow and so ill-fitting that there was a gap of nearly an inch between the bottom and the floor, but the harsh voices of the tourists chattering on the far side of the counter created a background of noise sufficient to drown the murmur of the two voices that Robbie was straining his ears to hear.
It was then that Pallas Athene intervened to undo Mr. Havelka. Or at least Robbie interpreted the little thing that happened as evidence of her divine guidance. Through the open window fluttered a single leaf. For a moment, it hovered uncertainly on the floor, then the outer door opened to admit two more tourists. The sudden draught drove the leaf through the narrow gap below Krajcir’s door into his office. Had it not been a special leaf it would have conveyed no message to Robbie, but it was a special leaf. Only one tree grew in the courtyard: the old gnarled olive, Athene’s sacred tree. Indisputably, he thought, the leaf was her messenger, and had given him the lead to how to act.
He must follow it. Go in to Krajcir. But how could he? What possible excuse could he give for butting in when his boss was conferring with a visitor? Next moment, he had it.
Standing up, he gave one quick tap on Krajcir’s door and, without waiting for permission to go in, pushed it open. At that moment, Barak was speaking and Robbie clearly heard the last words of his sentence. ‘… Rhodes and the other islands there is no special urgency, but for the groups at Patras and Corinth you must fix up accommodation right away.’
Krajcir looked up at Robbie with a frown. Hastily Robbie muttered: ‘I’m sorry, sir. I left some letters in my mac that I want to take to the post. D’you mind if I get them?’
‘No; but be quick about it,’ replied Krajcir sharply.
As Robbie went into the closet, pulling the door partly shut behind him, he heard Krajcir say. ‘The Bratislava is not due to dock till the 31st, that’s Monday week; so we’ve plenty of time. By Wednesday, I should be able to let you have full particulars of the arrangements I have made for the first three or four groups, and I’ll have dealt with the others by the end of the week.’
Inside the closet Robbie was hastily fishing about in his pockets. From them, he unearthed a sheet of paper on which he had made some notes for his book, the last letter he had received from old Nanny Fisher and the bill for his week’s stay at the Grande Bretagne, which he had received that morning. Not daring to linger there longer, he folded these together with the letter on top and, clutching them in the hand which would be farther from Krajcir as he passed his desk, quickly recrossed the private office, closing its door to the outer office softly behind him.
A few minutes later, the two Czechs emerged from it and, without either of them giving a glance at Robbie, Krajcir saw Barak out into the courtyard.
To all appearances, Robbie had resumed his cleaning of Mrs. Sebesta’s typewriter. Actually he was doing no more than dab at it automatically with the worn toothbrush he had been given for the job, while he endeavoured to assess the fruits of his first successful piece of espionage.
The Bratislava was obviously a Czechoslovakian ship, and due to make her first call at a Greek port on Monday the 31st. It seemed reasonable to assume that she was carrying as passengers a considerable number of Czechs who were to be distributed in groups about Greece and the islands. Anyhow, it appeared fairly certain that her first call was to be Patras, and that the intention was for two groups to be landed there, one of which would go on to Corinth. Although Robbie had no evidence on which to base his assumption, he felt no doubt at all that, as it was Barak who was initiating these arrangements, the groups were composed of technicians, and that they were being sent to Greece for some nefarious purpose, on the pretext of prospecting for oil.
Ludmilla happened to glance in Robbie’s direction at that moment, and saw that he was smiling to himself. He had good reason to do so. Now that he had this definite lead to follow, he need have no further hesitation about giving in his notice to Krajcir. He was no longer even dependent on Luke’s providing an idea which would enable him to continue his quest in some new direction. If he liked he could, without a qualm, walk out of the agency there and then, and simply not come back. But he decided that that would be an unnecessary rudeness to people who had treated him, if not with kindness, at least with politeness; and that, anyway, it would be foolish to sever his connection with Krajcir and the others so churlishly when there was nothing to be gained by so doing.
Some ten minutes later, Mrs. Sebesta returned from the printers; so now that Robbie was once more under her slavedriver’s eye, he had to put considerably more energy into his attentions to her typewriter, but his mind continued to speculate excitedly on what he had learned owing to Barak’s visit. After a while, it occurred to him that, as Krajcir had been instructed to find accommodation for these groups of Czechs, he must now have in his office a complete list of the numbers in each group and the places at which they intended to prospect for oil—or whatever it was they meant to set about under that cover. To leave the agency without securing that, or at least getting a sight of it, would surely be wanton neglect in exploiting to the full the chance he had been given. But how could he set about it?
Every evening at about half past six, it was Krajcir’s custom to go out for about twenty minutes. He always remarked casually on leaving that he was going round the corner to ‘consult with his associates’; but they all knew that he was simply slipping out to drink an ouzo at a nearby café, where he could be found if urgently needed.
His absence would offer a chance to get a look at the papers on his desk but, even as Robbie thought of it, he discarded the idea. It was most unlikely that Pani Sebesta would leave the agency again before closing time, and what possible excuse could he give for going into Krajcir’s office? Certainly none that would justify his remaining there long enough to go through the Manager’s papers, and any attempt to do so without such an excuse would almost certainly result in the Sebesta woman coming in to see what he was up to, and catching him red-handed.
For another half-hour he wrestled with his problem, then a daring thought came to him. Why should he not return after the office was closed, and break into it? The courtyard formed a cul-de-sac, so he would run no risk of being seen by passers-by, and after dark no one except the handful of people who lived there came in or out of it; so during the five or ten minutes it would take him to force an entry, the odds were all against anyone coming on the scene.
The idea filled him with renewed excitement, but when he began to consider the practical details, his ardour became a little damped. The outer door of the office not only had a mortice lock, but was further secured by a padlock. During his year in Greece, apart from picking up that language he had given no time to adding others to his repertoire and, having had endless free hours to fill, he had got through a considerable number of books. So many of these having been gangster thrillers, he needed no telling that professional burglars always went to work with jemmies, blow-torches, electric drills or sticks of gelignite. To obtain any of these aids to crime at such short notice was obviously out of the question, and t
hat ruled out any hope of his forcing the door.
That left only the windows; but again he would have no means of forcing one, and to break a pane might easily attract the attention of someone in the houses on the opposite side of the courtyard. Perhaps, though, before leaving, he could manage to fix one of them so that it was not properly locked. The fact that his colleagues would remain at work in the outer office until closing time, when he himself would have to leave, ruled out any possibility of tampering with any of the three windows there; so it would have to be the one in Krajcir’s private sanctum.
By this time he had finished cleaning the typewriter, and his taskmistress had put him on to stamping a pile of circulars. When he was half-way through them, Krajcir came out and, with his usual announcement about ‘having a word with his associates’, went off for his aperitif. After stamping the remainder of the pile, Robbie gave a loud sniff, and muttered to old Pani Sebesta: ‘Left my handkerchief in my mac; just going to get it.’
As he stepped into Krajcir’s office, she gave him only a glance. Shutting the door behind him, he stepped quickly across to the open window. It was not a large one, so the catch that secured it could be reached from outside by stretching an arm through any of its panes, had one of them been missing. On the inner sill, partly hiding the lowest row of panes, stood a line of thick reference books.
Having already thought out what he meant to do, Robbie wasted no time but swiftly removed two of the reference books from the left end of the row. He then picked up a paper-weight from Krajcir’s desk and gave the left corner pane a sharp tap with it. Nothing happened. His hand was trembling and beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead, but he nerved himself to give the pane another, harder, tap. That did it. The pane cracked but, to his relief, did not fall out. It was starred into four large and two small irregular triangles. Letting out his breath with a little gasp, he hastily put back the paper-weight and replaced the reference books. They hid all but two of the cracks in the upper part of the pane, and he felt that he would be very unlucky if, in the hour before closing time, Krajcir noticed them. He had been away barely two minutes when he returned to the outer office, violently blowing his nose.
Mayhem in Greece Page 10